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1. |
Good Time
03:55
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Chorus:
Hey, you know we’re just here to have a good time (x2)
Verse 1:
We came here to have a good time. No hate.
No going primate. Definitely no fists flying.
Create new times. Let the bass ride and my spit shine.
All by design. How about this thirty-thousand foot view of the room?
The love we exhume, from bodily tombs, fills like a balloon, from sweat and perfume.
Ghosted, sweety begging your pardon, aspartame.
Posted, playing cooler than Bartles and/or Jaymes.
Duly noted. Faces the same, got nothing, as for names.
Place is loaded, been promoted, and my circle has no lames.
Cells of brains, done departed, heard somebody ask for flames.
Days of rains, turn to steam and which beast would the pastor blame?
(Hey) Take that shit outside ‘cause ain’t room for grown men rolling in here.
Phones snapping pics, dudes out of shape, on the floor soaking up beer.
I think it’s normal to cheer. Just goes to show and it’s clear.
These cavemen didn’t grunt enough, in their formative years.
Coat check the drama, won’t be burdened with disturbances.
You heard the notes, wrecking balling, Angle with the verbiages.
For certain, it’s a zombie virus working in your persons.
Churning, from your service for dollar dispersions, ‘til it’s curtains.
Turning on Mondays, by Fridays we bring in the antidote.
The wordiest sermons from the furnace, the burners and the dope.
Chorus Repeat
Verse 2:
We came here to have a good time; a few drinks, good friends. Hope you don’t mind,
pissing in the wood line. Elbow to elbow and wall to wall, we’re doing just fine.
(in fact) Suitors jocking like a bear attack, just beware of that.
Cupid’s dropping his little cherub sack on your New Era hat.
This is where it’s at. Two turntables and a microphone.
Get up on the good foot, and do that dumb dancing, just like at home,
at night alone, when nobody’s watching. Out of breath, but don’t stop rocking. (sweaty)
Ten pounds dropping, like Cube in that Steady Mobbin’.
There goes the neighborhood. But, it’s all love, and it’s all good.
And at this moment, no one fears the hangover like they could.
‘Cause at this very moment, the moment’s all we know, and we own it.
Unwind, and lose a little bit of mind.
Pull up the Uber and phone it and ride the back seat like you stole it.
Outside it’s been storming, but only thing I’m afraid of morning,
‘cause the tipping point don’t give warning, and I lost count, well I don’t know when.
I done clocked out. Sheets blow in the wind. Know what I’m talking ‘bout, and I’ma do it again.
Chorus Repeat
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2. |
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Angle Verse 1:
Hey young world, I know the grown folks been getting on you.
Talking ‘bout, “Be ghost. Get out my genre.”
Don’t let a hobbyist crack the chink in your cockiness, it’s obvious,
That Primo’s godliness, but not copping an audience.
Different Strokes for different What you talkin’ ‘bout Willis’s.
“Don’t know nothing much ‘bout, some syrupy-ass mush mouth.
Ok, it’s been debated. Whether it’s elevated or faded or masqueraded,
DJs done played it. Love it or hate it, it’s a product of a product and we made it.
Yeah, we made that. Too late to take back. We can’t erase that.
Water under burnt bridges; path of least resistance.
Drugs and cash; the math that feeds the business.
Saying, “Everything was overrated. Don’t care what the year was.”
Rally ‘round the disrespect and mix it for your earbuds.
The things constant are change, and a reliance on a cycle of defiance.
It’s science dropping how life is.
Chorus:
Turn this mutha out.
‘Cause we can’t even feel that funky sound.
And every time you turn it upside down,
We can’t even hear what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.
Ptate Verse 2
Chorus Repeat
Angle Verse 3:
Dead in the middle, literally. A little epiphany hit me.
We riddled to kids that didn’t do diddly. It’ll be,
The flippantly, spitting dizzily that instantly,
Sickens the industry, missing brilliantly vivid symphonies.
You getting me? You thinking differently? The story trilogy?
Dipsticks too quick to bring infantry to the infancy.
Stole your money at lunchtime and now they spending it.
Disown your seed, but that’s your bloodline and lineage.
Chorus Repeat (2x)
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3. |
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Angle Verse 1:
Patterned after an automatic, I just keep at it.
Round after round, point and blast through the static.
See I don’t carry a clip. I carry a box of belts.
Shoot from the hip, like First Blood, until the barrel melts.
You see the tip is glowing, but I’m still letting go and
Letting the folks know, most hunger talk is smoke blowing.
Smoke screened by green, where’s the craft and cunning.
Linguists put effort in running, but I’m still laughing and gunning.
Choose your grind. Don’t turn an Uber to a cop ride.
Wrong place and time, shooter turn your topside lop side.
Reloaded the damn cannon and balling on demand and
planning to caveman the game with a club and no cheat codes.
Manning torpedoes, for loose beaks and freak shows.
Far as war speech goes, battles get more weak though.
I’m dumbing the pace and numbing the place where dying’s a joke.
Jumping beat space, like Scarface, into a pile of coke and a smile.
Chorus:
I’m reloaded, uh, I’m reloaded, Fire! (x4)
Angle Verse 2:
Don’t want to start things. Aye! That’s what I’ve been telling ‘em.
Tug on the heartstrings, way!, deep inside the melanin.
We made this art sick, aye!, like it needs some medicine.
Let us Edison your lettuce over Benjamins denizens.
The brain is a weapon licking shots, then in between ‘em.
To maintain, you got to set up shop and clean it.
‘Cause carbon deposits’ll have that piece jam for good.
Your marbles are lost and a new man stands where you stood.
Note to self, I’ve been writing notes to myself.
Auto-bio on digi-shelf, but the sex and violence sells.
On autopilot, I’m thirty-thousand foot styling, providing
the science, to break the silence, and incite a dopamine riot,
inside the defiance and poke a Jolly Green Giant.
In the cut with a periscope that reaches the highest.
That’s just my plane. I’m not flying. Another level, I hold it to.
A little bit older dude, providing an overview from over fools.
Chorus Repeat
Samuel Jonathan Johnson Jr. Verse
Chorus Repeat
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4. |
DSM
03:39
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Verse 1:
No need for an anthem, it’s just some heat from a phantom.
There’s no team on the street and the interest peaks at random.
No growling in the belly, but the hunger gets the best of ‘em.
Owling with the swivel-neck, suckas greener than the rest of ‘em.
How many “likes” does it take to get to the center of a
center that’s taken licks to get to the “how many”, really.
Mistake overdrafts and cred debt for street cred.
Rake plastic cash, debate the wants and needs dead.
The crises, is in the identities.
It’s the pro-amenities, versus the “let it be’s.”
“Have nots” and “good and plenty’s”, walking with Jesus.
It’s, “How many more can we squeeze in between the housing freezes?”
Let’s just build a tower or twenty
and make the unit rent sky- high to ugly a pretty penny.
Only a few, if any, live in their means when they’re spendy.
Eventually, something gives, cut the budget for the venti.
Chorus:
Where all my DSM people at?
Forget a mattress, we sleep on tracks.
Go set the jet and then get right back.
The thinking cap it doesn’t fit like that, we quick to switch the hats
Where all my DSM people at?
Forget a mattress, we sleep on tracks.
Go set the jet and then get right back.
The thinking cap it doesn’t fit like that, no quit. We’ve got to live and let die.
Verse 2:
I tinker with the machine, to find me which cog
enlightens, but brightness sometimes like high beams in thick fog.
A city growing with not enough bodies to fill it.
Let’s overthrow it. It’s Gotham in need of a villain.
Bustling structural hustle busting time lapse.
I should be in a construction line of work, but I rhyme raps.
Over the bloated belly and I’m the one getting sore.
Decades of collective complaining get what they wish for.
All our eggs in a basket, held by the insurance racket.
If they up and packed it, we’d be left cold with no blanket.
Some say the heart, but it’s the bowels of America.
With 80/35 the world just passes through and stares at you.
Take off your coat and stay a while, or don’t, we’re undecided;
Left and right wings flapping, colliding ‘til the eagle’s divided.
But, we just keep on driving in our lane, creating our zone.
It’s the joy and pain, it’s the only place I’ll ever call home.
Chorus Repeat
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5. |
DoD
02:41
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Verse 1:
Bring in the Drums of Death, shake up the DBS.
It’s just a pillow to press, you to your last breath.
Fatigue rap is played, now, it’s tired and faded.
You sleep on my tracks, wake up in an iron maiden.
The stage and the mic like, the Pit and the Pendulum.
The cord, swinging back and forth, ‘til it finally dismember ‘em.
Sending ‘em out of body, out of category and back.
Knowing I’m ‘bout a party, ‘bout the Talkin’ Story and that’s,
flammable. Fuggin’ fellas hammering the pads.
Combustive, stuck in hell, in a labyrinth of gas.
Ha ha ha! Forever the last laugh.
The drums in your ears, tearing your era in half.
I’m pumping the fear, but rappers wearing the mask.
These bums ain’t peers, just a canary to blast.
As the thumping nears, another whooping to catch.
Something appears and stomps a city gone flat.
A matrix of hatred, the kicks got you mad at me.
Biggie Smalls, why don’t you flatten their anatomy?
“Now, should we kill them Angle? Should we try to use gravity?”
Hold them still. Let Biggie Smalls sit on their chest cavity.
Panic, like a claustrophobic, in a closet loaded,
With lost hope, and your screaming is not noticed.
You’re begging for the drums to end it.
The next tenant in hell, bended on every sentence.
Hook:
Drums of death! (repeated)
Verse 2:
I’ll put a smiley face on a silhouette, then retire the heat.
Switch to a Rambo blade and Michael Myers the beat.
Check the compass for direction and head to your section.
Wreck the numbers of your crew that you had for protection.
You’re scratching and clawing, to the spot that you’re crawling.
I’ll leave a sprawling, chalk anatomy drawing,
like da Vinci, pinch me. I’m here with two pennies.
I’ll terminate a Connor, like the future sent me.
‘Cause I don’t get played, five finger fillet with no blade.
I’m a baked hand grenade, invading your lemonade.
It’s still a popular drink and I’m the town Guru.
My voodoo, to drop a joint and push a needle through you.
Rappers combat it ‘cause they don’t have it.
They get mad at it. The hate’s rabid and that’s a bad habit.
Where’s Costello and Abbott? I’m the monster, nice to meet you.
When I’m in Altar mode, I think it’s my right to Beast you.
Talking shit again, but this my holistic vit-a-min, or vitamin.
I’ll slap Cujo in his chin and ride him in.
Run at the sight of him as he’s getting his violence in.
Then, say, “Goodbye” to men as he’s tossing aside the limbs.
I rap and try to sing, but to me it’s a minor thing.
Still, I’m killing a dying pen and a pad that can’t excite again.
My team got drums of death on the infinite.
Imagine if I put a full-time job in it.
Hook Repeat
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6. |
Around
03:17
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Verse 1:
Why so serious? When surgical knife from ear to ear it gets
counterfeit weird and shit.
Ha! Said words don’t hurt me. Not hearing it. No fear in it.
Laugh and knee slap, Edward Murphy, Delirious.
‘Cause what else you gonna do, stomp the tall grass
for every snake you run into for letting the venom spew?
Let ‘em through. See the truth. My brightness kick a lunar crater.
Give ‘em proof. Gleam the Cube. Their shine’ll flicker soon or Slater.
God damn it, like a good Christian, following commandments.
I know my code and crack a few eggs to make a Hamlet.
Sometimes it’s tragic. Sometimes you feel you witnessed magic.
Exclamation happens, period. That’s shit when a colon’s spastic.
I can touch the middle with a cup of joe and couple of flows.
Snub in the nose, but all revolves around where the loving goes.
Take it localized and hit the pillow with a lean.
Wake up and socialize with a hot mug of mean.
Chorus:
I’m not dying. I’m riding. Doing more than, surviving.
You’re not trying. You’re sliding. Worried more ‘bout, where I been.
Around. Just know that I’ve been around.
I’m not dying. I’m riding. Doing more than, surviving.
You’re not trying. You’re sliding. Worried more ‘bout, where I been.
Around. And I’m not going down.
Verse 2:
Blow the steam off it, before you bite the grammar.
Throw the ‘tude leftovers in the fridge with the Arm and Hammer. Be enamored
with the ghosts just shuffling after glamour.
They cross your path, rubbing elbows and crafting answers.
First class knuckle dragger to gather the Halle Berries.
Baffled chucking daggers from mastering Urban Dictionary.
Let ‘em be legendary. They always act hard,
but won’t walk the streets without their celly bars.
I have not a care, with savior faire, I still get there.
They stop and stare. I navigate the space over their bed hair.
I rearrange and change the landscape in spite of a dozer.
I suppose, I chose to poke a rose into a poser,
right on the lapel. Ah, what the hell, I’m fooling no one here.
I’ll LOL and clap, have the dove poop on his coldest gear.
He cracks open a cold beer, or twelve, sit back and pass out.
Plays the role of a pot, paints the panes black on his glass house and I’m out.
Chorus Repeat
I’m doing good. I’m doing well.
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7. |
Walkabout
02:41
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Verse:
Can’t see the end of the mile that I’m walking in my shoes.
Fog thick, cloud weighs heavy, sitting on streets and avenues.
Sidestepping the lawns to avoid the mines and potholes.
Clear of basking worms, no spaghetti dangling from soles.
The finest buds, laced with a Blue Note session.
Speaking key note. Welcome an invigorating depression.
Exercising depth perception and getting collected.
Radiate the heat of a flame that self-respected.
Sense it or get scorched. Don’t get caught out there senseless.
Or grasping for breath, sidestep the gap in your defenses.
Can’t leave the earth, trying to perfect the ascension.
See A to B, but not three and four dimensions.
Nah, you ever notice the fog respects your personal space.
But, not on this occasion, came up to greet me face to face.
No, cold shoulder from this old friend.
It’s alright, going to be alright.
Hold, onto the stories once I’ve told the end.
It’s alright, going to be alright.
Why the hysterical laughter like a clown for, ‘cause the downpour,
Dropped a message I found more, impossible to ignore.
Brought me like a cloud to the ground floor.
The sky opened up, like the cable got cut.
(rain/white noise)
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8. |
Ol' Lady Syndrome
02:21
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Talking Intro:
Anybody know this story? Go ahead. You can raise your hand. I hope it’s not too familiar, but ya’ll know somebody.
Verse:
I got my hands on the wheel. I see you calling and texting.
Must be mad for real, but I’ll see ya’ll in a second.
Damn. For motives that I don’t know now, I’m mentally prepping for what’s about to go down.
In circles, I go ‘round. Mm hm. What size proportion’s about to get blown out.
Pull up in the driveway. Stay in the garage. Let the song in the ride play.
Been a long day, but I don’t go out like a sucker.
I inhale all the courage I can muster.
I hear the kids on the other side of the door,
sounding innocent, not expecting a war.
And now the dog’s barking. There’s no way to ignore it.
No sneaking in, I finally go for it.
Hey. How’s everybody doing?
Ok. Yep, I’m home.
Just got home from work. Give me a minute.
I want to sit on my ass, but you up in it, right?
Let me get my shoes off first.
Before you flip and give my bubble a burst.
What’d I do this time? Put me on blast.
I know you been brought to a boil, since I saw you last.
Let me have it. You want to go at it. There’s a beer in the fridge,
I’ma grab it, crack it and let you go rabid.
Standing at the stove, stirring mac and cheese.
Oh, it’s the silent treatment with your back to me?
I know what you’re doing. You’re stewing.
Putting your argument together, air tight prosecution.
You turn around and give me a glare.
I freeze, as you approach, all I can do is stare.
Ok. Wait a minute. What’s up?
You squeeze me and hug, and show me nothing but love.
Wait. What was that? Of course.
You squeeze me and hug, and show me nothing but love.
Chorus:
You feed off, the cycle of hate. Just stop it.
Dream on, with your old lady or drop it.
Make up, or break up, the way you throw rocks and,
wake up, ‘cause that situation is toxic.
Talking: Got me chewing bubble gum out here. Get that Bazooka Joe wrapper off of there and just break a tooth off.
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9. |
Hot Dog Carbonara
04:33
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Produced by the Dust Collectors.
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10. |
Jackin' for Bass
03:40
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Verse 1:
Memory bears fruit. Sip the juice on these loops.
Maniac on the loose, Talkin’ Story like Seuss.
Jackin’ for a eight of that bass, to give a little taste.
Take these licks for days, and find your little happy place.
Air out your gas face and bob for an apple.
Jam out in your car and drive like an asshole.
Nonsensical comic rhetoric. Your mommy sent you to collect my intellectual sentiment.
Bass buggin’, OGs thuggin’, obese fuggin’, no mean muggin’
“Oh please. You’re frontin’” Oh please, nothin’.
You’re Buggin’ Out. I’m floating like gravity. Don’t be mad at me.
By the way, tell your family, thanks for having me.
Sadly, that’ll be, the day you out the tragedy.
Something happened way back and I’m proud to be your daddy see.
Magically, I planted seed. Your mind was open sesame.
You’re matching me, but wacker see, the people know the pedigree.
Discrepancy, resides in that pool where you left the better genes.
Dive in. You’ll see my tribe is amping like amphetamines.
Yah! Here is something you can’t understand.
Yah! On the hill and these killers got other plans.
Yah! Only digging the twerk-off done at a show.
Nah! Don’t need the dick taking his shirt off. Come at me bro!
What?! You drain my gray matter, the brain scatter.
That lame chatter, splatter, and spit pancake batter.
Fracture the method actor. Increase the pucker factor,
When shatter the crystal chin of a sneak diss retractor.
Verse 2:
A beautiful mind, even when Color Blind designs.
Unusual signs, winding like snake spines.
Paralyze, your pair of eyes with a pair of lies.
It’s all fine. Wear a disguise and ride the basslines.
Ice cold, the veins running vampiric. And then it,
might blow. The rain’s coming. Can you hear it? It’s at your,
door knocking. The shower pattern that leave you clean. Got your,
smile locked in, like jack-o-lanterns at Halloween.
What you got following is gobbling bottles of hollerin’.
Off with the halogen, dropped college and shot the collagen.
Modeling for waste oxygen, false in your confidence.
Obnoxious in fashion and all of us suffer the consequence.
Jekylls with pride died inside and turned to Mr. Hyde.
The amps fried easy, turned the Dr. to a Beastie.
Wil’ out and grimace. Snap your m’f’n vertebrae.
Iowan bidness, black and gold, repping the birds of prey.
Since before the ninety-tre, gave way to the mighty A,
The Andy’s Whitey way, is like Gladys Knight and the Morris Day.
To more you pay, the chorus play. Fuck what an Aphrodite say.
Twerking at a siren bay, and murking y’all with fiery lays.
Circle back, admire the blaze. Today’s a Circue du Solei.
Jerks are blind anyway. My work so bright, you’re eyes’ll glaze.
Church, I invite you to pray. Stop robbing the offering tray.
Drop a dime when dime’s drop. You’re copping and rocking the mockingjays.
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11. |
Confucius
04:55
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Chorus:
You want to dance, until I seeit,
There’s not a chance, I’ll believe it.
What’s that he said, Confucius?
“Upside the head, with the oopses.”
We got a home, let’s do this.
Fire sending smoke from where the roof is.
We living by the quote, Confucius,
He say, “Need no H2O, let the MFer burn.”
Verse 1:
Ever since the Weekend Project demo,
hovering over some heads been my M.O.
But, now I have to stomp and twist, like I’m Bolo.
Got ‘em chomping Angle’s shit. No promo. (Nope, nope, no promo)
Unexpected with the flow though (three-sixty)
The ring weighs heavy on me like Frodo.
Responsible for a tree, no longer solo. (No, nope, not solo)
No belief in hype, my type is proto. (My type is proto)
Get demonic with a session, electronic possession.
Press with no regrets, no seconds for second guessing (guessing)
Fresh to death, control the being I’m besting.
Center mass, blessed, ‘til I’m at peace with the resting. (resting)
Chorus Repeat
Verse 2:
City like a bigger town here. (Yeah, it’s hip)
If you pronounce it Dez Moynez, you’re not from around here.
Safe from the notion, all folks being equal. (equal)
Protected from ourselves, the elites leading the people. (people)
Well, now we’re hip and living on the top-ten lists.
Great place to raise your kids and ignore the apocalypse.
It’s left unsaid, but this bubble is getting bull-ran.
Falling in love with the undead ‘cause you can’t outrun the wolfman.
Busting a gut, to the coffer ‘til the coffin shuts,
‘cause once was enough, uh, but don’t hurt me again.
Love is a delicate relic and no matter how many times you delegates
Go to the mountain and tell it, or package and sell it, L-O-V-E, spell it.
Chorus Repeat
Verse 3:
Located centrally, so I’m centered here.
Rhyming naysayer, exhaling the atmosphere.
Need to stop it with that “Wish a muh-fucker would.” (“I wish he would!”)
Community’s rooted out by fratricide in the neighborhood.
Wasted mouth-checks, place the cart before the horse. (horse)
Fake sense of safe, like hiding in blanket forts. (forts)
Innocence untapped and my gab has done come gift-wrapped.
That over-fapped wackness, keep blowing smoke ‘til the lung collapse.
Like driving in a snow storm.
White out, then lights out, bite the chloroform. (good night)
And I’m the last you want to pass on.
Wake up to my face with a surgical mask on. (Alas, it’s the last song)
Chorus Repeat
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12. |
Freak Show
03:28
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Verse 1:
Put your hands together, decidedly, you’ll release the clap on whoever
spits on the mic. That might be just in spite of me.
Don’t worry or get bunch in your Spidey undees. We got
plenty of freaks to exhibit for ticket moneys.
Step right up, to one of the greatest shows on Earth.
We got, Hunger and Thirst, the deformed and berserk.
All kinds of magic at work. You’ll see and hear it all for sure.
But, first, the butt-hurt, hate-filled from top hat to dirt.
Burdoned from grudge birth, to riding dirty in a hearse.
Not enough pos heard, neg on the regular, it’s absurd.
Word. Word ‘em up, thank you. Next up we have the
very talented Backstabber with not just one face, but two.
Seeing is believing, smile in your face, all the while,
they want to take your place, erase you, entertain your private space.
Now, you’re captivated by the characters and superstition.
Check the wildstyle on the wall, while we break for an intermission.
Hook:
Freaks! (repeated)
Verse 2:
Welcome back! I hope you got confection snacks at the concessions.
The next door fat lady stacking processed blessings.
Stretching the acception of the big-boneded conception.
Your made-in-American-sized consumption sweetheart.
Now, please welcome, the tattooed man!
Every skin inch, artistic glimpses of other hearts, mimicking stars
With a mask from a movie part. Can’t tell where he starts and the
Front ends; only runs deep as skin.
Now this lady’s got a beard, don’t let it raise your level of fear.
But, let me ask, “Is it really that weird?” All natural, as she appears.
Lady look like a dude that attracted you, got you packed in here.
ZZ TOP to her brazier. Your beastiality’s clear.
Next freak walks in, hugs reach my shin; Little Miss Petty.
But, dare to talk over her head, the little one gets testy.
She’s lost it. Just listen, while she’s spitting gossip, like a faucet.
Got a knack, gather ‘round her nude act in her shallow bath.
Hook Repeat
Verse 3:
For the final scene of the show, the finale needs to build and grow
The magician, the maestro, building a strange crescendo.
Bizarre tricks for the mind, sleight of hand, how’d he do that?
I cut that Used to Love H.E.R. right in half.
I’m floating, not flowing, grab your soul and levitate you.
Make you disappear and reappear in another place, you
can’t deny, there’s nothing up my sleeve, when I pull a gem out of disbelief.
Ventriloquist throwing voices on each beat.
For my final disappearing act, Im…(BOING)
Who let the chickenhead-biting geek out the cage? I’m trying to get my final word in.
God damn it, lower the curtain! (BOING! BOING!)
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13. |
Get Out
02:02
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Verse:
What the hell? What’s that noise?
Got to turn that alarm off before he throws it, shatters the phone, and breaks a night of poise.
Cool it. His arm twitches. That’s all he gets ‘cause he don’t care to move it.
And the sound, he can quickly lose it, fall back in that, sunken place and tune it,
out. But, he can’t Get Out, like Chris in the abyss, grasping at the darkness.
While he sits, ocular sockets crushed by the weight of his eyelids.
Decided life is shit. But, now he doesn’t even have desire to quit.
Contrary to popular belief, everybody’s got to have some fucks to give.
Done gave up on giving up. Feel like his lungs caved in, he’s not getting up.
Tired of being tired, but not enough. Family thinking he’s being lazy, they call his bluff.
The kids are asking her why he sleeps all day. The wife just watching it all slip away.
Mortgage foreclosure letters daily, “This is your home, but you can’t stay.”
Why Daddy’s broke? Nobody gets it. Can only hope, ‘cause no one can fix it.
Bedroom is off limits, door closed, so no one can visit, this lonely sloth on exhibit.
Days pass for minutes, as they shed their end and beginnings.
Creating a maze to get trapped within it’s, haze, collapse, like he just caught a life sentence.
His pride past hurt. The glory, resides outside this purgatory.
Never believed it when he heard the stories. Depression is weakness, not a word used for me.
Nah, nah, it couldn’t be me. Not me.
In a state of limbo, as he stares at the blankets, blacking out the window.
The grief on his back would grow, by feeding on his feeble soul.
Weighing his options, he counts only two; kill himself or just start to move.
But, it’s not an option, to really try offing, himself, he thinks hell, is what it’ll cost him.
Hangs one leg off the bed, and then two. Pulls down the blanket for sun overdue.
Stands up, dizzy, heads off to the bathroom, for a shower, we’ll call the turning point breakthrough.
Imagine that. It’s just therapy.
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14. |
Wiz Dumb (w/ Gadema)
04:07
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What I have to tell you, may come as no surprise.
You’re not as wise as you think. Open your mind, not your eyes.
Angle Verse 1:
The more you know, you know you don’t know shit. But, know-it-alls run around stretching their lips.
Jumping on dat, throwing out diss, making decisions, but they’re not equipped.
Saying, “This won’t happen.” And “This will happen.” Like we control the days and time passing.
Blow that passion. Just go to the younger version of Angle and ask him.
How you might act, and choices you’ll make, depend on the situations you’ll face.
Matter of fact, your voice is a waste, until, you sit, yourself in that place.
Bigger the dignity, louder you shout, dimly lit, fit for a skipping about.
Another man’s sneakers, you’re filling them out. Figuratively, you’ll figure it out.
See, as a youngin’, you couldn’t tell me nothing.
Skilled at the art of bluffing, now I’ma sit right here and learn something.
Trials and tribulations, compile to give you patience.
Surviving them mutations, realize the juice that you wasted.
Take a pie in the face and see how the humble tasting.
Erase, cut and paste, retrace the line that you’ve been basing.
Yeah. And now you know better the next go.
That’s what you call, setting yourself up to be blessed though.
Hook:
Don’t take for granted your history.
Yeah, recognize it when you’re autographing it.
You just don’t know who you’re going to be.
Shit changes and you can’t control the half of it.
Accept that and you’ll be free.
Swerving lanes and then you cruise control and laugh a bit.
Here we are, back in it, to hit you with the rapping wit.
Never left, conception, opposite immaculate.
Gadema Verse 2
Hook Repeat
Angle Verse 3:
You know they’re adding them sheep, before I walk in the building.
They’re going Ambien deep, when I’m Talking Story with feeling.
They roll in REM sleep, like Tina across the ceiling,
No Dozing on Elm Street, then I’m ghost when the lids peeling.
I’m woke, but ain’t dreaming, since I broke free of a demon.
For the fresh O that I’m breathing, that’s seeming to be the reason.
Like a priest poking a heathen, ‘til the devil’s region’s freezing.
And he won’t believe in leaving, ‘til he’s screaming with the legions, huh!
Gadema Verse 3
Hook Repeat
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15. |
Hold the Door
03:49
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Verse 1:
Hey, who said chivalry’s dead, Captain Obvious or Captain Oblivious?
Who else is sick of this? Insidious word “bitch” driven home vigorous.
Melodies and music, excuses, we used to use to get with this.
The decades abused it, infused it, to spit with us. Commonplace, now “bitch” ubiquitous.
What’s the toll of countless brain penetration, of female objectification, numb fellas,
supposed to roll off us like rain off an umbrella.
Don’t act like you get by or even survive, without the genes on a double x.
But, the goal is to flex and sex and fly, get in them jeans and move on to the next.
And I don’t need to hear another size of a manhood.
The compensation plan, let me size up a man good.
That’s all we need to know. You’re pushing the love and soul below, to put on a show.
That’s somebody’s child, somebody’s daughter.
She don’t need to battle daily as cannon fodder.
Per usual with the bother. That’s what the music of the culture brought her.
Tried to dismiss your sister easy, but, I know it made you queasy, what?
Now she’s one of those college Girls Gone Wild, dancing to Give Me That Nut.
When the hounds took a sniff and closed in, did you hypocrite, or just bit your lip.
Did you even see the benefit? She got a name, might try to put a little respect on it.
Bridge:
Where are we now? We’ve come so far.
What we’ll allow, lowers the bar.
Where are we now? We’ve come so far.
Just take a bow, and show your scar.
Hook:
I’m still going to hold the door. She knows what I’m doing it for.
Sign of respect, need to show it more. Only game I’m playing, no keeping score.
No need to degrade for personal gain, and give her your coat when it’s cold out there.
Try pulling out a chair, not because she can’t, but to show you care.
At, what, cost?
There’s something off.
What have we lost?
At what cost?
(x2)
Hold the door!
Verse 2:
Who agreed to these egregious sieges on our representation?
Who took us past the point of no jesters with lack of articulation?
Well, I guess we did. By inking the cartoons green, it seems.
Is it beyond our means, to reverse the machine,
scream “queen,” and collectively cut the gasoline?
Besides the family it’s harming, productive value is garbage.
I wouldn’t touch it with Charmin. Shit, flush and discard it.
Came creative with it, when it was a little niche. Now, it’s excessive. Damnit, that’s all it is.
Can’t get in the car with the kids, every station with a lazy blueprint on how to sex a bitch.
Over and over, the same old song. Never was right. Now it’s evermore wrong.
Nah, that ain’t right. I know you got to have more than that you want to spit on the mic.
I’m not trying to sound like Delores Tucker or Tipper Gore, but I don’t take no more of that,
waging war. What they doing it for? Selling out for selling, that’s what you call a whore.
Not the girl next door. Not your sister, your momma, your cousin, they didn’t do nothing,
To deserve that spitting out the corner of the mouth like Popeye, heard buzzing. Thought it was art, but it wasn’t.
Time for debating. Stop the placating. Taking out that old trash, isn’t the same as hating.
Humiliating, the future self. Negating, the suit yourself for creating.
Hook Repeat
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16. |
Legacy
03:42
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Verse 1:
“When keeping it real goes wrong” was a lesson before Chappelle’s skit.
That’s the Key and Peele the pawn from submission to project the hell’s spit.
Since I was a little Young Optimist, I didn’t search for it, but I was brought to this.
Flash in the pan to the major populace. Part of the plan, an empathetic opposite.
Since back in the day, when Do Doo was airbrushing cultural legends on our t-shirts.
Did it my way. Did it all with no regrets; no tats spelling “regerts.”
Traveled ‘round the sun about thirty times, since I picked up a pen and sonned a mannish rhyme.
I’ll go out on top, won’t fight past my prime, keep Calzaghe and Ward in mind.
If I said it, I own it, another deaded opponent, quibbling with the onus to lose your head when it’s swollen.
Try to never trombone it. You slide forth and back, you find a lack of condoning condolence.
Superglued to my guns, firm, but fair, like Mills Lane in the ring.
And it’s one thing, I never run. I be me. ‘cause life be and I can appreciate the sting.
Ask me how I keep the pilot lit, how I bounce back after such a violent hit.
Ha, pilot shit. I’m flame throwing the oasis, no time for admiring it.
Iron jaw, slicker than an oil can. Bigger heart than a post-wizard tinfoil man.
Cygnus Opus in the year of lordy, lordy, apply some WD-40.
Chorus:
Legacy, how they’ll remember me when I’m gone.
Put your hands up!
Centrally, located mentally. Word is bond.
People, stand up!
Relentlessly, to the Nth degree when I’m on.
Show us mad love.
Never be, without my melody ‘cause I’m song.
Live forever.
Verse 2:
Doing the best, I never settle. I don’t even know how that feels.
Unexpected, the test gets real, when life throws something at you like an automobile.
Trust me, you can’t win ‘em all, but when you fall, you got to embrace that cliché.
Whichever one most motivates you to appreciate each day.
See, we want to be grounded and still reach for the stars.
Energy pounded and beaten into the bars.
I wasn’t bound to a dream, I had to eat from these bars.
I like how it sounded, but never street with these bars.
Crude, but a little profound, so I wouldn’t delete none of them bars.
I couldn’t leave how I found it ‘cause now my zeros are larger.
Never liked to advertise my thirst. Never let a woman grab me by the purse.
‘Til I’m sideways riding in a hearse, I’ll still abide by “ladies first.”
Word to my Monie Love, and my seeds that’ll carry the shield when my seat on the thrown is up.
Used to not be alone enough. Now, I’m Peter Griffin and I’m owning up.
Still I keep desire alive. Still too many irons poking the fire inside.
This one’ll survive, when the light that is lime, retires or dies.
More than an emcee, multiple degrees, started with Personality.
I’m the A, the N, to the G-L-E. If I wasn’t, than why would I say it’s me.
Chorus Repeat (x2)
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17. |
Loving You
04:26
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Verse 1:
So, the fella had himself a girl,
job, dog and house, but foreseeable end to that route.
Military gave him needed separation.
Blessed him with new Valentine that he began to dating.
One of a kind, he found unexpectedly understated.
Drove home straight from training, from his old life he vacated.
Left it all behind, he found the thing he wasn’t finding.
The reason behind the rhyming, made a wife out on the islands.
Extended honeymoon, the soul loves the sun.
No family and new friends, two learning to be one.
Opps attracting, this country girl made room for his rapping.
He used to scoff when they said, “Love. You’ll know it when it happens.”
Well, it happened fast with no doubts about it lasting.
Tidal rhythm dancing, magnetic with passion.
She had dinner waiting after one long day.
Handed him a rubber ducky said an angel was on the way.
Verse 2:
Baby girl came to stay, since then he ain’t been the same.
She made the man grown with her smile and it changed the game.
Weeks in the NICU, when nothing else mattered,
but little hands squeezing hope into her dad’s finger.
It’ll be alright, and it always will be.
Charged with spoiling a princess and the verdict’s guilty.
‘cause he’s going to provide, ‘til his back’s damn near collapsed.
You’ll never need. That responsibility is on him.
Proud daddy watching his little fish swim.
Too many cookies dancing at the high school gym.
In his footsteps, watching the monster flicks and holding hands.
He loves every day, watching her artistic mind expand.
That’s Pumpkinhead, that smile and strawberry blonde locks.
Hold a spot forever in his four-chambered clock.
And he will keep her safe, but teach her to protect herself.
Respect is life, and stay Daddy’s little girl.
Verse 3:
Low probability, but blessing number two came.
XY the sun, come to shine and carry the last name.
The father’s a model, watch his behavior on exhibit.
Built the boy a foundation to follow tips because he lived it.
Sky’s the limit, but forever remember the simple minutes.
Pow pows and mimicking professional pugilism.
This small fry, loving anything with comic book ties.
Learning right from wrong by playing good guys and bad guys.
Stubbornness in his DNA and one day,
he won’t listen to a word his pops has to say.
So, now there’s still time to connect and find a way to communicate,
so decades of “been there, done that” don’t go to waste.
How to handle a bully and not to be one.
Find self and center soul, the coolest is a free one.
And strength isn’t muscle and holding tears for ransom.
He’d love it if you ask him, he’ll make you a strong man, son.
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||||
Angle Des Moines, Iowa
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