1. |
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2. |
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/Sparkle City, Eight-Six-Four, Ya’ll play-list bores/ No Forbes, dirty south for you fake ass whores/ Industry bitches gettin’ pimped by your madams and misters/ Old white men eating with me is something I can’t picture/ Spit fifths of liquor, no chaser/ Out like vapors in the wind, can’t see me, why even pretend/ My worst day compared to your best year is still tragic/ My flow stop traffic you nameless lil’ bastard/ Bring semi’s to a screeching halt/ Funny, couldn’t tell you a thing my teacher’s taught/ Ease your walk, kids need to slow your roll/ Your not bold, you showed your hand, now fold/ Flow bully, run your underwear up the pole/ Ya’ll sing like Keisha, I’m Nat King Cold/Got it sewn with a Nasir Jones/ You Wayne stans past curfew, gon’ head and Phone Home/ Rap’s became Star Wars, It’s the Attack Of the Clones/ Spit Xanax Bars, I’m constantly zoned/ Your head ain’t big enough to sit in my throne/ You five bullets short of a six-shot clip/ You alotta things homie, but you just not this/ I hear alotta talk, lotta lip, whole lotta shit/ But this chess, not checkers, and ur not a problem bitch/ This for G-Rap, Kane, and Marley/ Rap today just makes me laugh hearty/ Hardly impressed, ya’ll gassed up on cess/ Claim you got next, well tell me who came first/ Or tell me who is Kool Herc?/ That’s why the best of you was a stain on mommy’s pillow/ Why I’ll gleefully bury you neath the willows/
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3. |
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/Ay’ Mr. Pitiful, so it’s not about syllables/ Dope cadence or a flow that’s original/ Rather talk swag in your interviews with jewels that’s expendable/ To people that find you dispensable/ You, you, that plays the foil to me/ That steps in the name of royalties/ Pennies on the dollar for every unit sold/ And we haven’t even factored the advance you owe/ Oh, you think Timbaland come cheap?/ That’s like 100K for a Neptune beat/ Fees for the singers, fees for the mixing/Promo to radio to get your single a spinning/ Cash for threads, kicks, and then your bitch/ The crew, some whips, and maybe a crib/ Jocker's on your dick, like I got dibs/ Like now your mother sow with some milky tits/
/So there’s your John Henry, and what’d you get for it?/ Besides the notion the first week is important/ Don’t deliver on Sound-scan, the label ignores ya/ And in comes the pity parade for your performance/ The advance money is a thing of your past/ Reviews say your life’s work was a waste of their cash/ Label sparked beef just to spice up your hype/ Then he leaks a response and murders you on the mic/ You think ain’t right tho, getting played like Tyco/ Buzz losing weight like fat broads getting lypo’/ Caught by TMZ, getting thrown out a club/ Skated on the tab and they gave ya the rub/ On Myspace now, selling drops for cash/ For three hundred a pop you’ll put their tape on blast/ The IRS claiming you withheld on returns/ And there you were thinking you had money to burn/
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4. |
Popular Demand
02:35
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You are now listening to that bounce, that Geronimo/ Live from Spartanburg, knock em down like dominoes/ That ski, ski, got me geeked like a pound of blow/ City love like big breasts, son, they bound to show/ Kept it one hundred, they doubled the standard/ Sick of finger-painters, I asked for the canvas/ Stroke doper than Sampras, damned if you stand it/ Play the back like Prancer then trample on Santa/ Out the hemisphere, son there's sinning here/ Come hither, and picture your soul wither here/ Dally and dither, I'm twisted with liquor/ Percentages figure I'm failing my liver/ The cause is pretenders, who sweeter than Splenda/ So quote me my scripture and return me to sender/ On a belligerent bender, interfere from contenders/ But conflict when I enter, know I spit the agenda/ yenta/
/No stuntin', just rhymin', punch-linin' with timin'/ Auspicious my wealth, I'm bereft of the diamonds/ But jewels in the lining, just dig and you find em/ And the owners behind me, check the label I'm signed with/ Crack the beat like a Hyman, co-sign like your Hyman/ Roth, rest lost, tell a hater come find me/ Start searchin' for lanes they feel that defines me/ But then miss the mark like Tiger was driving/ Tiger what happened? Slipped in your pimpinship?/ Now wifey gets half, and T.V. for the mistresses/ Never me, not I, my joints is in order/ Like I'm blessed and got anoint from an order/ I should watch my mouth like I face a recorder/ But they McCarthy to my Murrow, won't face the reporter/Open the game up like the author of Torah's/ Proclaim victory and tell em light the Menorah/
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5. |
Porcelain
03:37
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/Too many emcees left on the shelf/ Prime of their career, contenders for belts/ Did it to Joey, did it to Quo/ Joell, Crooked, & Petey Pablo/ Cuban Linx 2 been sittin for years/ With that Ra and Dr. Dre shit I wanted to hear/ Ask me where my club shit is at?/ And I’ll ask where the industry’s at?/ Ain’t finna to go plat/ And that ain’t finna to come back/ Hell they struggling just to bring it on back/ Rather write rhymes for illiterate rappers/ Cash my checks and just work on my albums/ Don’t need Iovine, Lyor, or L.A./ No advances or publishing split ways/ That don’t include me, don’t want bougie/ So called DJ’s that make “movies”/ Love beer, love hoes, love dro/ But to hip-hop music there’s a whole lot more/ Ain’t tryna to fake till I make it, rather instead/ Be the G.O.A.T. by the time I’m dead/
Dear Kool Herc, come pull the plug/ The corporations have fucked it up/ The culture’s being lost on the people/ That just want bass pumpin’ thru their speakers/ 360 deals, the eat off everything/ It feels like the ass end of a wedding ring/ You create the moment, they piggyback/ Then they return only pennies back/ Posture on camera with a semi-mac/ But’ would piss your pants if that semi-clap/ In my dreams, I’m talking Pun/ L right beside me rolling the blunt/ Telling me Crock, don’t you ever stunt/ Be who you are, let the faggots front/ Kick the phonics of Ebonics and knowledge/ And exhibit how your flow is your narcotic/
Dejected, disgusted, love entrusted/ Cherry is busted, words lack substance/ Candy confections, dumb conceptions/ Some infected, I can’t digest it/ Shit sugarcoated, they’ll deep throat it/ Either all is hopeless, or real is bogus/ Right on the button, Joseph/ Not of whole, lack components/ The movie’s showin, but I’ve seen the omen/ Rehashes I’m not condoning/ Mom & Pop stores is closing, supposing/ You get out there and support the moment/Tell em’ your tired of flows that’s soma/ Sleepwalking, could induce coma/ You want that shit, that funk aroma/ An artist you believe on what they told ya/
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6. |
Interlude
01:33
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7. |
Milquetoast Mackin'
04:09
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(Verse 1)
/Got up this morning, looked in the mirror/ Saw white skin, if not clearer/ Grab my brush, hit the Colgate/ Hit the speakers, heard my Coldplay/Yeah, that’s my jam/ Milquetoast baby, yes I am/ Where’s my khaki’s, damn not again/Still stuck up in the laundry bin/ Found my sweater, Eddie Bauer/ Grab my D.O., fuck a shower/ Spray my Axe and off I go/ Starbucks kid, cup of joe/Hit a bump, spilled my latte/ /With my Bluetooth on the highway/ Party this weekend, me and brosef/ High school chicks, strip poker/ Get the Jager, Bain’s got the roofies/ Can’t wait for ol girl to do me/ She’s seen me once, said I’m small/ But still tickled me and my balls/ Got her on camera, sucking lovely/ But then she puked and told me she loved me/
(Hook)
Milquetoast Mackin/ Milque,Milque,Milquetoast Mackin/ Cruisin in my Volvo, Billy Joel a steady blastin/ Milquetoast Mackin/ Milque, Milque, Milequetoast Mackin/ I get what I want, and I'll be damned if I'm askin/
(Verse 2)
Got a trust fund, so does Thomas/ He spends on coke he cuts with Comet/ Fucks sum whores, but buys em honest/ Gets at least five minutes promised/ Swear he’s bonkers, like his father/ Could be richer, but he don’t bother/ Usually catch me in my Crocker's/ Sorry, Croc's, and I oughta/ Holla at Osama’s daughter/ Oil’s up and time’s are harder/ Did I say, I love Twilight/ Of this year, been my highlight/ Volvo whippin, this the high life/ Mayor’s gala, this is my life/ Hit the ball, flask with NyQuil/ If ya’ll sleepin, I know I will/
(Hook)
Milquetoast Mackin/ Milque,Milque,Milquetoast Mackin/ Cruisin in my Volvo, Billy Joel a steady blastin/ Milquetoast Mackin/ Milque, Milque, Milequetoast Mackin/ I get what I want, and I'll be damned if I'm askin/
(Verse 3)
Love Titleist and Sarah Palin/ She a bust but I’d love to nail her/ Rock Nautica like I’m a sailor/ Steerin yachts like I’m a sailor/ Own a few Norman Mahler's/ Even pay someone to say my prayers/Bump Curtis cuz he golfs with Daddy/ Ya’ll call him Fifty, not me and Daddy/ Hybrid on Duece, when I drive the Caddy/ I play with cake, ya’ll playin' Paddy/ Down in Charleston, shuckin' oysters/ Me and Sanford, freakin' joyous/ Parrot-heads, me and the boys is/And John Mayer is so annoying/ Well, I'm off to brunch, Me, Tom, and Will/ Milquetoast, we freakin' kill/
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8. |
Put That Record Back On
03:46
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/I’m r-a-w like Kane in Eighty-Eight/ Could be diabetic and still take the cake/ I spaz out like I don’t know my own strength/ You just a spaz similar to Urkel or Screech/ I spaz like walkin’ into P.E.T.A. with mink/ Or like askin you does it hurt when u think?/ I’m a tall drink of water, you a sip out the sink/ You flash in the pan, you miss if you blink/I’m ingenious, headstrong like the tip of my penis/And I don’t need subpoenas to account who the meanest/ They tell me say it loud just like J. Brown/ So I exclaim, aight, I’m dope and I’m loud/ Till’ they tell me Crocker, there’s no hope for the proud/ But I bet you see me now, like the Pope in a crowd/ Tell me I’m the coldest since Pac was around/ Ask Carolina who’s been holdin’ it down/
They belittle me a little, to see if I will whittle/Bring they buzz to a fizzle and flash like faddiddle/ As the lights begin to sizzle, I spit a lil riddle/ How you ever more than middle, next to me your diddle/ Just blaze like Just Ice, I must Christ/ Rather muster, everytime I spit a buzzer/ And when I say a buzzer, I mean Jordan right, before he says goodnight and tucks you under the covers/ And Crocker’s for the kids, like Sally Struthers/ Or just a rebel like Tracy Smothers/ Or ably Cain, if you call me Brother/Brother/ Got the type of Charm to play you sucker/
/The type of shit you kick’ll flop like Becks in America/ I’m swine flu incarnate, cardholder and carrier/ Cadence switch up on the drop of a dime/ Yet I’m spitting like I’m nickel in the midst of his prime/ Through rumors I’m fine, you spitting tumors benign/ I vomit black death that’ll corrode thru your spine/ And it’s South Carolina, is any thing finer/ ‘Sides that, a gar, some yak, and cut vagina/ Game overcast, I bring color to climates/ In need of a single, shit I’m takin in clients/ I heard the demand, that is why I’m supplying/ Say you spit fire, but we know that you lying!/
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9. |
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/ It’s the state of the game of which I have to take issue/ See lames pullin’ dames and emcees are sacrificial/ Where’s the Mighty Mos Def and Talib Kweli?/ The Kool G Raps and the B.I.G.’s?/ Poke fun at Soulja Boy yet the joke is on you/ He’s a parody of you and everything you do/ You can’t have lyrics without a bit of swagger/ And you can’t have spirit if you’re rhymes don’t matter/ I spit up on the regular like teenage girls/ I got hip-hop, you got the teenage world/ The epitome of a Carolina Hurricane/ Tropical storm rapper, wish you were the same/ Spartanburg on my chest, S.C. on back/ Ya’ll too weak to even pick up the flack/ Word to 3K, I got something say/ I’m putting the chips on the table and making my play/
Flow cold as Isis on these Mic devices/ I’m ill, the skill level of twice the nicest/ Rail against me and out comes hell fire/ Terry Jr, bitch, I’ma J.R. Writer/ I’m on the plateau to which you aspire/ You amuse, I’m a muse who deftly inspires/ Rhymes are hooker twat, just worn and tired/ Bout your rented house and twenty two inch tires/ Eighty percent rapping just don’t compare/ I’m Wheelin’, I’m Dealin’, I’m a young Ric Flair/ Substance, style, and all in one package/ Compressed, crack, vile and I do damage/Enough about swag, switch up the topic/ Males complimenting swag’s homo erotic/ If you sweet like candy that’s fine and dandy/ But ya’ll so called thugs comin’ off like pansies/
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10. |
The Mission
02:28
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Get the check in the mail, round about a buck thirty/ A trey on my cell and then ten to stuff worries/ Need Newport box and duece five on 2/
Too loaded down to just fly on through/Recognized at the pump, said they seen me online/ Said the lyrics was eh? and the beats was nah/
Said try boomin bass and a stutterin' high hat/ Shook my head, said sure I'll try that/ Everybody handin out quips and advice/
Tryin to front on the fact I'm white and mad nice/ Oh what must I say, how can I silence/ And not grab this pipe and resort to violence/
I ain't using swaaaag, or no damn two-step/ Just a smile, flows, and my crew brett/
Fuck you for supporting that garbage/ Wannabe hood goons that dropped out of college/ I could offer facts for days, but you'd call me a hater/
Then try and take me out with the fader/I say, I say, the game is outrageous/ Underneath, cloaked and closeted pagans/ But you don't get that do you?/
/Just go and buy another joint from Boo Boo/ Or Weezy or Jeezy, and tell me I'm too smart/ Or that I'm a elitist, and to play my part/
/I turn heads like seizures, for my art/ Son you like fetus, homie if you start/ Say make money, and just follow the charts/
I'd rather shoot dope and swallow my heart/ Grab the poison while I hollow these darts/ Play death, and then watch as you coddle the dark/
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11. |
Mad World
03:19
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12. |
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/ The dude, the man, the myth, the shit, the fix/ Is all intertwined to make sense of this/ Rape the rich and give it all to the poor/ Down on Howard St., wine-housin with whores/ My sanity, my vanity, the things I’ve lost with time/ The friends, the ends, the green, the scene with lines/ The time just seems to float away with Mary/ Man said Cuz, cause of her life ain’t as scary/ Said dog, it’s just life, why you seem so wary/ He said, It’s life young man, you seen the scars she carry?/Politicians, commissions, the whole judicial system/ Most our for themselves, and that’s why we don’t listen/ Christians are christened but the reverend don’t listen/ With my ten percent, he’s at the strip club tippin’/ Why I look at God, and ask why do I do it?/ I’d rather be with you, why even put me through it?/ Down here with these leaders that are so translucent/ Man so see through, put my whole hand through him/
/Nicotine stained, from the mill hills to main/ Debris covers the street, men quest for their flame/ Invest change for lotto tickets and blunts/ Herald-Journal and couple zones for the front/ Cops skim off the top, family members get knocked/ Heard Uncle got popped and did a dime on the block/ Got out shell-shocked, went straight to the rock/ I thought he knew the time but wouldn’t look at the clock/ Jobs bout as scarce as a good lookin dyke/ Dreams hang and fall just like a flimsy kite/ Couple friends move white, be out all night/ Sheriff soothe-sayin, sees them as a plight/ Idolized those guys, bein one was my father/ O.C.’s and Coke were of what he would barter/ Every town’s built on the misery of others/ You a pusher or junkie, either one or the other/
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13. |
Smile In Ya Face
02:47
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/Live from the city that's shine has since faded/ Out in the cut, debating gettin' faded/ Feelin' jaded, underrated, and under-appreciated/ Thinking I'm a prisoner of my own inoculation/ Dropped out of college, no job, livin' with Mom/ Out in the jungle, surrounded by Vietnam/ 5-0 patrolling, just praying I'm holding/ Screaming fuck the Pigs, the Masons, and all them/ That hate or hold power, constantly abusing/ Yet here I stand just rappin', whorin', and boozing/ My fate is my choosing, so why am I loosing/ Label like Stephen, what the hell are you doing?/ Gotta take time to take stock of it all/ You don't know, who's prayin' that Crocker will fall/ Cleared up my cases, which were nothing of mention/ But the fines they were taxing, ridiculous shit man/Charles asking where's the single, I'm as mute as a mime/ Like, hopefully, it'll come to in it's time/ No money to pay producers, shit is getting crucial/ Pray they don't think I'm just tryin' to use them/ Last case lost a friend, can't ever trust again/ /And get word to J I need to chop it up with him/ Patched everything else, so now it's whatever/ Whoever think they clever step up and get severed/
Gotta get my buzz up, tired of no paper/ But I don't do bangers, so what is my angle?/How do I distinguish me from the next one/ Another broke fuck, sharing my perplex-ion//Down south with a New York flavor/ Into Cali swagger and those Detroit capers/ Plus I'm arrogant like a pimp from Port Arthur/ And in between a prince that parade like a pauper, I'm Crocker/ And here what's I offer.../ A break from the same ol thing/ No bars bout things or extravagant rings/ Riding around shining ain't the song that I sing/ I'm stretching twenty five for gas thru the week/ Rest on menthol's, and that's all I see/ A fresh Newport is all I need/ Tell Mick I wanna headline a Friday night/ Shine like QB's under Friday lights/ Tell Shake & Eskay, that I'm needing a post/ I'm Needing one of ya'll to cosign all my hope/ I'm straight, at the moment no beef in the street/ But tell Just Blaze I'm still needing a beat/
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14. |
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15. |
||||
/On your mark get ready/ Just Blaze on the beat-box/ Move like you see cops/ shake like you detox/ The penicillin villain, got the cure for your illness/ That chemo flow to the roots you gon' feel it/ Wife's goodies I'm a pillage, then burn down the village/ You live make believe, how the hell you the realest/ In the game I'm a pillar, you a flake in a blizzard/ Get skinned like a lizard, do you now get the picture/ I am Stephen, Carolina's finest/ Do rewind this, the whole South behind this/ I'll kiss your highness, like Michael did Fredo/ Talk bout your bread, that's nothing play-dough/ Pen a few words after a bump of sum yayo/ Industry puppet, that'll do as they say so/ Fuck the Billboard, fuck my Soundscan/ I couldn't give a damn if you ever get down man/ Shit if you fake, don't ever come round man/ Already too high for me to ever hit ground man/ Gaffney, Union, Duncan, Inman/ Burg, Vegas, Lyman, Simpson/ Cowpens, Pacolet, Whitney, Chesnee/ Columbia, Charleston, Carolina come get me/ Tell the other forty nine, I'm a beast, don't tempt me/ I starch memories, hard pressed to forget me/ Gon' bet against me, and you'll be regretting/ Then the self hate swells that you try suppressing/ Saying that's weak, if you ask me brother/ You too old for this, you Danny Glover/
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16. |
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17. |
Rock N Roll Songs
03:33
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18. |
Outro
00:55
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19. |
Thank You
01:17
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Crocker Spartanburg, South Carolina
Co-Founder of LVLRN RCRDS (Lovelorn Records).
Your Favorite Rappers Favorite Cracker
Spartanburg, SC Native.
Marxist Gnostic.
Streaming and Download help
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