discography|lyrics

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

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
Confused
Forgot what I wanted
Lost the spark that I had when I started
Burnt out
Exhausted
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

ThisIsWhatItSoundsLikeWhenWhiteboys
ListenToHipHop

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
x2

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?
What?
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

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
x2

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

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

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

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
Plus
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
Daily
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

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

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

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

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
Signed
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
Signed,
A nobody with a notepad

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
Stop…

Derek!
Do me a favor
And play me that song you recorded at Orin’s yesterday morning
Orville Redden, or whatever you called it
Ballad-Something
You know the one that I’m talking about
And play it loud
Louder
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
Knoblich?
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

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

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
Air
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

Ladies and Gentlemen
Ahem…
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

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

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…

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

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

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

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
Depressing
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

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
Space
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
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
Interception
Damn!
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
Nothing
Fuck, not even a lit cigarette stuck inside the center of a muffin
Another day, another bad start
Another sad song

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
So…
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
Bundy
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
So…
Maybe the sun will rise tomorrow
But sun won’t shine forever
So until then…

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
Sharp
Cut through the jungle like a samurai
Paintbrush ready for the canvas
White
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
Want
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

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
Hell
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
Pause
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…
Normal
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
Hell
Help
I need a one way ticket to Jonestown

Around The World

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

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
Board
Silence
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
Again
The reincarnation of Jim
Grin in the faces of sin
Grim
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

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

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
Creed
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
Believe…

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
Believe…
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
Believe…

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

If I said it on a record
I meant it
Step right up and test it
Now you fucked up
Metric
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
Springsteen
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

Hello|Hello
Hello|Hello
Hello
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

Hello|Hello
Hello|Hello
Hello
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

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
Sip
Down your esophagus
Nodding off
Unconsciousness
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
Jonestown
Au revoir

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
Together
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

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
L.M.N.O.P.
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
So…
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

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

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)
What?
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…
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
Polkaroo
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 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…
Jump
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

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
Son
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
Crunch…
Got a sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump
Chewing on a percocet
Crunch…

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

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

Hallelujah
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
Liberace

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
Polite…Smiling
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
Liberace

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
Shit!

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

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

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

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
Bingo!
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

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?
Never…
Sorry, Mike Cera, but skills aren’t there
Apparently geek, but the speech be terror
Jones
The man in the mirror
Die with the king like Farrah
Too soon? Never…mind the bullocks
Mclaren
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!’
Bye
Waving | K’Naan
Looking up, up and away with my cape off…
Gone…

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

Sing me a swan song
Gandolfini
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
Like…
Whichever Phoenix you’re a fan of
Wolfgang
Rock me, Amadeus
D-Sisive
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 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
Oops…
If Asher Roth…
Slapped his palms against the caps of his knees
And rapped for free
Wait!
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
But…
If I change I’ll be just like them
And I would no longer be

Troy’s Bucket

Hoch tuey
Chop suey
System of a Down
My spit be syndrome of the down
Downey
Full retard
Academy Award
Aiming a cannon at the stars
Boom!
Powerful impact
D
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
Goodbye…

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
Tarred
Tarnished
Scarred
A kiss from a rose
Molotov cocktail
Whipped at the throne
Sip gasoline
Piss on your poems
Campfire
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

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
Nope
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
Go.Go.Go.
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
Ohhh!
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
No!
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?
Owwww…
Fuck it, I’m playing…out!
Beatbox…

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
Silent
We stare at each other
Smiling
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
Clear…
And all I want to do is kiss you
Here…
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
No
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
No

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
Plus…
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
Choose…you…I…and…

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
Dope!
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

Dear Lord
Please forgive me for my sinning
Yes
I’m still addicted to living like a misfit
Help me feel innocent
I’m tipping on a sinking ship
Shivering
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
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
Warhol
Newcombe
Jonestown two go bye twice
Jimmy no
Jimmy go bye bye
Trigger finger itchy
Blow
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

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
Misspelled
‘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!
Nope
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
But…
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
Whiplash
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
Nope
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

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
Cocaine
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

We’re haunted
Startled
Running away from the monsters stalking in our closets
Joel Osments
Watching the dead walk amongst us
Sean Penn
Shawn of…
Dawn of…
Target
Shotgun
Off him
One shot
Blow noggins off of the neck of a zombie’s carcass
We are in charge
Charlies
Baios
Barkleys to Bosleys
Angels to broke to want wings
Failures
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
Tomorrow
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)

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
Blaow!
Psyche!
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
Plus…
That group of five who robbed me for my cash
Who beat me till I cried even though they didn’t have to
Plus…
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

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

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’
Cool!
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
Naah!
I’d rather be the grown up version of…

#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
Gone
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
No!
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
D-Sisive
Jump from the heavens
A Canadian idol
Minus a number one record

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
Cuz.
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
That tomorrow better be polite
I’ve spent my life in darkness, I’m begging for some bright
I’m ready for the light
Lime
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
Paul
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
Tippy-toe
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
Screaming
‘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
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
Lime
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
Yeah.
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