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After What Came Before

by The Blend

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03:07
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04:39
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06:01

credits

released April 25, 2005

Vocals & Lyrics by Toussaint Morrison
Percussion by Spencer Austin
Bass by Daniel Leussler
Guitar by Edward Folly
Keys by Linden Killam

Recorded in Minneapolis, MN

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about

The Blend Minneapolis, Minnesota

A nationally touring group of misfits making sound wherever beckoned, The Blend dominated the midwest pioneering hip-hop and rock in the same breath from dingy basement rock shows to capacity hip-hop shows. Now, their fate unknown having disbanded for several years, Linden Killam and Toussaint Morrison continue the group's legacy of unconventional, top tiered sound. ... more

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Track Name: Like I Said
My name is Sant
of the B-L-E-N-D
and I came to rock the mic cold like the north of poles
and break it down to the sub-degree
I don’t ride the saddle or wagon in it just to battle combatants
because I do not like to deal with the weak
So get control over those egos,
and tell your girlfriend to stop stealin’ the sheets

Man bravado got played out and drained out since it came out
and stayed out, cos’ everybody loves a brave mouth
Spittin’ that steam and the hollow flames out,
but won’t do shit when I’m up in their face,
now without substance, there is no function,
so nix the nonsense and cut straight to the subject
I hate to wait to make sense out of nothin’
and I got three minutes ‘til I break for lunch, kid (peace)

My name’s out like sunshine to gray clouds
but won’t get press unless I’m shootin’ a plane down.
Complain about the stakes of fame now,
but hear me talkin’ different when they got me paid out.
Wise lies, and the price for them…
it ain’t about that or idle threats, how high you get,
whether or not you sound like the Heiruspecs,
or make a million from the mics you check.

I ain’t likely or liable to sweat cos’ that ain’t my custom,
you could tell Judy, Jake, Dan, Frank, and Justin,
“Cash comes last, keep my people in front,kid
and understand The Blend ain’t nothin’ to fuck with”.
Actually, to hell with this, I quit.
I’d rather roam alone and punch holes in telephone poles.
Promotin’ shows is my gift and curse,
worst comes to worst, my staple gun comes first.

Peace to the street teams puttin’ in work
hangin’ on every corner and word.
It’s urban struggles, and the black burden
I work with, and make sure the movement’s still movin’ with a purpose
like my verse is always in motion like a coffeehouse stir stick.
We are The Blend, with the A-I-M,
yea yea, always in motion.
-
Chorus
Like I Said, I know you’re tryin’ to get your piece of the pie,
so brotha tell me why ya reachin’ for mine?
Represent I will. We hold it down ‘til it’s standin’ still
not concerned with the hype or thrill,
and like I said, we can’t settle for a piece of pie, when The Blend’s more than beats and rhymes.
-
His name is Spence
of the B-L-E-N-D
and he came to rock the drums cold like the north of poles,
and break it down to the uh! degree.
He doesn’t ride the saddle or wagon,
in it just to battle combatants because he doesn’t like to deal with the weak.
So, get control over those egos
and tell ya’ homeboy to stop stealin’ the beats

cos’ samplin’ ain’t impressive
unless dressed with and mixed with
your own sound down to Pete Rock perfection.
So, listen everybody freshwomen and freshmen,
check the syllabus and pay close attention.
Ya wanna blend in, but not look desperate,
wanna kick it with the crowd and still be independent
with a fashionable taste, flavor of the semester,
party hard and be awake for breakfast.

But, the rules of the game don’t always allow you to swang that way
Can’t have yo cake, can’t have yo cake, can’t have yo cake
(Don’t expect respect kid, when ya’ so damn selfish tryin’ to have yo cake
andalways be the one to digest it.)
See where we come from talent isn’t the question.
The scene is locked up with circles and connections.
Yea, we take pride bein’ on the outside,
now watch out as I push the press, ch-check it
-
Chorus
-
I was talkin’ to my main man Zach from Kanser,
he said “Ya’ make a better rock star than rapper”.
Well really is it that or, the fact that I rap poor?
Cos’ shit, I don’t know the answer I ain’t that sure
what hip hop is in Minneapolis.
Ya’ gets no love if ya’ ain’t established,
emcees don’t write, they’re too busy battlin’,
drunk freestyles get mistaken for talent…

Well, we let go instead of grippin’ a crutch’.
Yea, the label of “hip hop” we’re givin’ it up.
A lot of people felt entitled and convinced they’re a judge
of definin’ titles while we fit the definition of none.
You’re as likely to catch me listenin’ to P-Funk
as you could find me in Edina bumpin’ Hilary Duff.
This is so much bigger than what you thought it was,
I’m afraid ya’ cap and doo rag isn’t enough.

So, let go of your hype and prided tunnel vision.
My god, have we been reduced to one image,
one sound, one skin tone, one style,
no love whoever doesn’t fit the profile?
You could rock shows in domes to full crowds,
own thrones, big homes, platinum, and gold crowns,
and wreak of emptiness because you cannot hold a smile.
I’m happy for the people I know. We know how

to rock it simply for the love like my man Snakebird
and the kids from St. Paul, you know, Word 4 Word.
I fell in love with Wicker Park in the midst of Chicago
like the coffeeshop girl bumpin’ Badnewsjones.
It’s only natural we stay compatible,
support the people from beneath like avenues.
Until then, keep conscious and keep sight
and stand your ground like streetlights.
Track Name: Much Ado
Well-have-ya’-heard-it-did-ya’-see-it-it-was-dope-couldn’t-believe-it-
guess-it-was-one-of-those-things-that-ya’-had-to-be-there-to-feel-it-
type of hype I don’t like, so, tell someone that might
cos’ maybe they’ll be interested and dumb enough to (Bite!)
It’s like fast food without the calories, a vibrator with no batteries,
a battle MC that gives compliments and apologies while he’s battling.
It baffles me, half of your rap’s straps, crack, and capped casualties
when in all actuality, you’ve never handled a piece or dealt calamity.

Oh can it be, that people can open their mouths
and drop a verse that’d grab you by the heart so deep and profound
while they ain’t got a clue of what the fuck they’re talkin’ about,
just sayin’ some shit, just to sound deep and profound
and get a crowd, talkin’ about how bad your life is and how hard ya got it
while your livin’ under a roof with money in your pocket.
I don’t understand it, how your takin’ it for granted,
then again you don’t know what you got until it’s gone, granted.

Had it happen to my boy who had a message:
He wrote lyrics every night, despite his father who was against him
doin’ hip hop, said it was a waste of time
and a beautiful mind, so he walked out the house to concentrate on rhymes
-
Chorus
now if he listened to his dad and followed the family function
he’d be in the house much ado about nothin’.
Ya’ say that you’re a gangsta’ but ya ‘ never seen a gun kid,
sounds to me, ya much ado about nothin’
I got this girl’s number and I thought it would be somethin’,
but she turned out to be much ado about nothin’.
Talkin’ in my face, yea yea, keep it comin’,
cos’ when Adam shows up, you’re much ado about nothin’.
-
A few ado about somethin’ and handle
their business, here, let me give an example:
I was with the crew gettin’ down and shwilled
at a party havin’ a good time up until
this kid walked in with the Iceberg Sweater,
Suburban fabulous, all about the glitter.
I didn’t know what to think or let alone figure
when he approached me, “What up my ------“.

Had to educate him, had to let him know
that that might’ve slid by in 1904
opposed to two, double o five, right now
afro-centric in the present and I will throw down.
Insult the brown, I don’t stand still and act chill,
I hit harder than an overdose of Advil.
Back to this kid yappin’ and actin’,
throwin’ the N-word round and laughin’,

I asked him, cool as I could,
to not use the word “around me, kid, understood”.
He said, “I can use any word that I want
and if ya’ gettin’ pissed off, that’s ya’ fault”
Well hold up, picked up the phone, (blaow!)
called Daddy Rocks, it’s on.
He killed his Keystone, hopped out Delta Chi,
I told N-word boy that we should discuss this outside.

Didn’t wanna fight or brawl,
I’d rather communicate and keep it calm.
He was pretty cool, collective, and patient,
but he kept usin’ the word in the conversation.
I couldn’t contain it, I was losin’ my brain and
The next thing I know I’m swingin’ like Roy Jones.
He hit the pavement, floored, bleedin’ of course,
Daddy Rocks hopped off the back porch to serve more.

Bet yo bottom dollar
from then on he would think twice not to
drop a word like that, because I stood up for somethin’.
Ya ghetto façade ain’t nothin’.
Don’t talk how ya heard it and word it,
walk and dress up just like ya seen it,
cos’ya might run into the originals
and get them heated
when ya steal a style, based off of stereotype assumptions
Get that ass rocked, much ado about nothin’
-
Chorus
Track Name: She Says
She says it’s all about amounts and where ya’ goin’
Her attitude could take a bit out of the concrete
Don’t tell her sometin’ that she already knows kid
She’s left many men in puddles of their own embarrassment
Time after time, watched guy after guy
Get dissed and rejected, she don’t even give the time
Whenever I look her way I feel like I’m goin’ blind
I lean against the wall and I gotta ask why
-
Chorus
How could someone make ya’ feel so high,
and at the same time treat ya’ so low
It was somethin’ I could see in her eye,
she wasn’t the one to chill and settle
Can’t blame a women for not wantin’ a man
togo screwin’ up her master plan
So don’t think ya mean a god damn thing,
to this girl, in this world
-
Upon a packed house wrapped in midnight sheets
Cigarette smoke twirled around the light bulb gleam
Well I pace slow through the crowd like a dull daydream
Dumbfound oblivious to what was rollin’ through the entry
She passed me by, whistlin’ a tune from Pharcyde
Without thinkin’ twice I approached, “Excuse me miss, I believe
It’s been some months and long days since I could summon the stomach to tell ya’ Flowers wait and anticipate the day
With false hopes to blossom and match the beauty you obtain
Thunderstorms contend your strength, the earth moves for you
Well night after night, together we spend our time
Usually at her crib cos’ she doesn’t dig mine
I make most of the phone calls, I can’t lie
She gots me where she wants me and that’s screamin’ out loud
-
Chorus
Her daddy always told her, “In awhile, girl, in awhile, girl”
Society sold her to the stylish heards, to the stylish heards
Wish I meant a god damn thing to this girl in her world
-
It ain’t my place to speak or point a finger and preach
Cos’ as a male I don’t know your shoes, whatever you choose I got ya’ back and both ya’ sides
And if ya’ need to leave, get ya’ space and breathe
I can support that too, but not without tears and ink drippin’ to kill the pain
Child it’s no game, so I say
-
Whether a year, or a one night thang
Satisfaction’s fast and always switchin’ up lanes
She doesn’t care to push the gas, hit the breaks, slow down or accelerate for anybody other than herself
Ya’ call it cold, snobby, or arrogant, and deny that you’re ignorant to face a female’s independence
Well after week five of the boyfriend jive, she said a committed relationship isn’t worth her time
I said, “Queen that’s coo, I don’t wanna hold ya’ down
Ya’ got two wings, now I understand why
-
Chorus
She’s more than the apple of your eye with a short skirt and make-up in purse
I question what’s the truth and what’s a lie if we don’t respect her, mother of earth
Until I mean a god damn thing to this girl, I’m not sure
Track Name: About 10 Seconds
I’ve watched emcees battle and watched’em talk,
I’ve watched emcees smoke, and watched’em cough,
I watched a cipher turn into an all out brawl
rampant ass whoopin’ caught one to the temple, woke up sprawled.
Though it was pokin’ fun,
punchlines, bars, jokes, and puns.
Cool, chill, and calm, hit the exit long gone.
These dudes didn’t come to rap, they came lookin’ for somethin’ to bomb on

worst than if George Bush were to spot Sadam’s Mom
taggin’ her name on the front door of the white house with Tom1.
So I’m on, I got the mic, got somethin’ to say,
I wanna squeeze the moment and pump life into yesterday.
I wanna kill all my grays, and turn’em into gold.
I wanna crown, a castle, and a cordless microphone, and sit in a throne-
Bitch, who the fuck do ya’ think your battlin’?
I’ll cut ya’ off by the manhood, and call you Madeline…

I lost control…
went and cracked a joke about his boy in the hospital.
So, he turned around threw down, bum rushed and rocked me.
Dropped drunk and sloppy, odds worst than Rudy or Rocky,
or makin’ it rich, livin’ in Compton,
knocked out colder than February in Milwaukee-
somethin’s off key, Ryan why didn’t ya’ stop me?
You coulda grabbed me by the throat and knocked me unconscious,

but nooooo, I had to be on some shit.
Got a broken nose, tryin’ to role with the punches
starin’ at the sky, blue in my eye,
my ego’s appetite, gots me thinkin’ I can fly
-
Chorus
Gettin’ pushed in a crowd at a violent pace
Lost tryin’ to find a familiar face
We wanna blend in feelin’ outta place
And then we play it off leanin’ up against the wall
-
Meanwhile, I’m angst, countin’ my paces humiliated
walkin’ away from the situation bleedin’ embarrassment,
while you breathe in arrogance, soaked in your vocal carelessness.
Hope the pavement isn’t somethin’ your ego is scared to kiss-
bear with it, the temptation of temporary fame
only lasts ‘til Sunday mornin’. It’s a psychological game
gamblin’ with confidence, subtract your positive to a forgotten name
roamin’ the bottom plane strugglin’ to get to the keg

passed plastered, packed bladder, trashed past the point of laughter.
Now, it’s only a matter of vomit and stature.
I stand back and grin cracked as a mad hatter,
pull a swig of the black lager, tip my hat and head back to
the basement music playin’ another Saturday chapter.
My cup of water can’t silence the weekend screamin’ faster,
chasin’ after eye’s iris’…
It’s all too common, goin’ outta style to be an X-factor
-
Chorus
-
Where anybody’ll tell you they had it hard at some point,
whether a bad hair day, or gettin’ jacked at gun point,
my fatal fury’s been clockin’ in at the wrong time.
There’s too many stages, bosses, and clotheslines-
I flow fine, and sometimes freestyles the only ticket
like tap dancin’ and paint brushin’ in Greenwich Village.
No matter the satisfaction, the night still feels unfinished,
gots me turnin’ in my sleep, keeping the bed sheets twisted.

See I’ve watched emcees battle and I’ve watched’em talk shit
tryin’ to fit into these circles, squares, and boxes,
often lost in, there own testosterone cross stitch:
an embossed fabric wit’ a bad habit of crossin’
that fine line between “Hey he’s cool” and that guy
hittin’ on your girlfriend and callin’ your crew out at the same time.
Your manhood is being questioned!
and I’m not askin’ ya’ to step outside-hey, just askin’ a question… bitch.

The mind is just as fucked and unstable
whether circled with friends, or alone at the lunch table-
squeezin’ my juice box amongst a sea of blonde blue
wonderin’ what the fuck am I tryin’ to belong to.
-
Chorus
Track Name: All Smoke, No Joke
Kill the mass confusion,
introducin’ the phat and elusive
outcasts, excluded exclusive,
steady rockin’ harder the louder the boos get.
I give a god damn who your crew is,
posin’ like a bomb threat with two lit fuses,
walkin’ round, got ya’ hat cocked,
callin’ it urban, but ya’ know well your damn not.

So go ahead, rock ya’ ice call it hip hop,
kick ya little wack freestyles until ya’ slip up,
sport ya’ little ghetto façade until ya’ get shot,
play it off like the next big thing to hit pop,
glamorize truths to lies and don’t give a
foodstamp or welfare check to who ya’ misrepresent.
See this is The Blend, not a mix up.
Too phat to fit the boundaries they try to give us.

“Hmmm, well it sorta sounds like it’s um
Kinda like a mix of jazz and hip funk”-
Huh, guess to be as clear as can be
I should get a tattoo on my right ass cheek
that says “Hi, we’re The Blend, we conform with this sound”.
rock shows with my back turned and pants down.
Ya’ ask how could a group kick rap out
and blast out rock like a prominent crack house.

Go ahead, call it this or that sound,
bitch and bad mouth, you can kick my ass now.
Punk emcees’ll catch a violent smack down
talkin’ ‘bout hip hop like they own the damn sound.
I’ll freestyle with a banjo if I want
-
Chorus
Time’s no joke
and we get down like it’s the last night before we gotta go
-
I’m tryin’ to focus on this thing called art
in a crowd of work suits marchin’ sidewalks playin’ their part.
I get lost in the day, so I write in the dark,
think outside the beat box, get beneath the tree bark
to the roots of this. Wait, who is this
swingin’ from the branches like a band of drunken hooligans,
pissin’ on the front lawn, sleepin’ in the garden,
scratchin’ their ass, flickin’ burgers and fartin’?

We’re the guys that you wouldn’t quite call normal.
If we were a place we’d be the Mexican border.
If sanity’s a two dollar bill, we’re four quarters,
streakin’ across the dance floor at fall formal.
We put the “I” in the “dis” of “disorder”.
We put the funk, in your bad odor.
We’re the outcasts of hip hop
who kidnapped Rock N’ Roll, put a hot one in Country’s dome,

pistol whipped Rap, and threatened to unload
on the cashier behind the desk at the liquor sto’.
Made the getaway in a gray protégé
down the interstate to the California gates.
We will not stop for lunch or breakfast,
number 2s, dinner, or to take a piss.
And if it runs outta gas and the motor breaks,
we’re gonna get up out and push it state to state-

gonna get up out and push it face to face.
Call it what ya’ want we’re beyond a name.
I’ll play the bongos naked if I want.
-
Chorus
Time’s no joke
We get down, like it’s the last night before we gotta go
Burnin’ out ‘til it’s cold/ Strippin’ down to the soul/
Lightin’ up and dancin’ completely outta control/
Yeah, we get down with drums two guitars and a saxophone/
Track Name: July
Prequel
Walkin’ away from a dark gray season
Gray like the bottom’s of clouds with a threat to storm
I can feel her leavin’
She could be gone, maybe I missed my chance
But I still wait for her like I wait for the end of class
Steady losin’ the feelin’
Cos’ it’s a long way from comfort to face fear
I took the wrong way to get there, now I’m here
Writin’ just one more page
And if ya’ happen to see her, could ya’ tell her what I’m about to say

July

Who gives a fuck what ya’ shoot if ya’ don’t got aim,
so this must pertain

to an individual named J
despite cliché rhymes of romance and bad dates.
We lacked faith, and only made it sadly halfway.
When shit went down, no one would take the damn blame.
We were together like night and day ‘til we broke like dawn
on her terms, cos’ she owns the sun.
The whole globe, in motion, knows she’s stronger
than it’s own gravitational laws,

so it revolves whenever she calls- when she wants
while I sound like I’m whinin’ hope is gone.
Just another emcee heart broke and done
over the girl he ain’t with anymore, that’s what I’m far from.
Some run and jump until their lungs don’t pump,
or shoot up and up until their brains go numb,
to get over someone that made’em feel low,
when it’s so simple gettin’ high with a lone microphone.

Love triangles get mangled in rectangles,
peeps get angered and start stranglin’
other lovers up in the tangle.
Relationships’ll make ya’ act insane and strange. Well,
J the game is nothin’ to play with.
You know better than me, I’m still learnin’ the basics.
I’ve been rejected from “hell no’s” to rainchecks,
girls got me shook and breakin’ ape shit like a bboy’s laces.

Tryin’ to get somewhere, but the goddamn breaks stick.
Tryin’ to see straight, but I’m too damn wasted,
head achin’, same ol’ same shit.
J, I wouldn’t write about ya’ if thinkin’ of ya was painless.
Pages upon pages, won’t change shit.
Ran outta time and a means of communication.
The sun’s chill waitin’ patient for you to call on Spring.
I told it not to hold up and just sing
-
Chorus
Julie, not far from July
When everyone gots damn good reason to smile
There’s no such good thing, in this sunshine
Without its fair share of rain
-
I’m not bold or close to one hundred percent
solidon all of it, far from positive
as to how this circus is workin’
with sex, drugs and ex-girlfriends,
weekend one-night stands,
drunken phone calls- 3am-
losin’ sleep restin’ my forehead in both my hands
tryin’ real hard to pretend you’re another face in the crowd
passin’ by at another house party, while I’m sittin’ on the couch.

Turned down a five dollar cup to get drunk,
I’m stuck focused eyein’ up all the
guys n’ dolls runnin’ and chasin’,
playin’ hard-to-get, frontin’ and fakin’,
makin’ the call or by their cell phone waitin’
stressed out tryin’ to leave or spark a conversation.
Watched a lot of kids try and take it like an equation,
but their head gets rocked like a fresh pair of brand new Asics.

Wish I could play this all off,
dissolved like a grain of salt,
talk smooth and lucid like a don’t give two shits
or two cents to grab a mic and speak to it.
The truth is: goin’ shady and ruthless,
walkin’ out unimpressed, cuttin’ friends to useless
ain’t nothing original or brand new shit.
So cut ya’ too-drunk-to-remember excuses.

Call me uptight, childish, narrow minded,
say I’m in love with the idea and my words got nothin’ behind’em.
I don’t mind it, but I’ll admit it’s gettin’ redundant
writin’ my affection for ya’ cos’ I don’t feel it when I recite it.
Words go so far and fall short to explain
holdin’ your hand in December feels like May,
your lips taste like solstice (change)
and no beauty queen could ever do that ‘til they live up to your name.

It’s been a month…
I got ya back it’s no thing. I sing
-
Chorus
Julie, not far from July
When everyone gots damn good reason to smile
There’s no such good thing, in this sunshine
Without its fair share of rain
These clouds in my eyes, killed off ya’ day blue
But complainin’s no use
When they said my heart had fooled me, but I knew it was right
When someone makes everyday feel like July
Track Name: Relaxified
Leave the mess to rest and the beef on your plate.
Let’s all call it equal, nothin’ to compensate.
At the rate I’m goin’ I’ll just need a cup of fuel
cos’ I’m chill on travelin’ wit’ my back pack and a mule,
not a lot, just a few, not too much just a little
not in excess, just usin’ the minimum essentials.
Bein’ chill for me ain’t confidential:
straight faced behind my ear is a number two pencil.

Leanin’ on the wall, just slingin’ fastballs,
no priorities, just drinkin’ from Pandora’s Cup of tea.
Whassup wit’ me?Nothin’ B,
layin’ low at the coffee house wit’ the family and a few anonabeats.
It’s chill mode and there’s no code you need to get in,
So, cut all that fuss and sip on the mocha blend.
Beginnin’ to the e-n-d,
it ain’t nothin’ to my

Pre Chorus
And I’m wakin’ up to my off campus college castle;
flies on the ceilin’ and a wall full of spackle.
I don’t recognize my sink anymore it’s a black hole,
and somethin’ smells like last week’s cheese casserole.
-
Chorus
Ah yes, some zest
A little spice in this hip hop fest
So feel free to stretch
Ahhhh, and feel refreshed
Cos’ we have no need for your beef (Understand that the message I send)
Is of respect upon a beat (Agent Orange on intellectual blends)
-
She came at me with an attitude, so what was I supposed to do?
Smack her in the face and beat her down with my own two
bare hands??? Naw that ain’t the plan.
I took a step back and said, “Aight then”.
Because before I meet you, I already got respect
until you cross that line then your card is out the deck,
but ‘til then, don’t fret,don’t get twisted in a mess.
Some people pull out techs cos’ somebody hurt their rep.

I just pull out my text pen, kick it wit’ my friends
when I feel a little on edge and stress level 10.
So, what do you plan to dowhen someone gets mad at you-
bust shots back and forth through windows on the avenue?
Bullet holes in your brand new Chevy Malibu
just because ya’ let ya’ bad mood cop an attitude-
caught one to the chest, now ya’ layin’ on the ground through,
so they took the keys to your car and your new shoes.

Rushed to the hospital, got your chest lubed
so they can pump more volts into you than Pikachu.
Your life barely saved, now, dumb would be an overstatement
to describe the situation of ya’ life almost taken.
Most don’t really know the meaning of relax.
Intelligence becomes irrelevant to the fact.
Shake that load off and cut ya’ self some slack,
and when the beef approaches, take a step back.
-
Pre Chorus
And I’m wakin’ up to my off campus college castle;
flies on the ceilin’ and a wall full of spackle.
I don’t recognize my sink anymore it’s a black hole,
and somethin’ smells like last week’s cheese casserole.
I pass the mornin’ with a drop or dab of soap
and hit the closet for my clothes so I can get up and go.
A minute or so, is all it takes to get the day started
for the hardest workin’ emcee in his southside apartment.
-
Chorus
-
Pre Chorus
And I’m wakin’ up to my off campus college castle;
flies on the ceilin’ and a wall full of spackle.
I don’t recognize my sink anymore it’s a black hole,
and somethin’ smells like last week’s cheese casserole.
I pass the mornin’ with a drop or dab of soap
and hit the closet for my clothes so I can get up and go.
A minute or so, is all it takes to get the day started
for the hardest workin’ emcee in his southside apartment.
Not a gram of glamour or a dash of fashion,
rockin’ slippers and pajamas in and out of my classes.
Passin’ wit’ an “A” best believe hell yes sir
I ain’t even showin’ up to half the lectures.
My time’s expensive, and I’m not about to spend it
on a shirt from Abercrombie, just to make an impression,
so I’m dressed in whatever best fits and lasts
and I’ma ride my style bumpin’ up and down ya ave.
Track Name: Slo Burn
Today, she doesn’t care to dress pale gray
and blush black.The weight made me exhale late,
so I stare in her face, and she cries cold raina
as the sun sinks deep into the big blue drink.
Her mood swings can move things, I’m not fooling.
I bet that your first guess is Julie
and it’s not, see I’m caught, vexed and spent
starin’ at the sidewalk with the Sunday stress.

Dumbfound with dumb thoughts of sex and death.
Wonder if I still exist in my ex’s head.
Even good close friends say The Blend is dead,
worthless, and I shouldn’t waste my breath.
Well go on kid, go and dance like all the rest,
don’t ask any questions,always be impressed,
invest in bright colors, embrace the night’s darkness starlit…
-
It’s a slo burn, livin’ this light like incandescent shine, slowly drippin’ in my eye
Sunset your work down, dress up and jump into this vile bright pool of everything and all that you want
Oh lord, we grab midnight by the throat
And swallow stars ‘til we’re comatosed and gone and lost and gone and lost and gone
Killin’ daylight, killin’ my daylight
Who killed my daylight, Stay awake love
Cos’ it’s a slo burn livin’ this light like California crimes, always runnin’ outta time
Ya’ got me bent, it’s short fused happiness bleedin’ shades of blue
-
It use to make sense like copper,
simple logic and orange clockwork-
sustained with what the day offered.
Now when I wake up I only recognize my boxers-
who’s this chick- who’s bed is this? I’ve long lost the posture
to stand out and get the hell off the
back saddle and prattle of the neon monster.
When night falls we drink shine and ride light bulbs
‘til we burn out or learn our life’s lost.

So, the sky cries cold rain while I wait on Ryan,
stare at the sidewalk and wonder where the time went.
I’ve given up my voice and sight just to find it
and only get a glimpse whenever I sit and write it.
I’m blinded, searchin’ for the sun in the dark
like poverty on a quest for change in Wicker Park.
Sparked, and can’t be stopped once it starts.
A sick wildfire seekin’ to kill the art.
-
It’s 5am while the city still sleeps.
The party’s passed out drugged up outta reach.
I watched you take your last hit and wait for sunset
to make sure that she still exists.
I smiled, closed my eyes, and held slumber up against my soul
to pay the late night toll,
and soon awoke to thunder from a storm she screamed
to see the life that your body let go.

So, when it hit 6am and the city still slept
like homeless wisdom on a bus stop bed,
I had to check ya’ pulse and feel a wind of regret-
caressed my cheek with ya’ last breath.
Now baby don’t you cry, and baby don’t you smile
cos’ happiness only happens when you walk that mile.
It can’t be posed in style or in a pipe compiled.
I wish I coulda wrote this before your last hour.

It’s passed now, gone along with those black clouds.
I guess ya can’t hold or slow down the fast route,
show someone the light when they’re cold and passed out
even though I tried and cried for this
-
Shine. Talk to me.
What’s your addiction? Remedy to your system?
Can you control the devil in your religion?
How high, must you get for you to feel ok?
Til it hurts good or numbs the pain?
Track Name: Guns And Guitars
High heel shoes wit’ a high class tone,
en vogue with six deep, never eva’ alone.
Always a full mailbox on her cellular phone,
catchin attention, eyes, ears, and bones.
Steppin in the front do’, expectin’ a free cup-
naw excuse me queen, that’s gonna be five bucks.
Hip hop ain’t payin’ the bills in this apartment,
and we don’t play the pretty face coupon market.

So move on barkin’ wit ya blue blonde jargon,
break ya wallet take it to the keg and park it.
It’s the kinda party we’re ya spew off target
miss the bathroom sink and hit the livin’ room carpet,
shroomin’ so hard that ya chew on garbage,
confused and long gone from the booze and carbon.
Roughnecks got beef, but they’re too bombed to start shit,
and T’s in business like the Oolong market.

The only problem is the party’s at large
causin’ a loud ruckus congregation in my backyard.
I got word that the neighbors gonna call the cops
unless ya’ll get it together and choose one.
-
Chorus
The house- or the garage
Take it to the house- or the garage
Girl I know you got enough clout to shut the city down
But for now ya gotta bounce from my yard choose one
That’s the house- or the garage
Take it to the house- or the garage
Rippin’ and tearin’ through the track cos’ we live so fast
That I ain’t got time to die young
-
They slide me two shots and say choose your poison,
cos’ everybody’s gotta do dirt at some point, kid.
Choice or coin flip, fate’s double jointed
wit a busy schedule and no time for appointments.
So, I sneak in her office when she’s out on the weekend
and play my own fate however I see fit
wit a cup’a self-destruction bubblin’ in each fist,
complete with a mentality seekin’ to get ripped.

The science of applyin’ it ain’t really deep shit,
it’s as simple as logistics and breathin’-
simple as five chicks in the bathroom applyin’ make-up
and I’m tired of waitin’ so it’s time for public urination.
Fate can take a permanent vacation while were racin against death,
I gaffle the moon and sprint quick.
Kidnappin’ the tainted passion is all I plan to do
and charge kids to play a roll in the game like Faxanadu.

Do not attempt to bring my high down.
Disrespect, and we gotta break the guns and guitars out.
I’m reffin’ these rules like corrupted cops.
I can’t get caught, so make a decision and choose one.
-
Chorus
-
So deep in this
I could swim ‘til the ocean’s empty
Cos’ my soul’s addicted
And dancin’ to a broken medley
Track Name: American Machine
You can bet ot, where it starts and it stops
isn't dependent on whether you raise your fist up or not.
Cos' somewhere upon a desktop
you could find your measurements, profile, and headshot.
Gridlocked on blocks, no Idon't stress cops
even after 9/11 when my rights left dodge.
Next thing I know they're roamin' streets dressed up
with the James Dean shades, black hats and lip gloss,

pissed off, cos' most of the brothahs got tipped off-
dipped out the chi, to the m-p-l spot
claimin' that they got the rap game in a choke hold
while the system gots their dick up their ass, screamin' uncle.
Ya' run,kill, drink, smoke, and thug still.
They got their eye on ya' waitin' for blood spill
to get their cup filled, and fuel this machine.
Can't tell… you're bleedin' gasoline
-
Chorus
Pour the oil out, and I'll light ya' fire
Lay my soil down and walk stride for stride
Shoot rhyme for rhyme at any lie ya try
To sell a nightmare as a dream
Persuade the streets to gunfight for life
And get the people to build an appetite for pie
I'm gonna fight the fight, walk stride for stride
Against the American Machine
-
Sip champagne on ya’ public campaign,
preach and make claims on how you plan to make change.
Ya’ don’t accentuate what ya’ really wanna say
is that the only change’ll be made for ya’ pay.
Said there’s no in-between, only an either-or.
Want to make the gap wider between rich and poor.
Take caution, be careful what you wish for
cos’ the next day ya’ might have a riot at ya’ door.

Want to hush hush the voices with questions
about livin’ wages and income.
I know what’s goin’ on with ya’ unaccounted funds.
I’m not a fool my momma come from the union.
Put ya’ in the chair, now time to testify.
Ladies and gentlemen would the court please rise
and pay witness to all ya’ unveiled lies.
Oh the picture was so pretty now it don’t look nice.
-
Chorus
-
Make statements to stay protected.
Call it racist when it’s afro-centric.
Call it what ya’ want, but the police do mind
when a fist gets raised up yellin’ African pride.
If ya’ don’t stand for somethin’ then you’ll for anything,
manipulated easily into following.
That’s not my calling, but sometimes I watch for kicks,
sit and listen to your speeches just for entertainment,

but what’ll happen to song when the chorus won’t sing?
Your deejay quits, and there’s no beat dropping-
out of the sky like a bird with one wing.
It’s hard to stand for something when you’re always falling.
It’s hard to stand for something when you’re always on your knees
beggin’ for forgiveness from your god or deity.
Want to repent for all the things that you took from the hood.
Please raise your right and place your left hand upon the book.
-
Chorus
Track Name: Halfway
Somewhere between the stage
and lobby coffee tables morning bagels,new newspapers,and dayquil,
remotin’ the cable runnin’ your daydrill
becomes an effort, mission, and quest to keep stable
and for some it’s just a pressin desperate cry to stay still.
Can’t wait till the passin’ storms and title waves spill-
got the hard headed drownin’, denyin’ the pain still.
Remain Chill, my man was swallowin’ his eighth pill.
To keep sane got his brown eyes melted to glazed hazel.


Brain blazin’, baked and jaded to vegetation
and awakenin’ abrupt hooked up to tubes and cables
from the nasal to the navel in a hospital bed.
Can’t see ya’ runnin’ in ya’ dreams or hear ya’ talk in ya’ head.
Ya’ rock wit it like autism and won’t come off wit it.
You could have a map and compass and still get lost in it,
Straight afraid to taste the cake cos’a how they frosted it,
so I penetrate the surface to get the raw image


of a stressed out pot full’a water boilin’ hot
on the edge’a the oven ready to jump the stove top.
I’m sittin’ in the cupboard just another tea- cup
hangin’ by the handle while the kitchen heats up.
-
Chorus
Let it go
Feel Good
Get on wit it
And do like ya should
Let it go
Feel Good
Get on wit it
And do like ya should
-
Sometimes I get it right and avoid the bait and tackle,
save the damsel, shoot the super villains, hit the gas and straighten the handles,
dodgin’ bullets and shrapnel, pullin’ through chasin’ after
dangerous master minds full of loud complacent laughter.
Well, I ain’t laughin’, cos’ I don’t believe in heroes for that matter.
There’s just a few people who quit playin for evil to get back at’em.
The fact of it is, the craziest cats were quiet kids
who sat in the back’a class, starin’ out windows and writin’ shit.


Got used to abuse and ass whoopins at the bus-stop,
bleedin’ on brand new shirts and stepping in ta class fucked up.
I’ve learned that satan has one smile and a few faces…
one of’em I’ve dated and the rest I keep away from
like an undercover agent not too distant or close.
Between your lines, breakin’ down and analyzin’ the prose.
Both ears open, teeth clinched, and one eye closed.
Aimin’ at the subtle with intent to expose.
-
Chorus
-
Conversation
About the rain
It gets a little bit’a redundant
Talkin’ bout the weather’s change, yeah
So what’s the price for ya’ sanity
If it’s in the nature of ya’ daily routine
To keep to yourself and no one else
Sayin’ what ya’ wanna’ say half way