The game is the game, either accept it or not/Ain't never gonna stop, be here when you not/ So I play it how I know, work the angles and such/ It's supposed to be hard, never painful enough/ Cats shameful with bluffs, ain't got no value/A like is a lie, and a lie will out you/ Come and you go, they'll forget about you/ Fame is a chance, but a career is doubtful/ You're disposable, they can live without you/ You're popular, son, what can last about you?/ Sick flows for days, tired of throwaways/ And the same ol' same don't know that they're lame/ Denial is a burden, that's built for the weak/ And a trend is a time that eventually cease/ Now I ain't meek, but I know better/ And I ain't money, but my flow cheddar.
/Best believe is it's Kronkite/
/Best Believe it's Crocker/
/Know that we the fryin' pan/
/The rest of y'all are water/
/You're make believe's make shift/
/The game makes martyrs./
/Y'all too short-sighted, son/
/We aim farther./
Friday, December 27, 2013
Week 10 Rhinoplasty Rhymes
(Crocker Verse)
Morally bankrupt, bereft of gems or the jewels/ That was the last thread and I'm fresh out of spools/ So I glide through the graveyard sampling characters/ Picking out traits, building a caricature/ I don't know what man, but something that's pleasing/ Something that they'll notice and they'll say that I needed/ Ever look at your script, and then tire of the treatment?/ How the leads painted ain't at all how you see it?/ So I'ma rewrite and pull from those who have passed on/ Take the best of them and then I'll put my new mask on/ Those who wanna judge and say it won't last long/ I'm not emotional, I just relate to those sad songs/ You do it too, just make an effort to hide it/ I ain't mad at cha, man, we call that survivin'/ Even thinkin' surgery with the help of a doctor/ Wait, who am I kidding? Damnit, I'm Crocker/
(Bridge/Hook)
/And I don't know what idea you had/
/But that ain't this and that's too bad/
/Drag off a smoke and push my roof back/
/Fiddle with a pen and try to make my truth last/
Morally bankrupt, bereft of gems or the jewels/ That was the last thread and I'm fresh out of spools/ So I glide through the graveyard sampling characters/ Picking out traits, building a caricature/ I don't know what man, but something that's pleasing/ Something that they'll notice and they'll say that I needed/ Ever look at your script, and then tire of the treatment?/ How the leads painted ain't at all how you see it?/ So I'ma rewrite and pull from those who have passed on/ Take the best of them and then I'll put my new mask on/ Those who wanna judge and say it won't last long/ I'm not emotional, I just relate to those sad songs/ You do it too, just make an effort to hide it/ I ain't mad at cha, man, we call that survivin'/ Even thinkin' surgery with the help of a doctor/ Wait, who am I kidding? Damnit, I'm Crocker/
(Bridge/Hook)
/And I don't know what idea you had/
/But that ain't this and that's too bad/
/Drag off a smoke and push my roof back/
/Fiddle with a pen and try to make my truth last/
Week 16 Song of the South
Another stab at the outlet, cultivating the output/ Tired, romanticizing the outlook/ Where the hell do you go just to show 'em you 'bout that/ Tryna put South Carolina up and on out that/ Money put where my mouth at/ Bitch I bed of you doubt that/ Got beef, place where the sow at/ Speak like we're harmless, like we still on some farm shit/ Like that fuck flag where's all of our hearts sit/ Like a blonde on Tosh is all we are/ Like we're ten points away from being fucking retard/ *HUH HUH* kiss my ass and I mean that/ I ain't you bitch and I'll be that/ Verse worsen here, we persevere/ Perverse inner workings choke and surface here/ Crocker, son it's Spartanburg in here/ Ain't close to my level, even purtnear/
Why So Simple?
(Verse 1)
I find myself through a bottle and amphetamines/ Zoned out, closed up, anticipating weathering/ Son, it's Stephen, can we speak about redemption?/ I'm on pins and needles, frozen in suspension/ Backyard, Victoria, working on a cigar/ Pen in my hand, man, devising up my next bar/ Out and about, they asking 'bout my head scar/ Others, bout my music, ask if I'm the next star/ D's in the basement, mixing up the medicine/ I'm on a stage, loud, bitching like a reverend/ 'Till the next club, politicking like a candidate/ Bandit's in the back room, playin' with a mandolin/ Plotting out the next move, area we canvasing/ Tryin' for some net worth, scheming on the back end/ Take turns on the soapbox, speakin' on our hate of/ The puppets on the radio and how they try and play us.../
(Hook)
Why so simple?! Why so simple?!
Oh...Oh!
Why so fickle?! Why so fickle?!
Why so simple?! Why so simple?!
Oh...oh!
Why so fickle?! Why so fickle?!
(Verse 2)
/It’s a cold world, so you better bundle up/ No socks, no shoes, no Daddy Warbucks/ Took shit promised to the center of the heart/ Being told the game’s over before I start/ That shit hit you like bricks if you ain’t ready/ I want to make it rain, surprise, no confetti/ I’m racing for the money like my name is Andretti/ And my lines stay heavy, smooth like I’m riding Chevy/ Hands stay steady, right on track, never leftie/ The rest are going backwards like Go!, set, ready/ Just really know how hard I want to /And I’ll do anything besides sell my / And I can put it on life, you count on / Like I put on for Hip Hop, instead of rap/ And I guess that’s why all the others are wack/ I’m fact, they fiction as a matter a fact/
*Repeat Hook*
(Verse 3)
/Now...Look at the doggy in the window/
/Another cute mutt that's impeding on your kinfolk/
/Singing along to hoes and endo/
/Wonderin' why in the hell should I sit for?/
/I said "Shit, ask Rosa"/ Or any other pioneer or dope composer/ They say "Naw Son, spark that doulja"/ "Write another joint that ride for me and my soldiers"/ I respond with "Read a book son, find some composure"/ "Learn about culture and looking for closure"/ Told me I'm a a square, "We can't bop to this"/ "Man, shorty won't rock or gimme wop to this"/ "My box in the back won't knock to this"/ "Man Crock, no offense, but this a crock of shit"/ I said "Son there's more than being on the block with chips"/ They say you piss in the wind, but can't stop the rich/
I find myself through a bottle and amphetamines/ Zoned out, closed up, anticipating weathering/ Son, it's Stephen, can we speak about redemption?/ I'm on pins and needles, frozen in suspension/ Backyard, Victoria, working on a cigar/ Pen in my hand, man, devising up my next bar/ Out and about, they asking 'bout my head scar/ Others, bout my music, ask if I'm the next star/ D's in the basement, mixing up the medicine/ I'm on a stage, loud, bitching like a reverend/ 'Till the next club, politicking like a candidate/ Bandit's in the back room, playin' with a mandolin/ Plotting out the next move, area we canvasing/ Tryin' for some net worth, scheming on the back end/ Take turns on the soapbox, speakin' on our hate of/ The puppets on the radio and how they try and play us.../
(Hook)
Why so simple?! Why so simple?!
Oh...Oh!
Why so fickle?! Why so fickle?!
Why so simple?! Why so simple?!
Oh...oh!
Why so fickle?! Why so fickle?!
(Verse 2)
/It’s a cold world, so you better bundle up/ No socks, no shoes, no Daddy Warbucks/ Took shit promised to the center of the heart/ Being told the game’s over before I start/ That shit hit you like bricks if you ain’t ready/ I want to make it rain, surprise, no confetti/ I’m racing for the money like my name is Andretti/ And my lines stay heavy, smooth like I’m riding Chevy/ Hands stay steady, right on track, never leftie/ The rest are going backwards like Go!, set, ready/ Just really know how hard I want to /And I’ll do anything besides sell my / And I can put it on life, you count on / Like I put on for Hip Hop, instead of rap/ And I guess that’s why all the others are wack/ I’m fact, they fiction as a matter a fact/
*Repeat Hook*
(Verse 3)
/Now...Look at the doggy in the window/
/Another cute mutt that's impeding on your kinfolk/
/Singing along to hoes and endo/
/Wonderin' why in the hell should I sit for?/
/I said "Shit, ask Rosa"/ Or any other pioneer or dope composer/ They say "Naw Son, spark that doulja"/ "Write another joint that ride for me and my soldiers"/ I respond with "Read a book son, find some composure"/ "Learn about culture and looking for closure"/ Told me I'm a a square, "We can't bop to this"/ "Man, shorty won't rock or gimme wop to this"/ "My box in the back won't knock to this"/ "Man Crock, no offense, but this a crock of shit"/ I said "Son there's more than being on the block with chips"/ They say you piss in the wind, but can't stop the rich/
Meade, Speed, Weed
(Verse 1)
/Blue Moon draft, that too...eh?/ Fuck it, slide me that and my Newport pack/
/Hey everybody! I'm socially awkward/ Like a groom & a groom at a Protestant altar/ 'Feez, Was Jesus an Emam?/ Hair like mine? I mean, shit, uh, KEG STAND!/ I rock the party while your girl's gettin' naughty/ Then I rock her body 'till she's glued to the potty/ Hey DJ! The fuck is a dub-step?/ Nevermind...I think that's enough yet/ White people...W.T.F.?"/ Coupled with the "X" that shit's making me sea sick/ Smash...bet you believe yet/ Who everybody bites, but nobody respects/ Heat, you feel the degrees yet?/ Thumb to the knuckle, you feel my degrees yet?/
(Hook)
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/
(Verse 2)
Meade, you know: "Drink," like preferably beer/ Or "Burr" if you prefer, but I think that that's weird/ Add XO, Adderall, and I'm gravy/ Max Bigaveli, start feeling wavy/ Tune into the Factor and I scream at the TV/ Like that bald motherfucker can actually see me/ Uh, I meant "The Shore," see my girl J-Wowsers/ Copyright, Kronkite, put my Bic to the Bowser/ Slang so hard that I'm seemin' incredulous/ Bread with my wine, my swagger is Methodist/ Like...guess who's back...again/ Crocker's back! Yeah, no, that's him.../ Like "Fist pump bros! We don't love them hoes!"/ And I'm too fucking poor for a HMO/ If I put this out...does it make me slow?/ (Well...does it?)
(Hook)
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/
(Verse 3)
Who likes beer pong?! You like beer pong?!/ I like a fat ass and a beautiful clear thong/ Joe Rogan stoned, eating a deer dong/ A.D.H.D. meds adorning my beer foam/ Five-Percenters teach "The majority's ignorant,"...not that that will play to your sexual benefit/ In fact, try talking, respond with some confidence/ Show her that you listen, man, pay her some compliments/ Ay, Mitch Daniels, you look like a corpse/ Pale as all hell, with a mouth like a horse/ I mean...Satellite! Back cup and it's over/ Here's to hoping your mom still looks good sober/
/Blue Moon draft, that too...eh?/ Fuck it, slide me that and my Newport pack/
/Hey everybody! I'm socially awkward/ Like a groom & a groom at a Protestant altar/ 'Feez, Was Jesus an Emam?/ Hair like mine? I mean, shit, uh, KEG STAND!/ I rock the party while your girl's gettin' naughty/ Then I rock her body 'till she's glued to the potty/ Hey DJ! The fuck is a dub-step?/ Nevermind...I think that's enough yet/ White people...W.T.F.?"/ Coupled with the "X" that shit's making me sea sick/ Smash...bet you believe yet/ Who everybody bites, but nobody respects/ Heat, you feel the degrees yet?/ Thumb to the knuckle, you feel my degrees yet?/
(Hook)
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/
(Verse 2)
Meade, you know: "Drink," like preferably beer/ Or "Burr" if you prefer, but I think that that's weird/ Add XO, Adderall, and I'm gravy/ Max Bigaveli, start feeling wavy/ Tune into the Factor and I scream at the TV/ Like that bald motherfucker can actually see me/ Uh, I meant "The Shore," see my girl J-Wowsers/ Copyright, Kronkite, put my Bic to the Bowser/ Slang so hard that I'm seemin' incredulous/ Bread with my wine, my swagger is Methodist/ Like...guess who's back...again/ Crocker's back! Yeah, no, that's him.../ Like "Fist pump bros! We don't love them hoes!"/ And I'm too fucking poor for a HMO/ If I put this out...does it make me slow?/ (Well...does it?)
(Hook)
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/
(Verse 3)
Who likes beer pong?! You like beer pong?!/ I like a fat ass and a beautiful clear thong/ Joe Rogan stoned, eating a deer dong/ A.D.H.D. meds adorning my beer foam/ Five-Percenters teach "The majority's ignorant,"...not that that will play to your sexual benefit/ In fact, try talking, respond with some confidence/ Show her that you listen, man, pay her some compliments/ Ay, Mitch Daniels, you look like a corpse/ Pale as all hell, with a mouth like a horse/ I mean...Satellite! Back cup and it's over/ Here's to hoping your mom still looks good sober/
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Too Close For Comfort Lyrics
Started innocent, talk and what have you/ Friends for awhile, not a thought to grasp you/ I was doing me, you were doing you/ You were spoken for, they pursuing you/ I was on the sly, and we just conversed/ Tryin’ to clean up, tired of doing dirt/ We’d hit the clubs, maybe blow a few L’s/ Dinners, alcohol, sharin’ stories as well/ I’d give you a glimpse of my glorious hell/ You’d deck me out, ironed shirts with lapels/ Cologne, sweaters, sophisticated the tale/ Khakis, pea coats, looking flyer than hell/ Dating my mans, hell I met you thru dude/ Now, it’s bump n grind, on the floor, in the nude/ You’re not the one for me, nor I for you/ But the sex was too good for me to just be through/
/Two many drinks, too close for comfort/ But it feels so good to touch ya/
/Too many times I’ve tried to neglect/But it feels so good to touch ya/
Do they know, do they know/ See there’s another missed call/ Prolly found the wrapper, and he ain’t touched you at all/ Every time I speak to him, I think of your curves/ Doing a slow grind on me, going to work/ Paranoia keeps creeping and I think my boy sees it/ Every time that I greet I see him start swinging/Beating my face in and hearing him screaming/ Over and over, your name he keeps repeating/ Just one more time, and your man’ll catch us/ In his own house, being a bit too reckless/ Baby don’t tell me you love me, just indulge me/ With carnal knowledge, my appetite is bulging/ If he finds out, the consequences are endless/ Knowing neither one will ever forgive us/ Just one more time, and I swear that we’ll end this/ But for right now, let me drown in your senses/
/Two many drinks, too close for comfort/ But it feels so good to touch ya/
/Too many times I’ve tried to neglect/But it feels so good to touch ya/
Do they know, do they know/ See there’s another missed call/ Prolly found the wrapper, and he ain’t touched you at all/ Every time I speak to him, I think of your curves/ Doing a slow grind on me, going to work/ Paranoia keeps creeping and I think my boy sees it/ Every time that I greet I see him start swinging/Beating my face in and hearing him screaming/ Over and over, your name he keeps repeating/ Just one more time, and your man’ll catch us/ In his own house, being a bit too reckless/ Baby don’t tell me you love me, just indulge me/ With carnal knowledge, my appetite is bulging/ If he finds out, the consequences are endless/ Knowing neither one will ever forgive us/ Just one more time, and I swear that we’ll end this/ But for right now, let me drown in your senses/
Friday, December 20, 2013
The Devil Is Dope
/Sicker than 3 kids, 2 cups, 1 priest/ At Penn State dressing small boys up like Chun Li/ The devil is dope and I’m slicker than linoleum/ As I stand atop my podium, mouth secreting opium/ Got the nod from Misses Reagan, errbody yellow cakin’/ Dare you try stop, that’s quite an undertaking/ Come now before accident happens, this actually rapping/ I kick dope bars, I actually trapping/ Tie off 'till your vein burst, and feel your vein squirt/ Then that rush hit the brain then you're hittin' paydirt/ Smash! Sick as midgets fisting chickens/ Then bathing in it's blood, voodoo, singing hymnals Christian/ Fuck bars, I write bricks, pure Bolivian finest/ Pounding on my chest like a simian primate/ White devil, white devil, best watch what you come with/ The white devil is dope but that's fucking redundant/
Holler if you need it, warp needles to pieces/ Pure as the steeple that’s atop a cathedral/ O.D. ‘till you're feeble, their portions are meager/ I got enough stashed you’ll be geekin’ till Easter/ Lucifer askin’ God to pull tight on the tourniquet/ A cavalcade of dopamine, ask,and I’ll furnish it/ Test not, know better, no cuts in the formula/ Or bleed out, see now, I had reason for warning ya/ You’se lightweight, I know better, stick to your flex bars/ See the real, read the real, bitch it’s carved in my flesh scars/ You’se a chump to a freak, just a bump to a Ki/ You’se alotta things kid, but not fucking with me/ BeetleJuice, BeetleJuice, say my name of wax/ I rap, there’s tracks laced atop my tracks/ You’re dope like that muffin, not enough that it matters/ I’m so fucking dope, that real dope should be flattered/
Holler if you need it, warp needles to pieces/ Pure as the steeple that’s atop a cathedral/ O.D. ‘till you're feeble, their portions are meager/ I got enough stashed you’ll be geekin’ till Easter/ Lucifer askin’ God to pull tight on the tourniquet/ A cavalcade of dopamine, ask,and I’ll furnish it/ Test not, know better, no cuts in the formula/ Or bleed out, see now, I had reason for warning ya/ You’se lightweight, I know better, stick to your flex bars/ See the real, read the real, bitch it’s carved in my flesh scars/ You’se a chump to a freak, just a bump to a Ki/ You’se alotta things kid, but not fucking with me/ BeetleJuice, BeetleJuice, say my name of wax/ I rap, there’s tracks laced atop my tracks/ You’re dope like that muffin, not enough that it matters/ I’m so fucking dope, that real dope should be flattered/
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