It was a rock and roll band tryin’ to fit the program
with an avid emcee, big amps, and no fans.
Rockin’ low-to-no-class, sittin’ next to no chance
couldn’t open up shows ‘cos the garage door jammed.
They had rhymes and beats, bass lines and keys,
guns, guitars, bars, fresh jive, and reeds,
anything you would need to get L-I-V-E
except they didn’t have a title to define their steez.

Some said they sounded like the other side of the street,
some said somewhere else, or somewhere in-between,
nonetheless, they didn’t fit, and had to walk their own path
in a city built of fences based on old math.
Standin’ on the wrong side of the romance
handcuffed to embarrassment for another slow dance.
I throw away the keys, and let apathy choreograph it.
Tell her to keep it movin’ and watch the New Balances.
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Chorus
If it all went down tomorrow
what you gon’ do
If it all went down tomorrow
what you gon’ do
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So low, we only get up to get over it.
The Blend is gangstalicious with five types of sobering.
Puttin’ the “B” back into “B-minus”.
Franklin’s eastside & 38th street’s finest.
So tired of copin’ and burnin’ at both ends,
it feels like times frozen when you’re reachin’ til the sky’s broken,
fightin’ hopeless, dreamin’ with your eyes open,
and all you’re left with is a drunk dial focus.

Forget progress, just keep it in motion,
and I’ll test the water ‘til the day I dive in the low-end.
Baby, I’m crazy, you can check it with a microscope.
We’ll build a village before we ever find a home.
That’s bond like an isotope,
ever since sittin’ in class with the gelly rolls writin’ notes.
We dare your faith, and gamble with no chance,
dismantle the breaks and keep it in motion.
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Chorus
-
It was a rock and roll band tryin’ to fit the program
sittin’ in Wicker Park, thinkin’ of where they gon’ land.
Unsettled, tryin’ to find resolve while
reachin’ for the sky felt like they were fallin’.
A formula for failure, crash waiting to happen,
disappointment that’ll never stand to last.
If it’s not meant to be, then that’s two-thirds my reasoning
to rip the gas mask of clean and start breathin’ it,

to fight a losin battle and start bleedin’ it,
to piece together a broken cause and believe it.
We only work with terms of the immediate.
Tomorrow’s comin’ and a throw down’s proceedin’ it.
Enjoy the evening and the rest of the night
‘cos it’s melee in the morning and another risky dive.
I can’t help but to stare at the sun,
to see who burns out first, or packs up and makes a run.