Confucius was a really smart guy and, rumor has it, he knew how to party. His keggers were legendary. He may have been in a ‘70s funk band from Ohio. Angle harnesses and rides this wave of electronic nastiness and puts his signature on the ending. “Get demonic with a session; electronic possession.”
lyrics
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
credits
from Cygnus Opus,
released June 15, 2018
Produced by the Dust Collectors.
North Carolina MC Big Pooh tells it like it is, detail for gritty detail, aided by L'Orange, Steve Roxx, and Apollo Brown. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 24, 2015
