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  • The B.O.O.K. (Ballad of Orville Knoblich)
    All lyrics written by Derek Christoff

    • Intro (Story of an Artist)
      • Intro (Story of an Artist)

        I packed my things to travel the scenes
        Like Dallas Green from ballads to screams
        With nothing but a stick and a handkerchief
        And a hand drawn map that’s inaccurate
        Not a single friend here to travel with
        They stayed home with their families to cash a cheque
        But I would rather
        Walk the line or swim the river
        Whichever Phoenix you’re a fan of
        Do I really want a million and a known face?
        Or would I rather plant the footsteps for your breaks?
        Which means a lesser known name
        I don’t know
        Do I turn at Pixie or Kurt Cobain?
        Or will I forever remain a no-name
        He tried his best but his best wasn’t ‘hmmmm’
        I know I won’t make them all throw their bones up
        I just hope they don’t laugh when I show up

    • Brian Wilson
      • Brian Wilson

        Wouldn’t it be nice if I were younger?
        Rewind a couple years and find hunger
        Now I stick another candle in the cake
        Another year without an album to my name
        All I do is sleep with a blanket on my face
        Wake up and add on to my weight
        Fuck trying to put a salad on my plate
        You can’t make friends with salad anyways
        Twelve songs could have me on the road
        And one hit could have me going gold
        Trust me
        They had me on the road
        Dad yelling ‘Los Angeles is on the phone’
        Whatever Happened to the Music was the song
        They thought would get me on a Rolling Stone
        A rant over looped Green Day guitars
        And all they needed were eleven more
        But I was bored
        The shit was too easy
        ‘I’m the motherfucking man’ is what I believed
        Listening to you was beneath me
        Big headed like Christina Ricci
        I slept and let a couple months pass me
        Whatever happened to the music’s what they asked me
        I told you I’m writing
        Chill, son
        I’ll finish it tomorrow
        I’m tired
        Time to go to bed
        Brian Wilson

        I started at the bottom and I stayed there
        Felt like I laid there for eight years
        Slept deeper than the end that I dove in
        Desmond Howell in a bathrobe, soaking
        Forgot what I wanted
        Lost the spark that I had when I started
        Burnt out
        Went from potential to false promises to gone
        I vanished into thin wind slow
        A fat guy in a ripped, little coat
        Dad died and I slipped in a coma
        I was awake, but I listened to no one
        I was distant
        I was pissed off
        I was the last living Christoff
        And I was angry with the other side of my window
        A side that I wasn’t built for
        A side that I wasn’t fit for
        Convinced I was better off indoors
        Until my pills run out and my killed buzz
        Makes me sick till I refill my script up
        My only reason to sit up
        And I’m supposed to pen songs to some kick drums
        Give me the night and I’ll finish up
        I’m tired
        Time to go to bed
        Brian Wilson

    • Ambulance
      • Ambulance


        Scumbag foams through a mouth full of plaque
        Someone press send for an ambulance
        Running on empty. Running on glass
        Someone press send for an ambulance
        Sidewalk sleeping
        Slipped through the cracks
        Mother’s back broken
        Giggles and laughs
        Children whisper
        Telephones smash
        Elephant stands for The Elephant Dance
        Elephant splashes puddles of waste
        Footsteps above him shuffle unfazed
        Swings to the tempo of the heels
        Lip corners meet lobes of his ears
        Home underneath skirts and slacks
        Not a care in the world
        Not a stare from the world
        All ‘cuz he found it quite scary in the world
        Someone press send for an ambulance
        Someone press send for an ambulance

        Hollywood star strikes pose for the flash
        Someone press send for an ambulance
        Hollywood reeks of Hollywood class
        Someone press send for an ambulance
        Hollywood speeds down Hollywood’s path
        Hollywood repeats Hollywood’s past
        Hollywood climbs up Hollywood’s vines
        Trying to get a star on Hollywood & Vine
        But Hollywood slips and Hollywood finds
        The last two letters of the Hollywood sign
        Hollywood rags print accidental death
        Accidents happen to us all, I guess
        Hollywood’s corpse cried on by us all
        Family and friends stare shocked and appalled
        While scumbag’s body lies locked in a drawer
        Someone press send for an ambulance
        Someone press send for an ambulance

    • ThisIsWhatItSoundsLikeWhenWhiteboysListen…
      • ThisIsWhatItSoundsLikeWhenWhiteboys

        My daddy said ‘pull your pants up!’
        Did Treach have to pull his pants up?
        If Treach wore his Pacos half-assed
        Fuck it!
        My family can kiss my black ass
        That’s when my Daddy’s hand raised
        And that’s when my pants met my waist
        Daddy whispered ‘I thought so!’
        ‘And don’t you forget who bought those!’
        One day I’ll buy my own pants
        And won’t be intimidated by those hands
        One day I’ll be my own man
        You ain’t so tough, old man
        You just got a couple pounds on me
        Plus a few more laps around the sun, but
        Age ain’t nothing but a number
        Consider you lucky I’m your son

        This is what it sounds like… x3
        When white boys listen to hip-hop

        I’m doing 50 in a 40
        Listening to 50 recordings
        Blasting through my factory speakers
        Stuttering my G’s
        Drumming while I steer
        Lean back like black comedians
        Reenacting how most black people drive
        This is how I roll
        When I’m in my Dad’s 85 Olds
        ‘I’m not the type to get knocked with D.W.I.…
        I’m the (——————) when the (———-) is right…’
        What up blood?
        Answering myself
        Jim Jones ring tone, answering my cell
        Whoa, you almost cut me off, bitch
        Lucky I ain’t jumping out this car, bitch
        To introduce you and your man to my palm, bitch
        You better pretend to ignore, bitch
        Fuck that!
        This bitch is getting stomped on
        Green light…
        I’m moving, fuck your car horn
        You must want the four-five
        Windows rolled up the whole time

    • Up
      • Up

        He looked up
        Stared at the sky for an answer
        A gust of wind brushed his skin
        But that wasn’t enough for him
        He wanted to look down, but started looking up again
        Kept wondering what up could bring
        If up could bring him up to the surface enough to breath
        It’s tough when the water’s above your lips
        And your nose is too stuffed to sniff
        And the waves are too rough to tread
        Arms feel heavy and legs won’t kick like Augustus Hill
        He looked up, stared at the bottom of the raindrops
        Raised his hands up under the spill
        And as the rain fell down from up
        He felt what he couldn’t looking from under the bridge
        Dumped his knapsack, flushed his pills
        Hoping shit will look up from here
        He looked up

        Is anybody up there listening?
        I could use a little help right now
        Is anybody up there listening?
        I’m on my way, on my way up

        She looked up
        Stared at the ceiling for an answer
        The phone rang, ignored again
        She was too exhausted to speak
        And tired of the old ‘gotta stay stronger’ speech
        There’s no up to a woman that’s down
        So there’s no use trying to ‘U’ up that frown
        She was given three months to breath
        Which was off by a month and a couple of weeks
        Her family saw it as a blessing
        All she saw was up, pull the plug
        She was never really one to whine
        She would just wonder why she couldn’t be up while the sun was high
        Please, put me down so I can start my climb towards up
        I know I’m too young to die, but this is not what I call being alive
        She looked up

        He looked down
        Buried his face in his painting
        His tearstains smeared the paint
        He feared this day would come
        But he was overwhelmed by the screams for up
        And it was unfair to run, but where could he go?
        He was the brick wall to some
        For the love of my son
        What the fuck have I done?

    • Kneecaps
      • Kneecaps

        I play drums on my kneecaps
        And freestyle to my feet-taps
        Big L on TV, I wanna be that
        Mind blown, like ‘man, did you just see that?’
        And I did…

        At 17 years old
        But I ain’t never smoked weed, though
        And I ain’t never seen a shotgun
        Or tried to escape from a cop’s run
        Well, I lied to my mom once
        And I stole a dollar from my pops, but
        I doubt that’s what rap fans dig
        A middle class fat kid in glasses
        Mom asking, ‘Derek, what the hell’s wrong?’
        I need a story to sell songs
        ‘Wait, let me get this call, son.
        Then we can talk about your problems.’
        She said ‘hello’ to the bad news
        Dropped the phone on her Jordache shoes
        The cancer came back and it spread quick
        Three weeks later she left, shit

        Chorus (Big Pun | B.I.G.)

        Pops on the sofa
        In front of Captain Morgan and Molsons
        His drinking used to be a joke, but
        The liquor became his focus
        Drank from morning to no sun
        Passed out, and the second he woke up
        He hit the liquor store before it opened
        On a first name basis with the owner
        Drove the car home loaded
        Thank God a cop never pulled him over
        Or he never lost control of the Oldsmo
        And killed somebody ‘cuz he wasn’t sober
        I told him, ‘Dad, you better stop with that!’
        He laughed as he twisted off a bottle cap
        His liver had enough of the drinking
        Skin started turning yellow like a Simpson
        They say he never was the same since Mom left
        The pain turned him into an alcoholic
        He drank ‘cuz he missed her
        Before I knew it he was with her, shit

        Chorus (Tupac | O.D.B.)

    • Laundry Room
      • Laundry Room

        Finished my laundry yesterday morning
        Still scattered on the floor, unfolded
        I think about picking all my clothes up
        But I don’t feel like bending over to fold them
        It seems pointless
        I’ve worn the same clothes for the past four days and I don’t want to change
        And I don’t want to bathe
        I’m like a kid again, a little kid again
        I don’t plan on leaving my apartment
        There’s nothing out there, better off locked in
        Alone, phone’s unplugged…Ignoring calls even though no one does
        Clothes untouched
        A carpet of laundry under my socked feet
        As I tiptoe to my mattress
        To seek refuge underneath my blankets

        Water leaks from a faucet
        The neighbor’s dog keeps barking
        Cars keep honking
        Stick my fingers in my ears trying to block them
        But it’s no use, I’m useless
        I’m sick of being pushed on this mood swing
        I need music, put on Rufus
        Oh, what a lovely headline – Life is Beautiful
        But I’ve yet to find it
        And I’m in no rush like Lifeson
        My pill bottle keeps getting lighter
        And my mind’s on everything inside it
        They prescribe it knowing it takes my mind off whatever my mind’s on
        That’s running my life, but
        The more it works, the more I take
        Jump from one obsession to another till I break

        All I do is sleep and think
        Think about trying to fall asleep again
        Dream about things I can be when I wake
        Wake up and think I’m in too deep to change
        I hold my piss till it burns; I hold my shit till it gives
        My stomach growls like a lion, but I’ve lost the desire to quiet it
        Body odor fills my apartment
        Pull up my blankets, blocking my nostrils
        They pound on my door, trying to get in my apartment
        Wondering if I’m alive in it
        And I wonder it myself
        I might as well stay thinking in my cell
        I’ve lost touch and I’ve never felt better
        Like a kid again…A little kid again

    • Lights Out
      • Lights Out

        It was just another morning
        Groundhog Day
        Sonny & Cher on the alarm clock radio
        He opened his eyes and stared
        At a mug only a son’s mother could love
        Mommy missed ten years of aging
        Uncut facial hair and gained weight
        Who’s to say she’d still see her baby
        If she was around to stare at that face
        He stared at it once
        Which made his thoughts escape sane
        But he kept them between his temples
        It was hard trying to control a head full of shorts
        That rolled when he didn’t want to watch them
        He was sick of the soda pop and popcorn
        But they played over and over, over and over, over and over and out
        Of his mind they’d bounce
        Allowing him to climb back in
        Until the next film started
        Which caused him to fall back down like Mike Douglas wearing black rims
        But he didn’t have swing for a bat
        He was better off quiet
        A talkie, he was better of not
        He reached for his toothbrush
        Squirted some paste on the bristles and scrubbed his teeth for a minute
        Spit, rinse, spit
        Fresh like Prince
        Wiped his mouth with a towel
        Looked at his face once more
        Saluted the boy in the mirror
        In case I don’t see you tomorrow
        Lights out

  • Let The Children Die (2009)
    All lyrics written by Derek Christoff

    • Intro (death take your fiddle)
      • Intro (death take your fiddle)

        He’s so-so and his voice annoys me
        High pitch piercing my headphones foam
        String section
        Kill the whining
        Air violins played right behind him
        Drag your sneakers
        Destroy the tread
        His songs will never form a trend
        Keep crying
        I can’t dance like a genesis single
        Whenever his record gets play-button pushed
        I need up-tempo for my feet to move
        Fuck it, that laundry room beat was cool
        But his words written showed a weakened fool
        One in a world full of them like a Bee Gees tune
        He’ll never be the toughest boxer
        And I will never tolerate the ones who lose
        No bastard ever won a war by dying
        He won it by making you succumb to wounds

    • Switzerland
      • Switzerland

        There was a blizzard in Switzerland
        Kids slipped their hands in their mittens and…
        Wrapped knitted scarves around their throats
        Boots tied tight, zipped up their coats
        Ran to the hills where sleds slid quick
        Over shoulder watching for snowballs whipped
        Cold air filled with laughter
        Screams of joy through the teeth of boys and girls
        Up to their knees in precipitation
        Struggling to lift their feet
        Cheeks redder than tomato skins
        Boot prints and snow angel wings
        Not a frown on a face where the child-r-en
        Play…Pour some tea for the Tiller man
        There was a blizzard in Switzerland
        Please, God, never let this winter end…

        They wonder why the kids wont stand for
        Their silly ass rap songs
        They wonder why the kids won’t clap for
        Their silly ass rap songs
        They should have stayed Switzerland (x3)
        They never should have left that place like…
        Going, going, gone

        There was a blizzard in Switzerland
        Kids sat staring out their windows with
        Grins wider than their lips have stretched
        Ignoring yells from their parents to ‘get to bed!’
        They were too excited to sleep
        And what child could keep both eyelids sealed
        While snowflakes covered sidewalks and streets
        Automobiles, parks and fields
        The whole world around them was buried in snow
        How could they climb in bed, lay there and snore?
        While a brand new playground waited outdoors
        A playground they waited ages for
        There was a blizzard in Switzerland
        Please, God, never let this winter end…

    • Let The Children Die
      • Let The Children Die

        You spit for the streets to appeal to the planets
        In a different world like Kadeem and Jasmine
        You’re a child in his mom’s arms, dreaming
        He was hard like ‘U Mean I’m Not’
        Playing Dres with his egg yolk broken
        Head soaked in a sweat so cold
        That his pillowcase froze. Flipped it and sulked
        Wishing for a trigger to pull
        To emulate Larenz Tate’s surveillance tape
        Out of South Central LA
        I feel sorry for your mother
        Trust me, you’re not built for it, kid
        Ears here nothing. Listens with his eyes
        Parents feel faint. Siblings cry
        Thought they could reach him on their millionth try
        It is what it is…
        Let the children die

        It is what it is…
        Let the children die.

        You speak for the streets with your feet on the carpet
        Toenails covered with polish and a sock
        Never stepped foot on the ground that you talk of
        Represent hard with your front door locked
        Rag rocking with a forehead knot
        Fake chain supporting a golden cross
        Far from core hard stands beside
        Not the life your stanzas describe
        Never been under the light filled skies
        Gunshot sparks, cop car sirens
        You’re not a killer, you’re a sound-alike
        The Brandon Flowers type
        Eyes see nothing. Living through lies
        Kids worship every word in your rhymes
        Saying what it takes for a million buys
        It is what it is…
        Let the children die.

    • Nobody With A Notepad
      • Nobody With A Notepad

        I’ve spent many moons with my head on a pillowcase
        Retinas to the ceiling, John Lennon dreaming
        John Lennon jealous of the dreamers that achieved it
        I’m better off John Lennon, bed-in, sleep-in
        I John Lennon don’t believe in Jesus
        But I’m running out of people I can speak with
        I was never one to get on kneecaps, elbows on my mattress
        Both palms pressed below the whiskers on my glass chin
        I don’t give a shit if Kanye said it
        Or Rhymefest wrote it
        Or whoever gets the credit
        Nobody walked for me except my dad and my mama’s legs
        And both of them are missing from my holidays
        Pardon my Francais, f**k your pumpkin pie
        All I need is a notepad, opened wide
        And a sharpened pencil for my thoughts
        To jot you a letter from my heart
        A nobody with a notepad

        I’m just a nobody with a notepad
        Forever standing in the shadows of my old man

        Red pen pressed against the pages
        Leaving ink stain trails as I pen my pain
        Instruments speak through my speakers
        Influencing the pictures my right fingers paint
        Self-portraits exposing my flaws and traits
        And face an uphill crawl for props and praise
        Cuz I’d rather draw than trace, R. Crumb
        I keep on trucking; feet keep running at Usain Bolt speeds
        Pen bleeds to the rhythm
        Chest pounding before I rip through the ribbon
        Kill the kick to the snare
        Fists hit the air
        Now hit me with your “o’s” like we’re Living On A Prayer
        Take my hand; we’ll make it, I swear
        Solemnly so
        I got me my notepad and a sharpened pencil
        For my thoughts to jot you a letter from my heart
        A nobody with a notepad

    • Father
      • Father

        Daddy look down, never look stray
        Daddy I need you
        Never look away…

        I ran every red light
        Ignored every horn
        Slowed down for no one
        Broke every rule of the road
        I knew something was wrong
        When you wouldn’t answer the phone
        Or return my calls
        I drove up Dufferin from my apartment on King
        Toes never touched the break
        Car racing
        Heart racing
        Thoughts racing
        With no time to slow down
        Made a right on Hopewell Avenue
        Too concerned to be mad at you
        And you’d always say
        You worry too much, my son
        But you were all that I worried about
        Prayed you were on the porch smiling at my arrival
        Turned off the ringer when I tried to dial you
        My son, you worry too much
        But I was too worried I’d never have to worry again
        Saw a cop car parked beside our lawn
        Cop walked out the house when my car I parked
        Put her hand on my shoulder
        I’m so sorry
        Your father’s no longer

        Do me a favor
        And play me that song you recorded at Orin’s yesterday morning
        Orville Redden, or whatever you called it
        You know the one that I’m talking about
        And play it loud
        I don’t know a thing about rap
        But I know that I like this
        Or maybe it’s because I’m your father
        Bias opinion
        Shhhh… Let me listen
        What the hell is a Knoblich?
        What’s wrong with Christoff?
        Sounds much better than Knoblich!
        This song’s about an Ostrich?
        I never would have figured that out
        And what’s this obsession with ostriches?
        You write a song about a Bird before your old man?
        I’m kidding!
        I can’t wait to hear this finished
        Please play it for me one more time
        And turn it up

        I’d watch him tap the toes of his moccasins
        Chin nodding to the beat
        Fingertips tapping on the armrest
        Listening to my songs on repeat
        Was his way of saying
        ‘That’s my boy’ from the bleachers
        And now I sing a song about him
        A song about being here without him
        I promise I’ll play it loud
        Loud enough to hear above the clouds

    • Back Then
      • Back Then

        Forehead drenched
        Sweat pouring off me
        Schweatty balls soaking my exhaust jeans
        Spitting verses into pantyhose, pulled over hangers
        Absorbing my hard P’s
        In a closet, with egg cartons tacked on the wall
        It’s a crime that they charged me
        Twenty dollars an hour to record raps
        We spent more time rewinding the four track
        I was just a young boy back then
        Making Big Macs after school till half ten
        Writing rhymes on a napkin with a black pen
        Then rap them into the spatula’s flat end
        A dreamer sleeping on the job
        A rap star smelling like grilled beef and condiments
        Special sauce on an all sesame seed…
        Ah, naah…Forget it
        I’m sure you get the portrait painted
        Underpaid and overworked
        Ignoring homework, I’ll finish it tomorrow morning
        Tonight, I’m a slip this Maxell in my Walkman
        And transcribe songs I dubbed off some college station I raced home to listen to
        A devoted listener like Ralphie in A Christmas Story
        Sitting in his living room listening to Little Orphan Annie
        Or in bathroom with the door closed
        On the toilet, playing with his decoder ring
        Drink Ovaltine
        All I needed was a poem and beat to get the whole scene to notice me
        I recorded what I thought was heat
        But what I thought was far from the response I got
        No props or multi-million dollar deal
        No offers for a live appearance
        No females throwing bras and g-strings
        Or kids with sharpies wanting me to scribble ‘D’ on their t’s and cd’s
        Convinced ‘Lost Sight’ was a banger
        Fuck the drawing board; I’m the illest in Canada
        I was just a young boy back then
        Thinking I could make an impact in the rap game
        Even though I had no chance in the fast lane
        Damn, it all made sense
        Back then…

    • Song2Sing
      • Song2Sing

        White flag raising
        I give up
        Take me home
        I wasn’t made for this. This place made me hate
        It made me make believe
        I’d get paid to be the man I thought I was made to be
        I made me make me hate
        Made me take the pain buried inside me and made a tape
        Taped a ‘play me’ sign on the tape’s case and mailed it
        To the airwaves to play it
        I waited patiently. Prayed and paced and prayed more
        And stared at my radio’s face plate and swore
        Every time a song that I didn’t record came on
        On the radio
        All this waiting’s making me go crazy
        Blaming waiting’s only making me sane
        Somebody pinch my nipple and wake me
        Take me home
        I give up
        Give me a white flag to raise and I’m gone

        We all got a song to sing so sing along on the count of three .x2
        We all got a song to sing, so sing along…

        I’m awake and wasting days daily
        Chasing change in an apron with my name printed
        On a label made with a label maker
        Then stuck on the nametag pinned on my left tit
        And even though my name is facing you
        I still remain nameless like Jacob’s rap name is
        Every painkiller I take
        Fails to kill the pain killing me in me when I wake up and split the drapes
        Wishing today was a day off
        From my low paying job
        So I can spend the whole day on my sofa complaining ‘bout my low pay
        Meant to support me till my old age
        When I’m broke, old and gray
        Alone, broken, frail
        Closer to the day when these old bones are buried
        Deeper than Tone Loc’s tone
        Let’s get it over with
        Dig a hole
        Get me some nice clothes to wear and I’m gone

    • Riot I Caused
      • Riot I Caused

        Ladies and Gentlemen
        There was a riot I caused
        Flame filled night
        Brought fire to the dark
        Footsteps racing
        Climbing over walls
        Barb Wire cuts
        Blood cried from their scars
        Phones dialed nine double one calls
        5-0 tried to respond
        But the riot they watched
        Was not what a siren resolved
        They wondered what inspired them to all…
        Take a bite from the cob of that Malachi Corn
        Tried to find out like a Classified song
        But the evidence lacked
        So they stepped back
        Instead of stepping in
        Weapons they gripped
        But not a weapon was drawn
        Prayed that the ending wasn’t far
        But the ending was far from an end
        Riot incited
        The second they spun this record on for the riot I caused…

        There was a riot I caused
        Violence erupted
        Fight for the cause
        Scared stood mannequin
        Crying to the lord
        Please, God, try to make it stop
        Try to make it stop…
        There was a riot I caused
        Preach went silent
        Choir went pause
        Weak went mannequin
        Crying to the lord
        Please, God, try to make it stop
        Try to make it stop

    • I See
      • I See

        Before I came
        To carve my name
        Bomb my tag
        On walls and trains
        My back was against the walls I’d spray
        Against all odds like Collins sang
        Pac-like trapped in a darkened cave
        Where rodents crawl and cobwebs hang
        Conversate with a volleyball…palm-drawn on face
        Like Thomas Hanks
        Found my calling, found my faith
        Tip and Phife Dawg…Found my way
        Knotted my laces hard and came…
        Back to say goodbye, Colin James
        To the so cliché, so cliché
        So been done before
        So Steven Page
        So recycled
        So T-Pain
        Flow so dope
        Oh, so he claims
        I see…

    • Questions
      • Questions

        Are you gonna run, walk, march, crawl
        Tip toe, stomp, float, fall
        Swim, drown, listen, ignore
        Follow, or figure out what you’re in it for
        Suffocate, breathe, runaway with ease
        Watch all the rips in your toughest skin bleed
        Fight till you win, deny what you think
        Regret your denial while you cry like a bitch
        Fuck till you cum or suck it in until
        Their half of the one’s satisfied with the run
        Believe what you read or recite your beliefs
        Confront the nightstick or hide from police
        Kill the unborn; admit you’re too young
        Or bring it more harm as an immature mom
        Try to escape when your body finds harm
        Or work double time like Rick Allen’s right arm
        Pray to a god, or worship the false
        Encouraging the lost, giving birth to a cult
        Live by the media and worship the false
        Encouraging the lost, giving birth to a cult
        Stand where you live, deny where you sleep
        Honesty through your eyes or lies through your teeth
        Cry for attention and slice it across
        Or slit up and down and finish what you start
        Fuck criticism while you bitch from afar
        Like ‘that should have been me!’
        There’s a reason why it’s not
        You stayed in your shell and protected yourself
        While the brave came to melt in the flames of this hell
        Cut against grains, defacing their health
        While you made it safe to your grave in a cell
        Womb to the casket and never exist
        Or pussy to the bathtub
        Legacy lives…

    • Glorious
    • Bees With You
      • Bees With You

        Take my hand and hold it tight
        Never let it go
        Fly with me through outer space
        Above the world below
        Far away where we can be together
        You and me together here forever
        I just want to be the one who bees with…
        Rain will never soak your socks
        Clouds will never grey
        Wintertime won’t make your nose cold and run away
        Far away where we can be together
        You and me together here forever
        I just want to be the one who bees with you

    • Mr. Daydream
      • Mr. Daydream

        It felt so real…
        I heard my wake up call
        Seven am
        It’s too early to wake up, mom
        Please, let me lay here longer
        Seven-ten, the call turned into yells
        I’m up
        Bed-head, yawning zombie
        Kissed my mom good morning
        The cereal’s soggy
        That’s what you get for stalling
        She mocks me
        It was fine ten minutes ago
        Mom slips into her coat
        Nine to five leaving
        Kiss goodbye, she says…
        I love you
        I love you more
        Straight home after school to record on the VCR
        The Y&R
        All right, I’m off
        There’s ham in the fridge, don’t buy your lunch
        She closes the door behind her
        Then I wake up and realize this whole time I’ve been dreaming

        It felt so real…
        Time for the wake up call
        Seven pm
        It’s time to wake up, pop
        I’d hop on the bed beside him
        And shake him to wide awake
        It must be nice
        I get to drive all night in the cold
        While you and your mom stay inside and snore
        In the warm I provide
        Dad, stop whining
        Rise and shine
        I sit on the toilet seat
        And watch him shave whiskers off his cheeks
        After shave on
        Deodorant on
        Uniform on
        Boots, and he’s gone
        Kiss me and my mom goodnight
        I love you both
        We love you more
        He closes the door behind him
        Then I wake up and realize this whole time I’ve been dreaming
        It felt so real…
        Listening to Cypress Hill
        Back seat in the Oldsmobile
        Dad was driving
        Mom in the passenger’s side, and…
        I was in the back with my Walkman on
        Mom, please put this album on?
        But Dad wasn’t having Hip-Hop in the car
        That’s what I bought you a Walkman for
        So I don’t have to listen to that awful noise
        He winks in the rear view
        I pretend I don’t see him, but he knew
        I stare at the road in front of me
        On this trek home from Sudbury
        Doze off
        Forehead comfortably
        Against the window
        Wake me when we get home
        We pull up in the driveway
        I want to wake
        Please don’t tell me I’m dreaming

    • High School Cool
      • High School Cool

        Fake it till you make it, right?
        Tammy Faye Baker, makeup caked on type
        Face…Rainbow Bright
        Blush covers, but paint wont hide
        We all see through you like a bagel slice
        Carrot Top, prop comic, filled with gimmickry
        Good for a giggle, Weird Al mimicking
        You deliver no dinner to the table
        You’re a condiment
        A stick of margarine
        Big shot, cloud nine when your record spins
        Fifteen minutes, meet ‘Mr. Remember him?’
        Remember when my record generated sales?
        You’re High School cool, loser after grade twelve
        Peers forgot you
        More like, ‘forgot who?’
        Ten-year reunion, squeeze in that prom suit
        Fool’s Gold
        Flea Market jewellery
        Whenever you spit that tomfoolery
        All I hear is…

    • The Stars
      • The Stars

        Wiping my sweaty forehead with my Play Dead short sleeve
        I feel like puking, chin on the toilet seat
        Trying to put words to the loops
        I was given by producers to spew on, truth is
        I haven’t written one verse since ‘Hi’
        Yet I lie when I tell them I’m finishing the third one
        Then get ‘em amped up. Tell ‘em it’s a classic
        Tell ‘em it’s an anthem. Tell ‘em it’s grands in the bank
        Then I hang up. Disgusted
        With what I just said
        Though I’ve said it for the past seven years
        That, plus the record’s almost ready
        A few weeks away from it’s pressing
        I couldn’t get it right. Feel like I still can’t
        Never satisfied. Shit, I feel like Mick Jagger lines
        I guess dad was right
        I should have listened when he said the music business is one in a million
        And I’m not one
        I’m not what I thought I’d become. The opposite
        Far from what I thought I’d achieve by now
        Twenty-six and penniless
        Listening to beats, trying to write down whatever fits
        As if it still counts. I’m out of chances
        Seen the train pass waving handkerchiefs at me
        And I chased it yelling ‘wait!’
        But I let it get away and replace me
        With some other pen pushing self-proclaimed
        Greatest thing to happen to the game since the last greatest thing came and went
        And it left me thinking I can be him
        I really believed it, and I came close
        But I ain’t throwing grenades or horse shoes
        I’m selling music to young kids and college students
        Where close means failure
        And failure means minimum wage and I told you so’s till they’re digging my grave
        But Billy Bob Thornton blew up in his forties
        I better start working on my Slingblade

        And if his mother could have seen him
        Singing to the millions of children singing back
        She would have told him…
        I’d never believe it. Go get ‘em, sweetheart. Never stop reaching for the stars

    • Die In Amsterdam
      • Die In Amsterdam

        A story never told
        A page never read
        A pen in a cap with ink never pressed
        On a page in a pad with nothing on its sheets but blank
        Waiting to be stained
        Waiting for the paint
        Waiting for the blues
        Waiting for the pain
        Waiting for the bruises to abuse it
        We’re all two steps closer to the mile
        That can only be walked in our shoes if we choose it…

        I don’t want to say goodbye tonight
        Or cry while I’m going down
        I don’t want to die in Amsterdam
        So leave me on the ground
        And you wont hear me crying
        Falling from the clouds
        Hands pressed on my window
        Leave me on the ground (I don’t want to say goodbye tonight)
        Leave me on the ground (I don’t want to say goodbye tonight)
        Leave me on the ground

        I can still hear the clicking of the belts
        The bell from the sign telling me to buckle up for the remainder of the ride
        The laughs trying to cover up the screaming inside
        The silence of the scared
        Flying through the air
        Every drop and bump
        Every f**king sound
        Every second spent above the ground
        Could this be my story never told?
        My page never read
        Or will the grass be underneath my two feet again?

    • The Superbowl Is Over
      • The Superbowl Is Over
        Not a cookie was touched
        The milk sat warm
        Not a sip less from the serving I poured
        Last night like Julian’s chorus
        I feel left out
        My girlfriend, she won’t understand
        Looked under the tree
        The bark looked thinner than an Olsen twin
        No box gift-wrapped for my fingers to grip
        Rip open, then hold up grinning
        Just what I needed, but, what I needed
        Was not beneath that pine tree I dressed in
        Balls and tinsel, bright lights like Gizmo
        My stocking hung flat against a thin wall
        Why did he skip over my shingles?
        I was no Sean Combs like Craig Mack
        Never had my written Christmas list sent back
        I guess
        Another day, another bad start
        Another sad song

        Now I got me a record to record and a throat infection
        A broken typewriter and a loaded weapon
        Down by four in the closing seconds
        Hail Mary thrown
        The Superbowl is over… (x4)

        Not a call from my pals or my family
        No singing left on my answering machine
        Not a single invitation to a restaurant
        No surprise party where I’m the guest of honor
        No colorful cones with elastic chin straps
        No ‘sincerely yours’ on a greeting card
        No friends sneaking in the kitchen
        To remove a baked cake from the fridge
        And stick it with candles repping each year I’ve been living
        Light’em with a Bic then bring it with some off key singing
        Inserting my name in the lyrics
        Close both eyes, make a wish, blow the flame off the wick
        Fuck, not even a lit cigarette stuck inside the center of a muffin
        Another day, another bad start
        Another sad song

  • Jonestown (2010)
    All lyrics written by Derek Christoff

    • In The Jungle
      • In The Jungle

        Broken glass everywhere
        Blood puddles under broken chairs
        My riot, rush the pulpit
        While the garbage dive under carpets
        We’re going to the stars, kid
        Believers never die…Cobra Starship
        Ian Curtis
        Kurt to Cobain
        My quotes bang, yours cannot hang
        I got my Zevon on
        Ever since I tatted that Z on my arm
        I’m on my way to Venus, pop
        Like E. John sang in that Levon song
        The Poor just drink and sulk
        And me, I just don’t care at all
        Maybe the sun will rise tomorrow
        But sun won’t shine forever
        So until then…

        You know where you are?
        You’re in the jungle, baby!
        And you’re gonna die!
        Ha Ha Ha Ha! …x2

        I dance to the beat
        Shuffle my feet
        Wear a shirt and tie and run with the creeps
        It’s all about the money, ain’t a damn thing funny
        Don’t laugh at the colors on my canvas, dummy
        You don’t want to run into Manson
        Trust me
        I’m from another planet, Cudi
        So dope-boy, Wes, Mannie Fresh, Doug-E
        Lights out
        Lost in the land of the ugly
        Clint Howard
        Man in the Mirror
        Make ‘em…Make ‘em clap
        Hands up to the ceiling
        Speedwagon, can’t fight this feeling
        Forgot what I started fighting for to begin with
        The poor just drink and sulk
        And me, I just don’t care at all
        Maybe the sun will rise tomorrow
        But sun won’t shine forever
        So until then…

    • West Coast
      • West Coast

        I stuffed my clothes in a Samsonite
        Lloyd Christmas underneath the Aspen Sky
        Puckered up for my last goodnight
        Kiss - Kiss on the lips with the land that I
        Figured I’d be buried in a casket nine
        Upside down feet deep for my sad goodbye
        Don’t cry - Dry your eye
        Time for a change
        Time to escape
        Running through the rain like Andy Dufresne
        Following my nose
        Forgot what stands behind
        I came to the fork in the road
        And traveled up the plastic knife
        Cut through the jungle like a samurai
        Paintbrush ready for the canvas
        Singing my song
        Give my regards to Broadway
        Baby, I’m going back home

        And I miss you
        I’m going back home to the West coast (x4)

        I’ve traveled every highway like a ‘My Way’ line
        Tightrope walking on highway lines
        Seeing nothing but road and highway signs
        One sign away from my guiding light
        In a caravan seat
        A one-man circus on the search for the Aceriman Dream
        Poisoned thoughts
        Something to believe in and I don’t mean a Poison song
        I talk something I can feel
        Something I can see
        Something I can breathe
        Something I can be
        Leave (lieve) in the morning, back when the sun sleeps
        Birds eye view to underground like Bun B
        Leaving forever
        One step closer
        One sign away from my guiding light
        Singing my song
        Give my regards to Broadway
        Baby, I’m going back home

    • One Way Ticket
      • One Way Ticket

        Lit up a cigarette and inhaled
        Figured it was my time to convince hell
        I was freezing and needed some of its help
        To survive under snow and thick hale
        Quivering chapped lips cracked, skin pale
        I’m shivering and can’t sit still
        Going insane in this prison cell
        I don’t want to read books and lift L…
        BS’s till my limbs swell
        I’m weak, built frail
        No strength, biceps – thin rails
        My whole life’s been the same bullshit tale
        One coin, call heads, flip tails
        A man with a pseudonym misspelled
        And denim ripped from sitting on the fence rail
        But I can preach till my lips swell
        Help me
        I need a one way ticket to Jonestown

        I need a one-way ticket to Jonestown

        Filled up the bathtub and stepped in
        The heat from the water made my sweat drip
        Back to the wall, head rested against it
        A hot bath has always been my best friend
        I guess I tend to think better with wet skin
        You get what I meant, kid
        Mind out the gutter
        Focus on the ten pins
        Anxiety sets in
        I can’t breath and my chest feels pressed in
        Heart beats at a higher BPM than…
        Done it
        I’m on the road for the next best thing
        I’m an adult now, no time for test spins
        Do I keep on performing while techs spin?
        Or do I mix bathwater with red drips from my left wrist
        And rest in peace
        Both tempting
        I need a one way ticket to Jonestown

    • Around The World
      • Around The World

        I’m feeling something-something underneath my sneakers, so…
        Around the world
        Around the world
        I’m screaming louder now that I can see what I was feeling, so…
        Around the world
        Around the world

        A boy in a box is a boy with a problem
        Born with a strong gripped palm on a glock
        Boy, did he pop those boys running hard
        To avoid being targeted
        Boy, did they drop
        Boy, did the boy ignore the remorse
        Most boys come across when the loaded is shot
        Towards other boys that bothered the boy
        Boys picked on the wrong boy to assault
        Now the boys sleep with their faces on concrete
        Concrete Jungle meet the Jungle Boy
        Boy, did the police tackle the boy
        Even though boy sat not making a noise
        Why would the boy escape?
        A race would only make his situation crazy
        Some say the boy needed saving
        Some say the boy was trying to save himself

    • Ken Park
      • Ken Park

        Press record
        Oi oi…
        You sing in harmony
        I’d rather Harmony Korine
        Lamar Vannoy
        Oi oi…
        Headphones on, heads blown off
        Ken Park…
        Heartbreak anthems…Funeral ballads
        Brass band following you in a casket
        Roses tossed, soaking tissues
        Voices whisper ‘I miss you’
        Voices whisper ‘I heard he was in too deep’
        Couldn’t wake up out of his induced sleep
        Buried in his prom suit, he was so young
        Kept lines hidden we’d ‘read between the’
        Picket signs lifted, we would have seen him
        But not a word written on a single piece of
        D-Sisive’s rhyming again
        While aiming a nine at my brain

        Chorus: cuts.

        Press record
        Oi oi…
        You live in harmony
        I’d rather Harmony Korine
        Lamar Vannoy
        Oi oi…
        Headphones on, heads blown off
        Ken Park…
        I sing to the sky, serenade stars
        Spit sick till they carry then bury my corpse
        The reincarnation of Jim
        Grin in the faces of sin
        Pray for the songs that I pen
        Pray for the generation my pain influences
        (is) Anybody out there listening?
        I miss you, but I don’t want to miss a thing
        I wish I could kill what I think I am
        But I live for the flowers and whispering
        So silence
        D-Sisive’s rhyming again
        While aiming a nine at my brain

    • 1974
      • 1974

        Today I dropped a hundred on a Frank Sinatra box set
        Sat on my bed, cross legged
        And listened to disc two
        Frank’s April eighth Carnegie Hall set
        From 1974
        The audience applauded over every note his orchestra closed with
        Cole Porter, thank you
        New Yorkers worshipped the Hoboken boy that crooned before them
        Correction, most of the globe did
        In 87 I was 7 and was spending every Sunday…
        Night with my father, watching Al Bundy
        Not the most sophisticated gags
        I still laughed at what I didn’t get, copying my dad
        It’s kind of sad, but I knew that theme song
        Better than I knew the Canadian National Anthem
        Francis Albert – One | Robert Stanley – Zip
        Those morning classroom recitals can’t help you, kid
        “Who’s that singing Love and Marriage”
        Daddy answered “Old’ Blue eyes…The Chairman”
        Never heard of him | Quite the set of nicknames
        How come you don’t own a single Frank cassette tape?
        Because he sucks, son, not my cup of Earl Grey
        My dad preferred Mellencamp while his records played
        Whatever you say…You’re the boss, pop
        From then on, my eyes rolled whenever Sinatra was brought up
        And John Cougar got the head nod like “Fuck Yeah!”
        Flip the side, son
        Coming right up, dad
        I would play the air guitar to Cherry Bomb
        Ain’t that America
        My friend’s would ask, “Who the fuck is Mellencamp?”
        Who the fuck is Mellencamp? Who the fuck is you?
        My friends would laugh
        Middle fingers at me
        Walk away and start singing Rick Astley
        In Indiana that shit would get you beat up
        Pulled my Zellers jeans up, rolled my T-Shirt sleeves up
        I’d grab a magic marker off of my desk
        And try to draw a smoking woodpecker on my bicep
        Put on my headphones, humming Jack and Diane
        Holding on to 16 and wasn’t even nine yet
        I memorized every single line said
        But didn’t understand what any of his lines meant
        Now the question is
        Did I like him for his music and his messages?
        Or did I like him ‘cuz my Daddy was impressed with him
        Was The Lonesome Jubilee cassette a waste of an X-Mas gift?
        And was I wrong
        For giving Mellencamp a right on | And Sinatra…Write off
        Or was I young?
        Too young to have a mind of my own
        Today I dropped a hundred on a Frank Sinatra box set
        Sat on my bed, cross legged
        And listened to disc two
        Frank’s April eighth Carnegie Hall set
        From 1974
        The audience applauded over every note his orchestra closed with
        Cole Porter, thank you
        New Yorkers worshipped the Hoboken boy that crooned before them
        Correction, most of the globe did

        Boom Baba Boom

        I got a nine in my pocket
        I’m lying
        I got a rhyme in my noggin and, baby; I’m just dying to vomit
        Like Lard-Ass Hogan at a pie-eating contest
        Boom Baba Boom
        Boom Baba Boom
        Mic to my lips like Mike on my sneaker tongue
        You’ll never fly, stop pressing on your sneaker pump
        Emcee murder ‘round the clock like Kiefer Suth…
        Till I hear the Grim Reaper cuss
        Fuck, D, Enough
        What a cry baby…So Hatchet Face
        I got the juice now…You catch de taste
        And I ain’t in a rush to leave to slap de bass
        Boom Baba Boom
        Boom Baba Boom
        He told me that my sentences spewed
        Will never get respect from the youth
        Bending the truth…Wanting to pretend that it’s true
        Like Chris Wallace watching the ending of Juice
        Get it? No? Forget it. So…
        How ‘bout that Kanye?

        Wait a second, no
        You’ve never seen Juice starring Tupac Shakur?
        And Pac’s dropped off the top of an apartment floor
        B.I.G.’s real name is Chris Wallace, now
        And Biggie Smalls and Tupac had a falling out
        So when Pac dies that makes Biggie Smalls smile
        And that would have to be before Tupac’s demise
        And after Pac got shot in Quad’s lobby
        Then blamed Wallace for setting him up for the robbery
        So what I meant was…wait, I’m confused
        Boom Baba Boom
        Boom Baba Boom
        I ain’t buying what you’re selling so save your pitch
        I’m not eight so save the Criss Angel tricks
        David Blaine never levitated, dear
        And Copperfield never made a thing disappear
        And Roy Horn’s tiger ripped his face to pieces
        So you ain’t got shit up those sleeves, kid
        You ain’t got a nine in your pocket, you lying
        No rhymes in your noggin, so don’t waste my time trying to vomit
        Like Lard-Ass Hogan at a pie-eating contest
        Boom Baba Boom

    • Believe
      • Believe

        It’s time to believe in something
        Preach to the weak and hungry
        Speak to these evil beats that beat out these speakers pumping
        Rattling bones six feet below
        To the souls that are free above me
        Time to believe in something
        Speak to the meek and ugly
        I’m here to love the
        With arms wide open, hug me
        It’s time to believe in something
        Elbows touch, never run behind me
        Forward march, never duck like Flying V
        The mighty giant’s eyelids
        Are opening wider
        Time to rise
        Fry the bacon, crack the eggshells
        Send the paint drips back to bed
        Hell wasn’t hot enough for the Reverend Christoff
        Front door kicked in, hinges ripped off

        This ain’t a cry for attention
        No, this ain’t a tear for a hug
        This ain’t a plea for affection
        I’ve already received your love
        It’s time to believe in something
        It’s time to believe in me

        It’s time to believe in something
        The blood that I bleed is boiling
        Heart pumps fire – Heart pumps flames
        Every heartbeat scars my veins
        Jerry Garcia – Large heart pumps pain
        I started with baby steps
        Throwing stones at machines I would rage against
        They would knee slap laugh at my lame attempts
        Machine Guns aimed at my bayonet
        I would train, swallow the pain and sweat
        Wax on, wax off…Paint the fence
        Daniel son crane with my weight on left
        Aim my left foot at your face and neck
        Fight till my name was a main event
        Fight till my sane went insane instead
        A razor lying on a tongue
        Waiting for an Adam’s – New York nickname to press

        It’s time to believe in something
        I’d rather believe in nothing than one thing
        To dump all my trust in
        It’s time to believe in something
        It’s time to believe in me

    • They Got Guns
      • They Got Guns

        If I said it on a record
        I meant it
        Step right up and test it
        Now you fucked up
        Heads spin when I step in the cipher
        Heads sweat
        LV serenading Pfeiffer
        Heads remain under what I’m writing
        Rhymes go over new era’s when the lightning strikes
        Light bulb on
        The boss
        Michael Scott
        You slingshot, I’m Spector on an opus
        45 magnum
        Selleck in a holster
        Jeff Goldblum
        No Reference
        I just wanted to say Jeff Goldblum
        Cuz I can and still sound so cool
        Superman Lover
        Noble in a phone booth
        I maul tunes by smashing sixteens
        Like Keith Murray with a barstool

    • The Elephant Dance
      • The Elephant Dance

        Broken telephone, yelling at the tone
        We sleep sweet, jealous when we don’t
        Dreams sell us what we’ll never own
        Yet we still choose to never let them go
        Never let them slip
        Never let them fall
        Never close
        Never will I fold
        Never bury hope seven steps below
        I’d rather croak than settle for
        A silver medal, second isn’t gold
        Second’s better off never born
        Manute Bol on the pedestal
        I’m an open book, stenciled on the wall
        Never judge a book ‘cuz I read ‘em all
        A love-me-not pedal plucked and thrown
        Dancing elephants prancing to my song

        There’s a town there
        Underground there
        The devil’s coming for you

        Broken telephone, yelling at the tone
        We sleep sweet, jealous when we don’t
        Dreams sell us what we’ll never own
        Emcees weep, jealous of my poems
        Questioning my throne, jealous of my Jones
        Reign keeps falling on their skulls
        Weathering the storm, umbrellas never close
        They try to fight, but they’re all
        Pissing in the wind
        Pellets at a stone
        You could have ran, but the levee’s broke
        You should have swam, but you never stroked
        Woulda, coulda, shoulda
        Now you’ll never know
        What it’s like to smell the petal of a rose
        A love-me-not petal plucked and thrown
        Dancing elephants prancing to my song

    • The Truth Is
      • The Truth Is

        You see the truth is
        There’s no truth, all bullshit
        And that’s the truth, kids
        Full clip
        Big L…Rest in peace
        Beat drops
        Beat loops eight bars, emcee starts
        Like, index pointed at my temple
        Trigger finger itchy, pull back, head explodes
        Blood paints Pollock on my white wall
        Paramedic nauseous when he turns the light on
        And sees me lifeless, pool blood snorkeling
        Never rise up, Parachute Club
        He was clever, but his content was morbid
        Songs never topped any charts
        That’s what Will-I-Am and his Pras’ are for
        If you wanna moonwalk don’t knock on my door
        I don’t write Pauly Shore scripts
        So think before you open those Pauly Shore lips
        You’re an Ernest P. Worrell flick
        Did you get that, Vern?
        Of course you did
        The moral of my story is
        Let’s drop the radio where the faucet drips
        Drink cyanide with a tropical mix
        Reverend Jones wants us to swallow it
        Down your esophagus
        Nodding off
        Time to crossover to the darkness, kids
        And I ain’t Rick James-ing on Charlie’s skin
        Before Wes Snipes made Hollywood films
        We’re coming to the darkness, Jim
        Welcome us with open arms
        My feet hurt, that road was long
        I could use a drink, my throat is parched
        Au revoir

  • Vaudeville (2010)
    All lyrics written by Derek Christoff

    • Vaudeville (Friends Forever)
      • Vaudeville (Friends Forever)

        Good morning.
        Good afternoon.
        Good evening.
        I welcome you to Vaudeville
        I hope we’ll be friends. Hope we’ll be friends forever
        So take my hand and walk along
        This garden I planted on my own
        And promise me we’ll be friends. Oh, we’ll be friends forever
        ‘Cuz all my life I’ve waited for
        This day to arrive, and here we are
        I hope we’ll be friends. Hope we’ll be friends forever…

        I woke up in a new bed under new sheets
        With a new head and a new voice
        Telling me what I’ve been doing’s no longer new now, and it knew best
        It was time to bid adieu to what I do best
        And if I go to the dance with what I’ve done, I’d be on two lefts like Gosselin
        So I two-stepped to the cleaners and got my suit pressed
        My shoes shined. My toupee combed
        Hit the studio, loosened my tie and got my Buble on
        Enthusiasm…Cool de la
        David Foster on the keys
        Andy Kaufman, Carnegie Hall
        Now everybody please…

    • The Riot Song
      • The Riot Song

        I heard gunshots
        I heard sirens
        I heard screaming
        I saw violence
        Now I’m rhyming in front of a riot (riot) .x2.
        I know that you want one
        And I’m ready to start one
        I know that you want one
        And I’m ready to start one
        Now I’m rhyming in front of a riot (riot) .x2.

        It’s Britney, bitch…
        Triple six mafia hypnotist
        Glen Danzig on some Misfits shit
        With two fully loaded pistols gripped
        In a Stereos Tee
        Making your stereos bleed
        Like Kubrick’s elevator scene
        I’m not an emcee, I’m a gangster
        Nah, I’m an emcee…you’re an amateur
        With weak excuses
        Stick to catchphrases on t-shirts, stupid
        And once the beats are looping
        I am not one to screw with
        So you should be reminded
        That I was flames when you were having diapers changed
        So don’t throw stones at D-Sisive’s name
        I’m one of the greatest, and I got the right say it…

        I’m one of the greatest, and I got the right to say it
        In case you weren’t paying attention
        On that note, my flow’s that cold
        MC Hammer…My quotes bash skulls
        Don’t make me slap that jaw
        Robert Van Winkle…Having that roni
        You ain’t even half me, homey
        You tap out like Rampage Jackson’s clothing
        I’m BA Baracus milk
        Pavlov’s Dog…Attack and kill
        The second these ears here the vinyl spin
        A life’s gon’ end, my eyes go red
        Benicio Del as Lawrence Talbot
        Howling when my album’s out
        A one man riot with a mic in fist
        Fuck Britney, it’s D-Sisive, bitch…

    • Shotgun Wedding
      • Shotgun Wedding

        Please, don’t hold me back
        I’m ready to begin so move
        Alice, don’t stop me now
        Pow…I’m flying to the moon
        I’m a man in a rocket ship…ship
        And I’m waving down
        Went from the pavement to sailing above the rain and clouds
        Please, don’t hold me back…back
        I’m a cannonball…run…run
        Usain Bolt…Bang
        And I passed ‘em all
        Shotgun…click click blaow
        I’m fully loaded holding heat…heat
        Oh my…Oh my lord!

        Shotgun Wedding…Baby, will you marry me? (x4)
        Two little babies with a baby on the side. We’re… (x4)

        Please, don’t hold me back
        I’m alive and I’m not well
        So ill, so raw
        So contagious…And I’m killing ‘em all
        I’m a killer, a felon, a villain filling your melon
        With villainous feelings to the brim
        And I’m begging…Begging
        Please, don’t hold me back
        When I hear the bell ring
        I’m a fighter fighting for my life
        And I’m ready for what hell brings
        I’m a shotgun…click click blaow
        I’m fully loaded holding heat…heat
        Oh my…Oh my lord!

    • Just An Ostrich
      • Just An Ostrich

        When I was a boy I’d find me a quiet corner
        To park myself and pop in a cassette
        Yes, I said a cassette, and if…
        You don’t get what I said
        I recommend you Google the math
        I’d pop a cassette in my walkman and nod my…
        Noggin until my pop walked in and told me to press stop (stop, stop)
        I can’t hear you. Volume’s loud!
        La La La
        Yelling isn’t good for you heartbeat
        And what’s good for you may not be
        Good for the goose
        I’m sorry
        I’m just an ostrich trying to fly off this concrete
        So try to understand…

        One man’s piece of trash is another man’s brick of gold (x2)
        Or so I’ve been told…
        If you can’t hear what I’m listening…I’m sorry…So sorry (x2)
        If it don’t make sense to you, I know it makes sense to me (x2)
        So let me be…

        When I was a boy I’d find me a corner
        To park myself and pop a pen cap off
        Yes, a pen…Not fold up a laptop
        This was the nineties…Two-Zero years behind me
        Pipe dreaming
        I’d be trying to be like the emcees I’d rewind
        And play back
        Believing I’m gon’ make it
        While everybody told me time was wasting
        Wasting breath…Trying to stop me
        But what’s good for you may not be
        Good for the goose
        I’m sorry
        I’m just an ostrich trying to fly off this concrete
        So try to understand…

    • Ray Charles (Looking For A Star)
      • Ray Charles (Looking For A Star)

        Ray Charles
        Looking for a star…
        But wishing on a plane again
        Trying to find the quickest way to run away from what I know
        Neighborhood complaining ‘bout the noise, to send me to the cage again
        Threatened by the man they think I am - Afraid that I’ll explode, but…

        Mama told me no .x4.

        Ray Charles
        Looking for a star…
        Staring through my shades again
        White paint splattered on my lenses, black is all I know
        The silent man sleeping through the evening ‘cuz it doesn’t pay to sin
        Though sleep doesn’t save me from the rage parading down my road, but…

        I felt the storm (storm)
        Coming on strong, raindrops falling on my dome
        B.J. Thom…Thunder tom-fills - Hit harder than Collins, Phil - Sticks
        Stones, broken bones, bowling pins
        Going downhill on a garbage lid
        Sliding sad like Bolan sings (Bolan sings)
        So convinced, so insulted, so intense
        Sew those lips…Soak this thread in golden piss
        Needle tip on a stove top, and poke your skin
        Tell me what the fuck am I supposed to do?
        Poker Face…P-P-P-P-Poker Face
        Groban raise me up like Simba (Simba)
        Lion roar
        I’m no more. I’m no longer nothing. I’m too far from what I was once before
        I’m in love. Punch drunk. Love sick.
        Thug life (Thug life)
        One life (One mic)
        So, what now?

    • The Night My Baby Died
      • The Night My Baby Died

        The breeding, the breathing, the feeding, the teething
        The tearing on my cheeks…The sweating and the bleeding
        My index finger through the center of my key ring…Keys shake
        Fingertips tickling your feet for a giggle and a laugh
        So strong, so contagious that I’d had to laugh along
        A laugh that would band-aid the sadness that haunted me
        Ever since my Daddy went gone-daddy, gone
        Like I blister in the sun
        Listening to you sing to me was similar to listening to me sing a song
        And I would sing along at the top of the chimney of my lungs
        With the volume always up…The neighborhood would pause then…
        Startled by the drums, like…

        I chim-chimney chain smoke with lips quivering
        Waiting for my song number sevens to kick into me
        Liquor bottle swallow anything that spills into me
        Staring at your cover
        Staring at the picture that sits on your piano watching history repeat it…
        Self…Selfish…Help…I’m screaming
        And every lawyer letter’s more grieving, which equals more tear streams
        Weakness becomes stronger
        Fuck, I can’t fight this one
        I just wanna Corey Haim on some white-boy drugs
        And say goodnight, my son
        I loved life until Lamont Dozier pulled his pistol on
        My baby, and pulled the trigger ‘cuz his dick was small
        I couldn’t wait to celebrate that May Tuesday morning when my baby cried
        Now all I do is mourn the night my baby died

    • Percocet
      • Percocet

        He put an album out. He put an album out.
        About his bald-head sins spinning round and round
        A fucking square
        Trying to base his sound around
        Being a monster
        Down and out from town to town
        Hitchhiking like a leg exposed
        Sunshine burning till his head was toast
        Suntan lotion; not a friend to he
        Hair waved bye-bye when he was twenty-three
        The progeria made him a nervous wreck
        Until he found him a percocet
        He was a pussy from the land of mowed-lawns
        A paradise city more roses than guns
        Posers and nuns
        Randy Jackson sipping coke from a cup
        Blonde comb-overs, loafers and tucked…
        T-Shirts in their jeans
        But he had a dream
        A dream and a reason to believe, so…

        Somebody pass me some pussy and a percocet
        A pair of sunglasses and a serviette
        It’s 4 in the morning and I’m wide awake
        4:30 in the morning and I’m wide awake
        Hey kid…
        It’s all been done before
        So why you trying to do it again, my friend
        I’m saying
        It’s all been done before
        So why you trying to do it again, my friend
        I got a sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump
        Chewing on a percocet
        Got a sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump
        Chewing on a percocet

        He put an album out. He put an album out.
        A fictitious Frisbee that sold thousands, while…
        Lost identities flocked from miles around
        To turn an empty venue into a crowded house
        To shout along with the shit dropping out of his mouth
        In tight trousers, shins dying to get out
        A pretentious cock-sucker, so confused and dazed
        A recycled photocopy like his music made
        Songs only as authentic as the friends he played
        Break dancing one second to a hippie with braids
        Had his eyes wide shut for his masquerade
        Till a handful of brains called his ass a fake
        He cried like a baby and his tantrums made
        The brains’ laugh, embarrassed of his childish rage
        Claimed they were stupid ‘cuz they weren’t like him
        But you’re not like you, you color-blinded douche…

    • Never Knew Me
      • Never Knew Me

        So, this it, eh?
        Who would have thought the seams would have ripped
        The jeans were a fit
        Blame it on the rain or the weight gain
        Or my hat size
        It’s all passé
        You talk a lot of smack, eh?
        Wind up…Throw shit at the fan blade
        Hoping I’ll take a swing like a batting cage
        I’m cool, Shmoke and a pancake
        I knew that you’d take the low road
        Too slow to merge on the fast lane
        The tortoise with spokes and a sports card
        Flick Flick…Revved up with no car
        Swiff Swiff-er…Dirt off my shoulder
        Rearview…So gone, and so far
        You You…Frozen. A street sign
        Waiting for the green light
        U-Turn, my friend, because…

        You never knew me anyway
        So save your hellos and goodbye for the rest of my life .x2.

        So, this is it, eh?
        MJ on stage in LA…To soon? Fuck it. Let’s proceed
        Too roots? Continue to ro-c…
        K-E-Dollar Sign-Ha Ha…Fake Ga Ga, baby talk…
        La La La…
        Get it? The telephones ringing
        But you wont get a ‘hello’
        I said I’m no Lionel and you’re no blind girl
        Got me all wrong…Got me all wrong
        Time to jog back to the drawing board
        And sharpen your pencil crayon tips
        Pardon my French and francais too
        Shut the fuck up…Fermez la bouche
        As for me, to say just how
        You didn’t know me then, so you could never know me now…

    • Liberace
      • Liberace

        Leonard, he never knew ya’
        But the beauty and the light from the moon overthrew him
        He related more to Kate’s boy…A cover
        A different boy suffered in the costume that covered
        The skin of a sin, or so said in the pages
        Of the book his family made him relate to
        Cuz it wasn’t in his blood
        It made him despise who he really was
        Made him disguise who he really was
        Michael Myers
        Surrounded by liars trained to fight fires
        Claiming to tell truth, but were full of high fiber
        With colons blocked
        Prayed he’d be forgiven
        Academy Award…portraying what he isn’t
        And played it so convincing
        Like Sean Penn and James Franco
        He wasn’t a strong swimmer
        So plank walking wasn’t an option
        He’d rather beg for it to stop

        Another candle blown out
        Another sheet of song ripped and burned
        All he wanted was another
        Another love to turn down

        He was always quiet
        But silence was a siren to the pain that lived inside him
        All he ever wanted was his guy friends
        To provide him with support till his life’s end
        He chose to hide with hangers and his clothes instead of planting toes on a soapbox
        No…He’d rather roll faux-hawk than go Clubber Lang
        He spoke a language nobody would understand
        Or so he thought, so he talked like his boys did
        A lost voice, the wrong side of a coin flip
        The wrong choice
        A prisoner in his own skin
        A Captain frozen watching his boat sink
        A hole in the bucket, dear Liza…
        His will to live, hanging from a clothespin
        Another candle blown out, a cold wick
        With no Bic to escape the dark

    • Scaredy Cat
      • Scaredy Cat

        I’m afraid of the dark
        I’m afraid of my shadow
        I’m a scaredy cat trying to dim the lights of my life
        I’m a soldier of shame
        Yes, I’m a student of sorrow
        I’m a scaredy cat afraid of heights and can’t climb to get away
        And I never stop running away
        So feet don’t fail me now
        My knees feel weak
        My stomach feels sick
        My head keeps pounding…

        We’re far away now
        So where do we go?
        We need to find a way
        A way home .x2.

        I dreamt that I was locked in a coffin, clawing at the top
        Clueless of how I got there, calling at the top…
        Of my lungs for help, between swallowing the oxygen
        Left in the box that was moving
        Meaning there were people around me
        Carrying this coffin where nobody can found me…Find me
        Finally, the box stopped moving
        I stayed silent
        Then I heard music, couldn’t recognize it
        Time to wake up
        In my makeup
        Makeup? Wait! I’m a man! I don’t wear blush!
        I heard a man’s voice…
        Good morning, Miss Love.
        Glad you could make it.
        You really made it.
        The studio awaits you. Right this way, Miss…
        Wait! What the fuck did you say?
        Then I looked at a mirror on the wall
        All I saw was blonde
        Then I got a nosebleed. Oh, god. No. Please!
        Tears smeared mascara on both cheeks
        Is there a problem, Courtney?
        No! Then I woke up, shaking
        Then saw a copy of America’s Sweetheart on my pillowcase

    • Wichita
      • Wichita

        One million strong. Holding hands. Singing a song in Wichita.
        One million strong. Holding hands. Singing a song in Wichita.
        Living the dream (a dream)
        A dream that I’ve seen so many nights spent tossing (tossing)
        Shins kicking off my sheets (my sheets)
        A cold breeze and frozen feet…Alarm clock buzz
        Commercial break
        Thank god my pillowcase can’t bruise
        Hopefully I’ll pick up where I left off
        Shoulder to shoulder with you
        And I rarely do, but maybe tonight we can make it
        And that night I levitated through-Up In The Air
        Felt like my heart laced up a pair of racing shoes
        And ran on the spot
        Treadmill speeds increased every time our arms brushed
        Or the edges of our shoes kissed
        I knew this was love
        The beginning of it all.
        A one way ticket to Wichita
        A one way ticket to Wichita
        A one way ticket to Wichita
        I’ll shop when I get there
        Can somebody tell my landlord I’m never coming home?
        Home ain’t half this (half this)
        And where you took me ain’t Kansas
        When you put a face to a name…I had to put a name to a face…Tame insane
        Retinas glued…obsessed with “Who’s that?”…was the question
        And the answer was a strangle away
        Arm on his shoulder, asking away
        Interrogation, lamp on his face
        Stretched my calves for the chase
        Had no clue she ran track back in the day
        I never gave up
        Ran laps till the blanche in my face went purple (purple)
        A neck attached to a grape, but hey
        No pain, no love gained
        No Clooney movie…no you and me
        The stub for the film we saw
        Was a one way ticket to Wichita
        A one way ticket to Wichita
        A one way ticket to Wichita
        One million strong. Holding hands. Singing a song in Wichita.
        One million strong. Holding hands. Singing a song in Wichita.

    • I Love A Girl
      • I Love A Girl

        You make me feel like I’m living in Paris, France
        When everybody speaks English here
        And nobody wears bourees
        Well, some do…But they’re just strange
        This Kraft Macaroni and Cheese
        Tastes so Fettuccine Alfred…
        Shit, even luncheon meat becomes Mignon Filet
        You make me talk backwards when I’m around you
        Love drunk…Can’t concentrate
        You make me feel like I’m worth a million bills
        Even when I only gots eight in the bank
        I feel like I’m swinging on a tree swing, feet up, drop-kicking a cloud
        The luckiest boy in the world because of you
        Singing out loud…

        I love a girl this much…From the…Tip of the middle on my right
        Right across my chest…To the tip on my left…Stretch
        Now multiply that by…Buzz Lightyear…Get it? No? Never seen that one? Infinity and beyond
        And I’m sure other boys…Have told you they loved you before…
        Truth is they lied…Cuz I love you more

        You make me write love songs
        In love songs and my songs are always sad
        But you make me happy…So happy
        My friends never knew I had teeth
        And when we kiss it feels like I’m on a soap opera
        Right down to the dip
        Even when it’s a peck goodbye
        In the front seat of your whip, Vick Newman above the lip
        Well, not quite
        The wind blew me in from Mypos and I’m your Balki
        Yesterday we were strangers…And now we perfect
        So don’t be ridiculous, kid
        I feel like I’m swinging on a tree swing, feet up, drop-kicking a cloud
        The luckiest boy in the world because of you
        Singing out loud…

    • Aeroplane
      • Aeroplane

        Hello mister sky. How are you today?
        Never nothing new. Either blue or grey
        I was fast asleep. Needed to escape
        Never nothing new. Me and you’s the same
        We’ve been through the rain time and time again
        Light switch goes off when both of us our dark
        Same shit, different Ferguson
        Same fucking song, different words, I guess
        Had to change clothes. Bought a smaller size
        Denim didn’t fit. Large around the thighs
        Shed a couple pounds. Trying to look the part
        Lost a couple more. Went back to the start
        Shed a couple tears. Curved a couple grins
        Story of my life. Trying to word the end
        Spent a couple years soaring through the clouds
        But now I’m back. Jordans on the ground
        Trying to be a man. Grow a fuller beard
        Presents for the kids. But no one’s ever here
        So I sit on this wooden step
        Elbows on my knees. Palms under my chin
        Always looking up. Down is where I sleep
        Hope to see tomorrow’s groundhog on repeat
        Never nothing new. Either blue or grey
        Hello mister sky. How are you today?

        So I wish, wish, and I wish
        But my wish may never come true
        Maybe I’ve just been sitting here wishing on an aeroplane for you
        Maybe I’ve just been sitting here wishing on an aeroplane for you

  • Jonestown 2: Jimmy Go Bye Bye (2011)
    All lyrics written by Derek Christoff

    • It Was Quiet In Guyana
      • It Was Quiet In Guyana

        It was quiet in Guyana
        The Silence was deafening
        The good men and women took their medicine
        Resting on their belief that this sedative
        Was their key straight through the pearly gates
        Instead of pounding on the bars
        Screaming ‘Heaven! Please let us in!’
        They slept with a smile
        A friendly grin
        The wind whistled
        As the grey sky turned a reddish tint
        Bloodshed like raindrops
        The fun ends when the pain stops
        Beach Blanket Bingo on a graveyard
        That’s the name of the…
        That’s the name of the…
        That’s the name of the game
        But where did Jim go?
        What did Jim know?
        What if Jim spoke now?
        Would the kids close their windows to the mainstream
        And poke their thick skulls around their brick walls
        Pink Floyd
        Or Peter Gabriel: Sledgehammer a big hole through the bricks to expose themselves
        Like a prick in a trench coat
        You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows
        Said Zimmerman
        End quote…
        So tell me…
        What the hell are you waiting for?
        After me, there shall be no more…

    • No More Words
      • No More Words

        Sing me a swan song
        I’m going punk, John
        Rotten over Cuomo…Malcolm…Duck Rock
        GG Allin | Suicide | Tenth month
        Trick or treat?
        Who are you supposed to be, son?
        Who? Me?
        Sorry, Mike Cera, but skills aren’t there
        Apparently geek, but the speech be terror
        The man in the mirror
        Die with the king like Farrah
        Too soon? Never…mind the bullocks
        No, not again…
        Is he gon’ ever fall off?
        No! Next question
        No resurrection | A rose on his necktie
        Elevator up…Tell Orville I said ‘Hi!’
        Waving | K’Naan
        Looking up, up and away with my cape off…

        After the havoc that I’m gonna wreak
        No more words will critics have to speak

        Sing me a swan song
        Don’t stop believing
        Black screen me…
        Series finale
        Jimmy go bye-bye
        Don’t cry for me, Madonna
        I’m fine, it’s…
        Another Sunday morning like a Lionel hit
        Another 15 minutes in my biopic
        Joaquin, give those whiskers a tiny trim
        Put this toque on
        And start rhyming in a higher pitch
        Tell Affleck it’s time to film
        We only got one take
        Roll sound
        I’m drowning in a river outside of the viper
        While Flea and Winona Ryder’s ex sing about Stipe
        Whichever Phoenix you’re a fan of
        Rock me, Amadeus
        Swan song
        Sing one
        I’m tired
        Time to go to bed, Brian Wilson

        I’ve seen a lot of valleys | I’ve seen a lot of peaks
        I’ve see the bitter with the sweet | Victory and defeat
        Sometimes I fell
        But a voice kept saying, son…

    • If
      • If

        If Kanye…
        Strutted on stage
        Suited like Chaplin
        In a plague mask
        You’d applaud on some-
        The Louis Vutton don’s so beyond his grandfather clock
        So avant garde, huh?
        If Aubrey Graham…
        Dropped a jam about the clothes in his laundry hamper
        And shot a video in a Laundromat
        He’d have teen girls tossing their dirty spandex at him
        If Snoop Dogg…
        Spit West Coast verbatim
        Every top forty radio station would play it
        And every socialite on California sands would start dancing to the Schwartzman sample
        If Jay-Z…
        Sampled a Daniel Johnston tune
        You’d download Daniel’s catalogue of music
        Don’t try to deny it, it’s probably true
        ‘Cuz whatever Jigga say you gon’ follow, dude
        If Akon…
        Sang on Brian Wilson
        I would have got the whole world to listen
        A co-sign will change your whole life
        It’s so absurd
        I would have won the fucking Juno I deserved
        If Asher Roth…
        Slapped his palms against the caps of his knees
        And rapped for free
        On second thought, it would change nothing
        Same shit, different country
        Fuck it!
        If Gucci Mane…
        Wore a toque and glasses
        And paid more attention to his music than fashion
        Kids would dress for winter
        And rock rims with prescription lenses in them
        If Eminem…
        Dropped Mathers and went Jonestown
        The concept would blow
        And send fans racing to newspaper stands
        To see his Rolling Stone cover with the Kool-Aid man
        If Rick Ross…
        Released Ken Park
        Puffy would put up the ducats
        And pay Harmony Korine to direct a
        Video with hobos on heroin
        Midgets on a merry-go-round
        Bet you would air it then
        If 50 Cent…
        Wrote Boom Baba Boom
        The second verse would on every blog dispute
        An MC shit talking Big and Pac?
        No way
        Yet every rapper thinks their clever when they shit on Cobain

        If Lil’ Wayne…
        Let the children die
        Over a million children alive
        Would line up at midnight with signs
        At Best Buy to buy
        The record Pitchfork rated a nine, right?
        If Jay Electronica…
        Jay Elec Chanukah
        Wrote Nobody with a Notepad
        You’d go mental over every reference
        From Bon Jovi to R. Crumb
        From Usain Bolt to John Lennon
        If T.I. …
        Quoted Hunter S. Thompson’s suicide note
        Both you and I know
        Spin would praise the brilliance of Cliff Harris
        But nobody gives a shit when Derek from Canada
        Does all of the above
        At a quality above
        Not all of the above
        But all of the above, but four
        Give or take
        Depending on production
        While y’all tend to rate depending on the country
        An MC resides in
        And if I resided in the States I’d be signed and paid
        We all can’t be co-signed by Jay, Wayne or Dre
        To Wayne Brady choke
        Suffocate the game
        I wish I could change something to be just like them
        To make the whole world love me
        Just like them
        If I change I’ll be just like them
        And I would no longer be

    • Troy’s Bucket
      • Troy’s Bucket

        Hoch tuey
        Chop suey
        System of a Down
        My spit be syndrome of the down
        Full retard
        Academy Award
        Aiming a cannon at the stars
        Powerful impact
        No Dinco
        Ain’t saying shit
        An Eric Wright misquote
        Fistful of dollars
        A pocket full of lint balls
        Dead broke
        Grave digging like Prince Paul
        With nowhere to run like The Vandellas
        Or Van Damme
        Or Mandela
        Bran Van Three-Thousand
        Drunk in Los Angeles
        Shit talking your wack records
        I’m past jealous
        Dawg, I’m bitter
        Like Shad said it on ‘Yeah, I Get It’
        Derek be living images from Grandmaster Flash’s message
        The king of the jungle
        Passing beverages laughing…

        And when the clock strikes twelve
        That’s when my world stands up
        Frowns turn to capital U’s
        I demand you to grab a cup
        And drink…
        Until the cup’s bone dry
        I promise you’ll be just fine
        Come 12:01
        The Goonies never say die
        And it’s 11:59

        I talk to the kids
        Who are not going to listen to a top forty hit
        And boycott outlets offering spins to the glossy
        Far from a ‘Gone With The Wind’
        More like gone with the wind
        Once the new doorknob with a faux hawk in a cardigan
        Coughs up a hit
        Far from a songbird
        But kids gobble him up like chocolate popsicles
        Then spit him out like vomit
        Mommy, I’m sick
        Their Warhol fifteen minutes clock in at six
        With a cocaine habit, no dough and Fatty Arbuckle tits
        No screamers wanting their signature
        On the cover of their compact disc
        That sleeps in a bargain bin with the Thompson Twins…

        Fuck you
        Straight from the bottom of
        My noir heart
        A kiss from a rose
        Molotov cocktail
        Whipped at the throne
        Sip gasoline
        Piss on your poems
        Jim’s flow is so
        Presley’s medicine
        King overthrown
        This is animosity, bitch
        This is Manson filled with oxy and sniff
        A time bomb and I’m stopping the tick
        While y’all blow jobbing the obvious pick
        The underdog barks
        Claws and sinks his chompers into its body and rips
        Its carcass to shreds
        Sleep on a skeleton
        Listening to clocks tick…tick…tick…

    • Graffiti Wall
      • Graffiti Wall

        Once upon a time
        Not long ago
        When I was hardly known for the songs I wrote
        Before Kneecaps and my Laundry opus
        Back when you wouldn’t dare call me dope
        I’d John Travolta up the avenue
        Slap hands with every hand I knew
        In the middle of June in Phat Farm sweats
        Ankle elastics around my shins
        Cypress Hill spinning on my walkman, son
        ‘Sawed-off shotgun|Palm on the pump…’
        Feeling like Real, Sen Dog and Muggs
        But looking like the white boy from All-4-One
        And I swore on the moon and the stars
        That I would soon be a star
        But I don’t know that
        Disposable Kodak
        Yo, Anova, hold that!

        Now I’m posing in front of a graffiti wall
        One hand on my chin
        One hand on my balls
        No smile on my lips
        Smiling’s for Punani’s, kid
        In front of a graffiti wall
        One hand on my chin
        One hand on my balls
        I could see it all
        Electric Circus
        Monika Deol
        If you don’t know, you better ask somebody…

        Now I’m feeling myself
        D-Sisive’s got skills in the cipher
        Who knew?
        Back then my name was different
        The Nu-Since aka. Malicious
        Peace to my M-City fam
        Now, back to 96 when the kid was damn!
        Mangling heads, and…
        Dissing their Bi-Way shoes and their Zellers Wrangler denim
        Fuck it
        I’m a take the crown
        From Richta aka. Duane Brown
        We battled after school
        All I needed was a verse to assassin this dude
        I came with the quickness flow
        Bone Thugs
        Double timing every syllable
        But not an ‘oh’ at all
        Tapping the mic…Is this thing on?
        Then Richta set it off
        With a couple bars disrespecting my flaws
        Six bars later he finished me off
        With a line about me wearing Stitches clothes
        The whole crowd went off
        Laughing at me in my South Pole and Exhaust
        Chad, Naveen, Jermaine…Take me home
        Tell me, where did I go wrong?

        Now I’m famous as fuck
        Juno and Polaris nominated, like what!
        I’m all up in the papers now…
        Much Music heavy rotation now…
        So, where’s the drugs and the ladies?
        Fuck it, I’m playing…out!

    • Morning In Barcelona
      • Morning In Barcelona

        Where did all the stars go?
        Not a single one showing off sparkle
        Swimming in the charcoal sky
        It’s morning in Barcelona
        The window’s open
        The sun came in to say ‘hi’
        Good morning, Miss. Sleepy Head
        We stare at each other
        I fight not to blink
        I don’t want to miss a thing like Steven Tyler sings
        I serenade you something softly
        When A Man Loves A Woman…
        Off key
        Before I met you
        I couldn’t really tell you what that song means
        Now every lyric’s crystal
        And all I want to do is kiss you
        And here…And there…
        And I’m going to, but wait one sec
        I don’t mean to change the subject, but…Hey…

        I was wondering can I…
        Can I know you forever, like…
        For the rest of my life
        But that might not be long enough
        I want to tell you ‘good morning’
        One sleep after I tell you ‘goodnight’
        For the rest of my life
        But that might not be long enough

        I’m sorry if I’m coming on biceps
        But life’s way too short to be pipsqueak
        And you’re way too gorgeous to forfeit
        I need to see you tomorrow morning
        Tomorrow’s tomorrow morning
        And so on, and so on until I so long
        It’s morning in Barcelona
        And I don’t ever want to wake up not beside you
        Tell me…
        How did a nickel like me get a dime like you?
        It doesn’t make sense
        Get it?
        Don’t giggle at my line
        Your feet must be sore from sprinting through my mind
        Not impressed
        Really, I don’t blame you
        I’m just trying to entertain you
        Before you realize that you’re out my league
        And make your train choo…choo

    • Russell Peters
      • Russell Peters

        I’m sitting at the ACC
        Anticipating laughs
        My backstage pass laminate hangs
        A proud friend seated in the bleachers
        Stadium status
        Starting From Scratch spins radio classics
        The beats kill
        Thousands of tickets scanned
        The seats fill
        When I grow up, I wanna be like him
        The beat got louder
        The lights dimmed
        A short video played on the big screens
        The sound drowned in the howling and thick screams
        That got louder when out walked the one feature
        It was Beatle mania…
        For Russell Peters
        It was just a week ago when
        I was skimming magazines on an Indigo shelf
        When I saw him on the cover of a Reader’s Digest
        My fingers gripped the spine, and…
        Flipped it to the page where his article was printed
        I read the Q&A grinning
        I went back to a quote about his Dad passing a year prior
        A quote I can relate to
        I wish I couldn’t but the cards were dealt
        It was up to us to play the game through
        And play strong ‘cuz nobody gets to play 2
        When his Dad died
        He was generating close to 80 G’s a year
        A couple hundred heads in Yuk Yuk’s paid to see him
        A commendable career
        But heaven needed an Angel
        When his Dad died that’s when success came to see him
        Worldwide attention
        Hail ups and cheers
        Pockets gained weight
        Moved out the Yuk Yuk’s basement and into stadiums and theaters
        He fought through the heartache and pain
        His father became his guardian angel
        I was rowing in the same boat
        Sort of
        Far from making the same dough
        But after my father died
        That’s when I started strolling down the paved road to making my name known
        My father always hated me and rap music
        Told me I fucked up by being a bad student
        I’d tell him…
        One day I’ll win a damn Juno
        And you and me will be there in matching black suits
        He’d roll his eyes and laugh like I was joking
        Then ask me to pass him whatever I was smoking

        My dad left me an orphan
        I filled a notepad with my story
        The B.O.O.K. dropped and kids ate up my new EP
        Hopped on a jet plane to Vancouver B.C.
        Nominated for my first J
        On March twenty-ninth: My birthday
        One step closer to fulfilling my old dream
        But I was only one half of the old team
        Even though he was watching from the nosebleeds
        He wasn’t with me in a Harry Rosen
        I kept thinking to myself
        This is not fair
        All I wanted was my pop there
        With me sitting at the BC Place
        Anticipating claps
        His backstage pass laminate hangs
        A proud dad seated in the bleachers
        Stadium status

    • Wannabe
      • Wannabe

        Dear Lord
        Please forgive me for my sinning
        I’m still addicted to living like a misfit
        Help me feel innocent
        I’m tipping on a sinking ship
        Lips quivering
        The living dead
        Hell bound
        Hell hound
        Barking up the wrong tree
        Sniffing for a scapegoat to blame, but it’s all me
        It’s not easy being all green
        Trying to do the Spike Lee while saying the wrong thing
        Slip Freud
        I’m a sick boy
        Flu prone
        Racing with my fifteen
        Jonestown two go bye twice
        Jimmy no
        Jimmy go bye bye
        Trigger finger itchy
        Brains bad like Paul D
        Call me a wannabe
        Call me Robert V Winkle
        Lips drip spit from a bloody grin
        Dear lord
        Please forgive me for another sin

        I’m not listening
        But you don’t hear me, though

    • Rob Ford
      • Rob Ford

        I’m a sell my soul to the devil for a song
        That will sell out the Dome
        A rebel with a cause
        And the cause is beyond the
        Four elements of the genre
        We all thought was gone when Nas played God
        A coroner
        I’m so sorry for your loss
        My condolences
        But it was far from embalmed
        An identity crisis, possibly
        But Rap/Rock it was not
        Gone are the days when Tupac waved
        Two middle fingers out the window of a rolling car
        Or when Suge promised he wouldn’t dance in your videos
        ‘Come to Death Row’ at the Source Awards
        Or when Snoop got booed…
        ‘What?! The East Coast ain’t got no love for Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg?!’
        Or when Wu-Tang…
        Killer bee buzzed on that New York stage that Meth hopped off
        And brought pain to the spectators in the audience
        And I watched them glued to my monitor
        A chubby white boy with a moniker
        ‘Cuz rappers can’t spell
        Now I’m on the other side of the table
        Declaring war on the mayor
        Pace Won
        The takeover
        Find me a rhymer better than D-Sisive
        Name one!
        Jay Reatard
        Daniel Johnston
        Rap’s Damian Abraham
        Fuck the nonsense
        I came to change the game like four bullets through Chris Wallace’s car door
        Rob Ford

        My daddy told me…
        “Don’t fear what we don’t see”
        A Ghost is nothing, but a Demi Moore scene
        What we can’t see can’t bleed
        We can’t kill what we can’t feel
        I’d rather fear the unknown than some Joe
        With a gun loaded, unloading it
        Then blowing out gun smoke
        I can believe that
        At least, see that
        Squeeze that nine-millimeter with these hands
        Dawg, a duppy, me nah trust, kid
        In a haunted house, Trust me go run quick…Fast
        I’m sick, holmes…So sick of home and their thin quotes
        Where rappers whine and cry
        And argue all day about why they all ain’t signed
        Volume up, talking like they belong inside City Hall
        You can play mayor
        I’m declaring war: Pacewon
        The takeover…Find me a rhymer better than D-Sisive
        Name one
        Henry Rollins
        Warren Zevon
        Dark Order: The war has begun
        I came to change the game like nine bullets through Curtis Jackson’s jaw bone
        Rob Ford…

    • Long Ago
      • Long Ago

        I’m a parade rain-er
        Rainn Wilson
        Spit Graceland on eighty milligram painkillers
        My veins are swimming in H
        S. Burroughs
        Tell William
        Heads left with red circles
        Closed casket
        A dope addict with a full blown habit
        Soaring over the rainbow: No Kansas
        Standing ovation
        Tippy-toe standing
        I’ve Usain Bolt blown past your number one rapper
        And double lapped him with no signs of slowing down
        I’m going after the gold and after that the platinum
        Then assassinate my fans with an ice cold glass of
        Lip smacking, delicious cyanide
        Mixed with a full packet of red powder
        My shrink begs me to stop
        But the voices in my head beg to differ and beg louder
        So long

    • Born To Die
      • Born To Die

        We’re haunted
        Running away from the monsters stalking in our closets
        Joel Osments
        Watching the dead walk amongst us
        Sean Penn
        Shawn of…
        Dawn of…
        Off him
        One shot
        Blow noggins off of the neck of a zombie’s carcass
        We are in charge
        Barkleys to Bosleys
        Angels to broke to want wings
        To proud to stop breathing
        We fear this life we all lead
        Wondering what does it all mean
        When all we need is to all believe
        In all we
        ‘Cuz we are the people who all bleed because…

        We’re starving artists
        Dream in Fellini
        Speak in Pollock
        Geniuses screaming at the top of our lungs
        Running out of oxygen
        Swallowing a shot of gin
        Following an oxy pill
        A prophet smashing a crystal ball on my coffin
        Fuck off
        Right now’s just fine for me
        And it’s about time that we
        Lift our behinds up and off this pine that we’ve been riding
        Afraid to live the life we all seek
        Wondering what does it all mean
        When all we need is to all believe
        In all we
        ‘Cuz we are the people who all bleed because…

    • The Gun (Twenty Ten)
      • The Gun (Twenty Ten)

        Word up!
        Who’s the vagina now?
        For crying out loud
        Quit crying out loud
        It’s way too late to white towel out now
        Your bed’s made, sleepy head
        Try counting down sheep from nine down
        By the time you time out
        Your fuse will be blown
        Your power’s out
        Don’t flinch, I’m just kidding, yo
        Nah, I’m kidding and my trigger finger’s itchy, so…
        Keep talking
        Keep insulting
        Keep calling me every single name out the Joan Collins novel
        Dumb fuck
        Now blowjob this Danielle Steele
        My hand’s held still
        My nerves are calm
        Ativan twice
        I took five
        Who’s tallying, right?
        This ain’t tying to be hardcore
        With my hat to the back
        No gangster rap, son
        Forget all that
        This is that motherfucker who jacked me for my Red Sox cap
        That group of five who robbed me for my cash
        Who beat me till I cried even though they didn’t have to
        My brother in law
        Who made eleven telephone calls
        Insulting and imitating my father on my inbox
        A month after I buried him in box
        Plus every single time I’ve been victimized
        And didn’t do shit but pickle it inside
        Now multiply all of the above
        And carry the one
        Need I say more why I’m staring at this gun?
        I think it’s time to go now
        I got us both one-way tickets to Jonestown
        What? No smile? No thank you?
        So ungrateful
        Fuck it
        You can stay home
        Goodnight, bright eyes
        ‘Cuz Jimmy go bye bye

    • Derek From Northcliffe
      • Derek From Northcliffe

        I grew up on Northcliffe Boulevard
        Apartment six-two-zero
        The son of Joan and Argar
        With my grandfather
        Born in Macedonia
        But that’s another story
        And this is my opus
        You can call me Derek
        Atanas Christoff
        Middle named after my Grampa
        We all lived on the sixth floor
        In 0-8 like Aikman
        Mommy worked mornings
        Daddy worked the late shift
        And me?
        I’d walk around aimlessly
        Not a care in the world
        Then I’d lace up my Bi-Way Slam N’ Jams
        You know the ones
        With the half basketball on the tongue
        And you’d front like they’re pumps
        But they ain’t pumping shit
        Chubby white boy quit jumping
        You ain’t dunking, kid
        The NBA, you will never see
        But the one thing I know I’ll forever be is…

        Derek from Northcliffe
        Apartment six-two-zero
        Listening to Hip-Hop
        Wishing some kid from some unknown boulevard
        Will be listening to his song
        Derek from Northcliffe
        Apartment six-two-zero
        Listening to Hip-Hop
        Wishing some kid from some unknown boulevard
        Will be listening to his song

        Back then we all had a dream
        But nobody grows up to be an Astronaut
        Unless…Of course…You’re an astronaut
        So, no offense NASA
        ‘None taken’
        I’d lock my bedroom door
        Slip a cassette tape in my walkman
        And slip that walkman in the pocket of my Bart Simpson shorts
        Hat to the back
        Black comb in my palm
        And recite every song from ‘He’s the DJ, I’m the Rapper
        The Fresh Prince in my reflection
        In my mind I was on stage at Maple Leaf Gardens
        Where I saw a Vanilla Ice concert with my mom and thought…
        Maybe I can do that!
        Twenty years later…Yeah, I can do that
        Minus the dance moves and the shiny suits
        I’d rather be the grown up version of…

    • #1 Record
      • #1 Record

        The planet spins
        I stand still frozen
        A mannequin
        They said ‘Jeff lost his hat again.’
        I crash land then hit the ground running with the torch
        Not a single sound muttered
        From the mouths of the has-beens
        Once upon a timers
        The ones who scribbled autographs on my rhyme book
        The ones I wanted to grow up to be
        And now this whole country can’t fuck with me
        I played the game and lost every penny that I tossed in the pockets of the dream sellers
        Now I’m broke in the wallet
        But don’t get me started on my legacy
        Dog, I’m already a legend
        And I’m far from the finish like
        I’m fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds from my fifteen
        Jump from the heavens
        A Canadian idol
        Minus a number one record

    • Stroumboulopoulos
      • Stroumboulopoulos

        Jenny, I’m not a smart man: Tom Hanks
        I’m not a superstar, far from an Aubrey Graham
        More like Molly Shannon | Bruce McCullouch
        And every Dave I know thinks my future’s in trouble
        I’m not Lennon throwing peace up and tree hugging
        I’m not a vegan, I eat meat
        I preach nothing
        And judge no one
        A fuck I won’t provide you
        Over how you live your life
        Plus, who the fuck am I to?
        And who are you to, bono? God? No.
        You’re a nobody like I am | We’re all ghosts
        Minus the pottery porn scenes
        It’s all fake
        So go suck Kelso’s dick and get off my train
        I’m the conductor and the hobo chewing canned fish
        With nothing to my name but a notepad and a black pen
        Trying to come up with something clever to blow minds
        But all I’ve got is movie references and “I’m so dope” rhymes
        And I know I’m so dope, so why beat a dead dog’s flesh
        With every ounce of strength I got left
        But I’m weak, so my whips barely break the skin
        Fuck, I barely break the stick I’m using trying to break the skin
        I want to change the world, but wont remove its dirty diaper
        I want to sell some records but refuse a Fergie sidekick
        I want to Abbie Hoffman and megaphone a protest
        Bettering the minds of uneducated voters
        But I hardly read the paper
        Chris Farley is the mayor…
        And all I want to do is watch him fall through coffee tables
        I’m not a smart man | No follower of politics
        I’m far from a George Stroumboulopoulos
        I’m a Jackson Pollock | The apocalypse
        Jim Morrison’s toes slipping off the faucet Splish…Splash
        Taking a bath with my veins poked
        Face sweaty: Torso, dick and legs soaked
        My chubby hands drum against the tub’s edge
        Fucked up:Running:Running: Chasing Puff again
        It’s a cold winter when your pockets only hold lint
        At BMV selling novels to afford rent
        And kids stop you on the sidewalk on some ‘Oh shit!
        I need a picture, someone hold my camera phone, quick
        Broke as shit, posing, throwing up a peace sign
        Not Lennon’s…Mine has no fucking meaning behind it
        They accuse me of whining on every song crooned
        But it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to
        So fuck you Buddy Holly’s and your Underwater Dance
        I’m bumping Earth Angel, grinding on Lea Thompson’s ass
        Doc told me ‘go to school and get your math on’
        But I ignored him and turned his oversized amps on, so…
        Another 24: Another hundred coins
        Another song recorded: Another dollar short
        Another dream that may never see the light of day
        I’m not a smart man, Jenny
        But I’m talkative
        And I wont stop talking till I’m sitting across from Stroumboulopoulos

    • If I Live To See Tomorrow
      • If I Live To See Tomorrow

        If I live to see tomorrow
        That tomorrow better be polite
        I’ve spent my life in darkness, I’m begging for some bright
        I’m ready for the light
        I’ve left my coat and umbrella behind
        I told the weatherman
        Please, let the weather shine
        Or get ready for a milkshake, Nick Cage
        Let him breath, or let him slide
        Let it be or let him die
        Live and let die like Lennon in the Rye
        By Salinger and Chapman
        Dakota…Dead inside
        I’ve said it all before, though I’ve never said it twice
        I’ve never said it twice
        I’ve never said it twice
        I’m the devil in disguise and it’s been one hell of a life
        I’m the one who fed the fire
        The one who fanned the flames
        The one who had the balls to get a canvas to stain
        And splash that mother-fucker like Jackson with paint
        I’m Pollock on a beat bleeding passion and pain
        They laughing at my face
        They jabbing at my weight
        Like I’m some clown slipping on banana peels
        My face ain’t a target for your coconut cream
        Your low self-esteem’s so obvious
        All because you’re nobody
        Napoleon’s heels
        Dynamite or Bonaparte
        You see, the truth is…
        We’re a couple globes apart
        And on mine I represent the broken hearted
        While you’re alone on yours…A solo artist
        Disrespect me on a YouTube comment board
        But get used to the face on your monitor
        Everybody wants me to be what they want me to be
        But I ain’t no mother-fucking Commodore
        Fuck sex appeal
        I don’t know how to sell
        I’m a writer trying to write my mind out of hell
        Without a combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell
        Fuck a novelty to get the world to follow me
        I’ve penned magic but haven’t seen a penny paid
        Rap’s Lennon trying to pen a Penny Lane
        Very strange
        I stumbled over every shake
        My road traveled is bumpier than Lemmy’s face
        Three years spent spitting lyrics written for
        Listeners sick of all the piss poor spitters forced
        Throat down
        Trying to multiply my three years worth
        Of listeners by a million more in my forth
        I’m not stupid
        I’m never making Puffy ends
        But underground groups generate a couple M’s
        And I want to see five before my fucking end
        I don’t want to die and be discovered then
        And go from four albums loved by a dozen fans
        To another million jumping on my bandwagon
        ‘D was the fucking man!’
        Loud enough for Spin Magazine to hear
        And maybe spare me some fucking press
        Then my money hungry sister and her husband can
        Slander me on paper and publish it
        Fucking pigs
        And every dream seller with their false promises
        Can kneel before my coffin and suck my dick
        If I live to see tomorrow
        That tomorrow better be polite
        I’ve spent my life in darkness, I’m begging for some bright
        I’m ready for the light
        I’ve left my coat and umbrella behind
        I love you all
        So take Jonestown
        Take it all
        Take my catalogue
        I don’t want your cash
        Just listen to the words
        That’s all I ask
        I’m tired of writing for the walls and my starving cats
        I’m sick of being overlooked by these fucks scared to think
        And don’t get my references
        So they call me wack
        I’m not skinny and I wear glasses
        I’m not slim
        So they choose not to listen and call me fat
        Just heard the new Adele record
        That record’s great
        But have you seen Adele?
        She’s fucking fat!
        Beth Ditto’s new solo record’s coming
        I heard the snippets
        Too bad she’s so fucking fat
        Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s brilliant in his new picture
        But, who cares?
        He’s fucking fat!
        What the fuck’s with that?
        See, the difference is you look like Fozzy Bear Flame
        And I, Jonah Hill
        But I can fucking rap
        So when the bullet’s in my brain
        And the ambulance arrives
        To load me in their truck, in a body bag
        And the story breaks on Chart Attack
        With a photograph of me in a plague doctor’s mask
        And Kaplan says…
        He gave it all away ‘cuz the music was all he had
        So If I live to see tomorrow
        That tomorrow better be polite
        I’ve spent my life in darkness, I’m begging for some bright
        I’m ready for the light

  • Run With The Creeps (2011)
    All lyrics written by Derek Christoff

    • Run
      • Run

        This is the music I’ll be listening to when I die
        Wake up, you sleepy head
        And think about the pretty things
        I try to think about the pretty things
        All the pretty things
        My pretty girlfriend kisses me goodbye
        Smiles as she backs away
        Such a pretty smile
        She locks the door behind her
        My iPod sits in a Harmon Kardon dock
        I press play
        First generation.
        A white brick
        Filled with pretty things
        My thumb scrolls till it stops on a pretty name
        Fucked Up
        David Comes To Life
        My brother’s name is David
        I miss him
        Running On Nothing
        Such a pretty song
        Damian says “it’s all a façade”
        I don’t disagree
        This is the music I’ll be listening to when I die
        Everybody Hurts

        To run
        I’m cold
        With these creeps

        He takes a sip from a glass of milk
        Half filled
        Sitting on top of the world
        At the kitchen table
        Staring at a blank sheet of paper
        Gripping a yellow Crayola
        Fingertips press the wax in the corner of the canvas
        One quarter of the sun still manages
        To brighten up his portrait
        A sea of lower case L’s become blades of grass
        A thin stem holds up six petals of a purple petunia
        Grabs a black to outline clouds
        Mr. Daydream styles
        The black crayon scribbles out the sun
        Till it snaps in half in his hand
        Then he smears his face with the wax

        The walls keep caving in
        I’m racing and I may not even make it
        But I can’t stop now

        My feet speed
        Stomping on the pavement and I don’t know what I’m chasing
        But I can’t stop now

        An inspiration to the kids
        Who are facing their today like I faced my yesterday
        And they see me as a caped crusader
        With the strength of a million Schwarzeneggers
        Cuz I made it out unscathed
        But the truth is I’m drained and sedated
        I’m self medicated
        I’m afraid of tomorrow
        I’m afraid I may not make it out of the basement
        And remain unknown till I’m buried in my grave
        But I can’t stop now…

    • The Invisible Man
      • The Invisible Man

        Hallowed be thy name
        Six feet shallow be thy grave
        Put your hands up

        Two double-oh infinity
        Fingers scrubbing bowls and cutlery
        Hunched over my kitchen sink
        Listening to Brian Wilson sing…
        Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older?
        Though, I was getting closer
        To a bad back, grey hair thinning and wrinkled skin
        I’d rather rewind a couple three-sixty-fives, Brian
        Now wouldn’t that be nice?
        But nice is never life
        And mine wasn’t filled with sunshine
        I cried a rainstorm on beats
        Resurrection | Released an EP without any direction
        But it exceeded what I thought would be a base hit
        Off a late swing
        Seven years to be exact, but who’s counting
        No longer forgotten
        Went from Mr. Daydream to Mr. Insomnia
        Juno nominated
        Back up on my feet again
        Brian helped me wake up
        So now I’ll never sleep again

        Last night I saw the Lord in a dream I had
        He said ‘son, when you wake up you’re on your own’
        Woke up and wrote these words to a beat I had
        Understanding why I feel so alone
        I’m so ghost, I’m invisible
        I am so ghost, I’m invisible
        Get off my train
        I’m so ghost, I’m invisible
        I am so ghost
        The invisible man

        In two John Lennon’s rims nine
        I let the children die
        Some called me morbid and insensitive
        While others wondered why
        And I said…
        I ain’t saying shit and you can quote me
        I only paint the portraits and I don’t paint to force feed
        So you asking me why only insults me
        I’m not Soulja Boy, homie
        Use your noggin for a coin
        A penny for your thoughts
        I bleed in these poems that I’m penning from my heart
        A nobody reading from my notepad at Roy Thompson Hall
        On top | Then shot by Lamont
        Body bag never | Drop dead? God, no
        I sewed up my wounds and then I dropped Jones
        Vaudeville | Juno nominated
        Back up on my feet again
        Jimmy helped me wake up
        So now I’ll never sleep again

        Hallowed be thy name
        Six feet shallow be thy grave
        Sixteen’s speak volumes
        Mauling this beat I slay
        And dare all you to step to these feet my legs…
        Lift and stomp with
        I walk so George Muresan
        I’m a monster
        Lost in my thoughts
        Parade through the city you reign through song
        A raindrop compared to my storm
        You far from a name
        Painful to listen to
        Who the fuck gave you the stage to ridicule
        Me while I sit on a list assembled by a newspaper writer in a living room
        Listen, you fuck face
        Like I don’t belong
        I agree
        I don’t belong
        But what I mean is
        I don’t belong so north on the totem
        My skills should have me lower than those below me
        Quote me
        Jealousy is a motherfucker
        You weak, jealous motherfucker
        I dream filthy
        Spit hobo shit stain
        A torso with no ribcage known to blow my own horn
        Anything I touch gets…crushed
        Uppercutted…left Fucked up
        Fuck yes…
        Fuck no…Fuck who?
        Fuck me?
        Fuck you

    • GG Allin
      • GG Allin

        GG Allin
        Half asleep in an alley feeling dope sick
        Coke nose: bloody
        Hobo hungry
        Torso chubby
        Walking John Goodman’s footprints
        Lied to by every crystal ball I’ve ever looked in
        Madame Ruby bullshit
        The basement of the Alamo
        The laughing stock of the talent show
        January…Jason Sudekis
        Wait! The Alamo don’t gots no motherfucking basement!
        Pee Wee. The Buxtons are not thieves
        But do you ever dream?
        I’m all alone; I’m rolling a big doughnut
        And this snake wearing a vest…
        Then I wake up in an alley feeling dope sick
        Deja vu
        A sewer rat spewing raps
        Spewing last night’s dinner on my shoes and pants
        Picking at a tattoo scab of the Kool Aid Man
        Fuck it, I’m alright, though…
        Walking the boulevard of broken dreams
        Last resorting to the quotes of preachers, nuns, popes and priests
        But in the end
        It’s just little ol’ me
        A nobody with a notepad
        Trying to find a voice to speak

        So tell it like it is, homeboy
        I ain’t scared of you, motherfucker
        Build a bridge to burn it down to the ground
        And we don’t need no water
        Let the motherfucker burn
        Burn, motherfucker, burn
        It’s our turn, motherfuckers.
        Riot in the streets
        Death to the dream seller
        GG Allin

        Nobody wants to hear the fat boy whine
        They just want to hear the frat boy rhyme
        Feeling safe and cuddled up with what frat boy writes
        Frat boy sucks and the fat boy’s nice
        Renegade rebel
        Tagging ‘LIES!’ on a newspaper box
        Fucking the system
        But the first to runaway from cops
        ‘Fuck the mainstream’
        They scream…
        ‘Fuck that pussy sound!’
        ‘Fuck that music Justin makes for his pussy crowd’
        But that pussy crowd’s pissed Bieber’s getting pussy now
        Sending death threats
        So tell me
        Who’s the pussy now?
        Middle class boys who think pop-punk is ‘friggin’ rad’
        Middle class girls who love Glee and silly bands
        Writers ask me what I think of the state of
        Hip-Hop in Canadia
        And I tell ‘em…
        I don’t
        I’m sorry if I don’t think about rap in Stouffville
        I’m busy trying to get rap to pay my phone bill
        I’m in my own world
        You don’t have to move in
        But I got a couple guest rooms
        So bake a pie
        Eat a pie
        Take a side
        You can fight me in this war
        Or you can fly beside me to the stars
        And I’m gone…

    • The Unknown
      • The Unknown

        The walls close in
        The ceiling lowers on both palms
        Trying to gorilla press it north
        But I’m no Arnold
        Strobe lights flick on and off
        Like clockwork
        Cage in a parka
        Ultraviolet rays
        In a daze
        I’m lost in the moment
        Pocket watch
        Left. Right
        You are getting sleepy
        Boom bye bye in a b*tty bwoy head
        White bwoy fret
        Wipe eyebrow sweat
        Voice box off
        Both lips sewn
        Losing my balance
        Rope tip-toeing
        Petty free falling
        A bottomless pit
        My mind’s unemployed
        Calling in sick
        Wondering where the audience went
        Lord, please forgive me for all of my sins

        I don’t know what you’ve been told
        But I know what you’re gonna see
        And I don’t want you to wonder
        But the world you wander in
        Is still unknown to me
        Kid, I don’t know

    • The Creep (Nick Thran)
      • The Creep (Nick Thran)

        A streak of hair gel and sweat shines on his pillowcase. She lies unclothed in the dark beside him, moving like mist off the lake at the family cottage. Middle of the night, deep in the gears of the city’s engine; what unaccountable atrocities are taking place? What meat cleavers lie in the tulip patches? What knives are propped blade-down in the compost bins? What if the misspelled words on alley walls are the clues to unsolved crimes? ‘Creep’ spelled with a K, with seven eeeeeee’s. No one’s born a creep, he thinks; it comes upon you with the stealth of a thousand silverfish, until all of the self-help books on the table look like concert t-shirts, eaten by bleach, or time. He would like to wake her now, but she has already left the window, is already smoke. The gel and sweat has settled into a thin crust on the pillowcase. He breaks it apart and sweeps away the flakes. He will have to walk across the street for coffee. He will have to call his boss. He will have to call his wife. A raccoon and a cat tear each other to pieces. A siren blares and blares and blares. Who runs this town? Who circles the fires? And what are the names of the horrible creatures? Who smell of jet fuel? Who brought him to life?

    • To The Moon
      • To The Moon

        I’m alive right now…
        I’m alive right now…
        Put your hands high where my eyes can see
        Like you’re high fiving me

        Derek went Syd Barret
        Pallbearer carried to my horse and carriage
        Roses thrown as my corpse was buried
        In a coffin, solid gold, 24 karat
        Mourn through the morning
        Grieve through the evening
        Cry me a river and a tear stream…please
        Thank you
        Now move
        Or get hit by my spinning pillowcase filled with canned food
        Van Damme with a dragon breathing fire on my back
        And the flames spell ‘Tap Out’ tattoo
        Coming…Coming at you
        First I’m gonna get you, once I got you, I gat you
        My dear creeps please run
        Creep on like T-Boz
        Lonely Island
        Onika Minaj
        Creeps gone…gone

        To the moon, I say
        Cuz we be on that shit like everyday
        Off…To the moon…Gone
        Up, up and away
        Up, up and away
        To the moon, I say
        Cuz we be on that shit like everyday…

        I’m Suge Knight in a bright red suit
        Lightly chewing on a lit Cuban
        No Menudo
        Who you trying to get crazy with, ese?
        I’m loco | Kylie Minogue
        Slow dancing in a storm in a Maestro tux
        Rappers yelling “That white boy sucks!”
        But white boy raps figure eights around
        Canuck rappers trying to imitate my sound
        Red nose, white face, makeup
        Clowns | In a Volkswagen,
        Jimmy corn cracking
        Jimmy skull bashing
        Sipping on a Wednesday
        No longer the timid kid in the tenth grade
        Now Jimmy’s in big boy clothes
        Jimmy’s on stage making kids scream HO
        The voice of the voiceless | Speak for the mute
        With a bible in my right, in a 3-piece suit
        Now drink…

    • Orin’s House
      • Orin’s House

        I felt like I was sitting on…
        Top of the planet
        Hanging out at Orin’s house
        Finishing a song, sitting on Orin’s couch
        Listening to Orin’s footsteps upstairs
        Where he went five ago to break the camcorder out
        Back then being humble was something I seldom was
        I was twenty then
        Maybe twenty-one
        We just recorded the vocals for the chorus
        For ‘Wonderful World’
        So white boy soulful
        I felt like Marvin Gaye in a skull cap
        But sounded like Nick Lachey, singing dull and flat
        The vocals were a demo for a singer
        With a voice much iller than the one you now listen to
        Stepped out the booth with a giggle like that shit’s jokes
        Orin looked at me and said…
        ‘That shit’s dope!’
        That’s when my ego went balloon pop
        I danced around the studio doing the moonwalk
        If you know the opus, imagine how ridiculous I looked
        Break dancing to a song about death
        I got caught up in the moment
        Missed and forgotten
        Lost in my own head
        I started adding up the royalties from record plays
        Probably a couple million we can generate
        Guaranteed I’ll pocket one in a couple months
        Then be a multi-millionaire by twenty-eight
        Orin said…
        ‘Derek, let me get this shit on tape’
        He ran upstairs, while I stayed
        Sitting on…
        Top of the planet
        Hanging out at Orin’s house
        Finishing a song, sitting on Orin’s couch
        Listening to Orin’s footsteps upstairs
        Where he went five ago to break the camcorder out
        He pressed record
        I stared in the camera lens
        Dead serious: Das Efx
        I repeated every word verbatim
        The payment calculation
        The millionaire prediction
        My hit single sending me to sold out stadiums on stage in front of pyro
        Thirty-thousand crying
        Screaming words that I wrote
        It was all so vivid in my mind
        So real I can hear the crowd singing on my drive home
        ‘And the Juno goes to…’ I can hear it now
        I can’t wait to get this single out

    • The Creep 2 (Nick Thran)
      • The Creep 2 (Nick Thran)

        At a shop window, he stares at a custom-made leather shoe. It glows like the hull of a conquistador’s ship. Starting price: five grand. Would it leave a trail of slug-slime wherever he walked? Would hummingbirds fly from dress-print jacarandas to feast on the ghastly sweetness of that trail? Would the walk turn to a run—past the stately brick buildings, past projects, past the fire pits where kids roast plastic dollar-store Halloween masks of cats and pigs, past the last brittle-boned streetlamp, and out onto the boiled-peach-skin surface of the river? Would it float? Would it chart a course backward through history? Would it stomp on each image in the kingdom of images? He lingers there at the window and wonders; knowing it’s creepy to linger, maybe even to wonder. Then a sewer rat slides out from inside of the shoe like a magician’s rabbit, and stares at him, and doesn’t seem afraid.

    • Ceiling Fan
      • Ceiling Fan

        They tell me I’m a suck
        That I whine too much
        I’m a cry baby unable to find two nuts
        Mistaking passion for sadness
        Their blind to us
        Failing to realize I don’t write for fun
        I write for my I life and I write with blood
        So excuse me if I get a little hyper cuz
        You belittle my writing
        My life’s in these lines
        I react when it strikes
        Never ask where the lightening comes…
        He’s depressed about being rich
        I’m depressed about being not
        But he’s so swag when he says it
        And I’m so sad so you write me…off
        But I’m you, motherfucker, you
        Only I’m not on the cover of US magazines and blogs
        Don’t be afraid of your reflection
        Accept it
        Respect it
        Maybe I’m too jealous for my own good
        But being bitter’s something that I’m good at
        Nobody wants to see a smiling D-Sisive
        They all disappear and never look back
        When I was young I wanted to be Vanilla Ice
        Grew up and realized I’d rather be Cohen
        Respected for my poem
        But why not be me?
        Fuck the masquerade
        Knoblich was a mask
        And I was never Jones
        So that means Derek’s home
        In a black hoodie, toque, with blue denim on
        But now I wear sunglasses inside
        And not because I’m a douche bag or blind
        Sometimes life’s way too bright and I’d rather see it tinted
        Blurry and dim
        I wanna believe what I’m seeing
        Following a blade as the ceiling fan spins

    • The Stranded
      • The Stranded

        The world went mad
        Afraid of its shadow
        Anarchy in the United Kingdom
        Children sniffing cola: Dripping noses
        Windshields stomped by the soles of the steel toe
        The timid hid
        Trying to breath slow
        And not trip in the pit of the freak show
        Nuns and preachers screaming…
        Where’d the peace go?
        Where’s the love?
        Like a Black Eyed Peas opus
        Trying to promote the gospel of their dear lord
        But it was too late to read or believe quotes
        Another Molotov cocktail ignited, and…
        Tossed through the window of a Honda Hybrid
        Parked in front of a hydrant
        The call of the siren intimidated none
        The fingers of children imitated guns
        Aiming at the planets
        “You’ll never take me alive”
        …Said the stranded.

        We can’t keep following a rainbow
        We can’t keep wishing on a star
        We can’t beg blood from the same stone
        We can’t keep killing who we are?

    • Chest Piece
      • Chest Piece

        I promised I would never leave you
        Even though you may never see me
        Cremated bones buried beneath you
        Voice immortal on a cd
        The burning hoops that I leap through
        With the fire on my sleeves mean
        I’ll never deceive you
        But why should you believe me?
        A dream seller told me do believe in Santa Claus
        I reminded dream seller that I’m an adult
        He told me if you can dream it then it will be
        I told him I’ve been dreaming since fifteen
        He told me that he had the answers in his rolodex
        And he can bring my dream to life with whomever he phones next
        I bought it all cuz he was all I had
        I called him on it, but he never called me back
        The story of my life

    • 9 Millimeter
      • 9 Millimeter

        If I had a 9 millimeter
        I’d smile in the mirror
        Bobby Deniro
        Then fire at the ceiling
        Then I’d disappear in the night like a villain
        Wait a minute, I’m a villain
        So, the night like I…
        Then slide me a pill in
        Between my lips with saliva
        Drinking to feed my sins
        I’m high on medicine
        High on adrenalin
        Nine millimeter in my right, now let me in
        Kick in your door like Biggie with a four squared
        Pointed at your forehead
        Get on the floor or I’m a blow a fucking hole below your skull hairs, Mon frere
        To be specific
        Remember when I was eleven and an innocent little kid
        Idolizing you
        Little did I know in my twenties
        You’d fuck me for a buck fast
        Time to let this gun blast through your moustache…

    • The Symbol (Liz Worth)
      • The Symbol (Liz Worth)

        The schematic chart implied a disassembly of secrets, coils of whispered desire. The tablet’s lined crossed at the points of predatory abandonment in time to a consciousness rising with collective volume. There was a metallic conduit, a perigee around a glint of the night’s earliest dreams, their origins a conjuration streaming out of scum-rock theories. And then, a slip of magic, the agent of a sudden pact.

    • Jolly Good Fellow
      • Jolly Good Fellow

        I’ve been writing black and white
        Trying to fill some color in
        Pencil crayon scribbling
        Finger paint brushing
        But the brights that I choose lose life once the color hits
        The white of the canvas
        I hide on the canvas
        Behind my dukes up in a pair of oven mitts
        Eyes closed, throwing jabs, hoping that a punch connects
        But all I ever hit is wind and my chin stops another knuckle hit
        A sucker for punishment
        Down for another ten
        Up I get
        Black eyes, bloody lips
        Spit in a bucket trying to rinse out the muddy red
        Through my mailbox slot slides another bill
        Bone Thugs | First of the month coming up with rent
        My agent booked me a show for a hundred quid
        Sixty bucks spent on gas and my supper
        So the luxurious life’s a hundred miles from my touch and grip
        Back to my nine to five and trying to find another gig
        8am on the bus to another shift
        8 hours feeling fucking dead
        Swallow Ativan to take off the fucking edge
        Edge solo, pluck and shred
        Bono, don’t let my bloody Sunday fucking end
        Blackberry buzzing, wife sends another text
        The only human on this planet that I love to death
        Ever since my father and my mother left
        She was heaven sent
        Her words feed me like fuel
        Till I get home and kiss her on her puckered lips
        She tells me she loves me
        I sit in darkness coming up with songs for another record
        A couple steps on my treadmill
        I see her silhouette
        In a small t-shirt and underwear
        Begging me to come to bed
        I’ll be another minute
        It’s 4 am and I’m sleeping on the floor again
        Keith Haring book playing pillow under head
        Writing black and white
        Trying to fill some color in
        Pencil crayon scribbling
        Finger paint brushing
        But the brights that I choose lose life once the color hits
        The white of the canvas
        I lye on the canvas
        A frozen snow angel
        A jolly good fellow
        Nobody can deny
        Trying to write a fucking hit

    • One Last Dance
      • One Last Dance

        I hated more than I loved
        But I loved much stronger
        And of the thousand yesterdays I leave behind
        I hope one will visit you tomorrow

        I sleep | I sleep deep
        I sleep deep end: no water wings
        I sleep deep buried under autumn leaves
        Deep: facing the bottom of walking feet
        I’ll never find out what tomorrow brings
        I no longer know what a tomorrow means
        A light bulb shattered on a Toronto street
        No voice to speak | No more to see
        Goodbye, Norma Jean
        Another candlestick kicked over
        Spilled wax
        A burnt candlewick
        Makeup caked on my white Vanna skin
        Black suit slipped on the body of my mannequin
        I could once walk
        I could once run
        I could once feel, but now I’m unplugged
        No heartbeat
        No blood pumped
        A shell of the man that I once was

        I used to be afraid of death
        Until my Dad told me…
        ‘Never be afraid of what you can’t stop’
        I found it kind of creepy, but it made sense
        And it helped me live strong everyday since
        Now you all wear black for my ‘so long’
        My ‘so long’ until it’s your time to join me
        And I hope that’s not for another hundred years
        But you never know when you’re gonna go
        I don’t mean to sound morbid
        But look at me, sleeping cold
        It was all good just a week ago
        You can’t ignore the call when the reaper phones
        And now I’m with my parents
        Or at least I hope
        He’s in a better place, they’ll convince you
        But as I write this, I’d rather be home
        Than in a box with my lights out
        On my way to some place nobody really knows
        Honestly, I prayed when it was convenient
        To a God I never really believed in
        Maybe I spoke to the wind
        But the wind’s a good listener
        Made my skin thicker
        If I live to see tomorrow | That tomorrow better be polite
        Today I’m grateful for my yesterday
        Thank you for forgiving my mistakes made
        Thanks for your sunshine on my grey days
        The music that I leave behind
        Every note’s all yours for the taking
        All yours
        No matter where my soul goes
        Just promise you’ll remember me tomorrow

Posted on .. | http://tmblr.co/Zy4yby | Notes