Prof. Logik & Crocker Present: Crocker Does Audible Palindrome

by Crocker

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about

A cover of Prof. Logik's instrumental release "Audible Palindrome."

credits

released October 18, 2011

G. Grant, T. Crocker, Jr.

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about

Crocker Spartanburg, South Carolina

Co-Founder of LVLRN RCRDS (Lovelorn Records).
Your Favorite Rappers Favorite Cracker
Spartanburg, SC Native.
Marxist Gnostic.

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Track Name: Fonk In (Intro)
Carolina-Queens connection, no further objections/ I'ma spin a couple tales about lessons, depression/ Obsession, reflections, affection, dejection/ And every bit encapsulated in all of my blessings/ So with no ado, may I present my collection/ Of antiquated standards that left my profession/ That Moe Dee in 83, bet that he bust raw/ Some ol’ one-two, that I’m gon' dust off/ That uncut crack smell that you can’t musk off/ With the only other face that they’ll carve on Rushmore/
Track Name: Gateway
Mutated membranes, many milligrams of speed/ Coded palindromes, cold caches of conceit/ Calculated palpitations, of life fluid try to breathe/ Sit and count the leaves as the smoking makes me wheeze/ On a corner in the city, see the Vics and Caprices/ Sponsor themed paint jobs, speakers is beating/ I mean I could never feel what ain't my fabric/ Hell what sum call rappin, I call static/ Feedback, but that ain't the point here/ It's bout reality and how it disjoint here/ Same pubs, same clubs, same lame ass drugs/ That we still take, cause this ain't us/ The same fucking women we seduce between the linen/ Then we frontin' to our friends, that we really pimpin'/ Nursin' up conflict, just out of boredom/ When they said dream big, I ain't think mortgage/ I ain't think kids that I can't see, but half my paycheck goes to support em/ But they ain't my life, but I got homies/ And if I had a wife, man she’d be lonely/

(Hook)
What it is, what it ain’t/
What it is, what it ain’t
Sometimes in my life I forget to give thanks
Spartanburg daybreaks and a jar fulla dank/
I’m just tryna cash out before they break my bank/

Making cents out of sense, I’m lost, but convinced/ Feel the cost of pretend as the sauce does me in/ Just like Grandpa, Just like Uncle/ In that landslide, exert my muscle/ I just standby, in my struggle/ In my denial, in my bubble/ Hell hath no fury like like a pint of regret/ I mean regret with a bottle and a quivering breath/ Liver on it’s last legs, limited steps/ Eyes piss yellow, but an image of death/ Seen your grand-kid, but don’t remember him yet/ Buried on his birthday, he might live with you yet/ Dwell in adolescence like I'll never grow up/ Negate responsibility with bars I throw up/ Hip-hop bastard, that's all is me/ Brim rose path never seemed too tempting/ I mean there's no doubt that I'm down for the cause/ But that's all pride and pride brings fall/ This shit don't pay homie, just ask Kross/ If bars meant bucks then he would define ball/ But that ain't reality, and that ain't relative/ That’s tryna shove righteous up against your skeletons/
Track Name: astrobump
(Verse 1)
/Peaked, geeked, and tweaked, but what else is new/ late night writing to expel the truth/ People always asking what the hells with you? / I nod and respond, “What’s the hell with you?”/ I mean it’s gotta be something right/ And Lord knows that it’s gotta be nothing nice/ Such and such beefing, I beef with my state/ Beef with the government, I beef with my race/ Say am I Cherokee? Irish? English? Or German?/ Caucasian or White? And how am I certain?/ Which box do I check that certifies me a person?/ Why the fuck do I feel that this is all coercion/ Ah fuck it, it’s nothing, it’ll never be something/ I just grin and I bear it, young Theodore Ruxpin/ The Tommy Mottola of the Never Be Soldiers/ No likeness, the nicest, of the couldn’t be colder/ The composer of closure, the tail end of a nova/ Burnt out in a bag that is whiter than Sosa/ Red rover it’s over, I will never be sober/ The dopamine’s holding me, face next to the motor/ Ayo Chris, this cannot be healthy/ Mama, I’m a bum, I’m only character wealthy/ Kross, I’m a loss, dead weight on a anchor/ I mean, yeah I got bars, but they’re bars fulla rancor/ People don’t hear me, and if they do, then they shudder/ I’m offensive and I’m pensive, they just stare and they mutter/ World to Shannon Darlene, son, that’s word to my mother/It’s like they’d rather see me choke, stop, stammer, & stutter/ Feel like a misfit, like the Jerry Only/ Plus I’m a Junior as well, the weight of Terry’s on me/ The sins of the father, rain down as I ponder/ Sit somber and conjure, and keep a eye for the mamba/


(Hook)
/ Consume breath, use death, no idea of me/
/Two steps, goose neck, no identity/
/ Clue-less, who reps, my idea of me/
/Useless, Confucius, my identity/
/Bobby Seale spittin' ills, my idea of me/
/Bein’ broke with the chills, my identity/
/More than real but concealed, my idea of me/
/ Left field, as I build, my identity/


(Verse 2)
/Long for righteousness, lemme know it you catch it/ The plate’s comin’ round drop sum bills for collection/ Nibbling on some caps, to find the higher astral plain/ The fifth dimension, heaven, hell it grabs you all the same/ Just to peek behind the curtain, know for certain that its worth it/ Nay be a journey worthless, its all how you interpret/ But to see the inner-working and know I didn’t deserve it/ Would negate all of my purpose, and send me back to the service/ The Pastor & The Pulpit, The Deacons & The Heathens/ The blood of Christ substitute specially sweetened/ Judgments yet to come, yet I have to see them through/ But does God have a bracelet asks, “What Would Jesus Do?”/ Meditate on that/ I don’t claim a religion, I’m just one of his children/ Another made in his image tryna find some forgiveness/
Track Name: Dream Catcher feat. Walter Kronkite
(Hook)
Liquid blood spitting up, cigarettes hitting up/ My lungs to start giving up, stress feeling ill as fuck/ Confidence is feeling tough, daring G-d to deal a bluff/ When the fuck does real become real enough?/

(Verse)
Funny watch the time go and mar ex winners/ While I sit on more bars than an RX vendor/ Play the back or fade to black, what are you to say to that/ Cause when your run is done, how are you with facing that?/ I'm looking for a shot or two, they snicker it's illogical/ A flicker of improbable, I'll probably apostle you/ Go from Saul to Paul with you, know that that appalls a few/ I'm always gonna stick up in a craw or two/ Don't speak about Yeshua, Hampton, Or Cleaver/ Cause iffin' you do, then you'll be reekin' of ether/ I speak thru receivers, nay turn a believer/ Cause they'd rather appease what they see to be regal/ Fuck it; still I'll seethe thru your tweeters/ And if the record skips, hear me breathe thru the needle/ Hard to catch a dream when the scene isn't peaceful/ It's okay, though, I dunno meaning of equal/

(Kronkite Verse)
/Cold as the moment, seems we frozen in time/ I try to keep it cool like frozen key lime pie/ And I try to keep it moving like my busted old ride/
Keep pouring oil in and watch it drag from behind man/ It’s kind of hard act right now a days/ Knowing the inevitable is lying in graves/
And I can give money but not before my lawyer is paid/ And as I cross that finish line, please hold that tape/ Blame all of you, I’ll tell you why if you let me/ It’s friendship that sends ships that leads to forgetting me/
Forget the bullshit pass, quit making me laugh/ Dad said off the toilet, so I got off my ass/ Now it’s on some new shit, imitate the cool kids/
Heard a voice so soothing, telling me to do this/
So like Lebron, I don’t hold no grudge/
I only do what I do to try to hold the trophy up/
Track Name: PaRaDoX (Interlude)
Another one bites the dust/ Lust turned love, hits the floor with a thud/ Mustard seed faith proved nary enough/ Play it close to your chest, exterior tough/ Interior redecorate, your heart in your throat/ Scrub it when it falls, use plenty of soap/ Wash away the marks, no evidence left/ Then move past closure, go with hesitant steps/ I’ma try make sense, recollect the events/ Span us rolling in the grass to you hoppin’ the fence/ The blame is irrefutable/ I love you but my actions inexcusable/ It wasn’t equal, I was selfish, apologies there/ Didn’t listen, pay attention, act of modestly care/ Hooker headed, we’re both fucked/ Showed so much, then I sewed shut/ I’ll honestly miss the honesty, the humor and wit/ The passionate climaxes, room fumed with the scent/ The fact that I never felt you move to pretend/ I’ll probably playback, I’ll try and move when it ends/ Here I lose a lover, a partner, and friend/ Result of my mistake to go and scoff at the bend/ Once again I’ll try and measure cost of a sin/ Say my piece and see another tomb off in the wind/
Track Name: Iamlogik
(Verse 1) /Greetings to the heathens, again it's Stephen/ Flow make em squeamish and in need of treatment/ Gets em stuck like adhesive, them bars is cement/ Hang the flag from my penis and then pledge allegiance/ What in the world has been left with meaning/ Hell they demo'd sum towers just to fuck your feelings/ Then blamed extremists just to keep you reeling/ And they call me a kook, if I believe they're dealing/ With foreign governments, as together they're stealing/ Through what they buy wholesale and mark up for the needy/ But Greed isn't real, that's just a conspiracy/ You would never do that, the whole thing is heresy/ My country 'tis for free, well, damn near close too/ Just buy our debt, you'll be bi-coastal/ And yo, that's cool right/ Be as safe as 2-Pac and Suge Knight/ Never color with me, man, believe it's a class thing/ So if you're above middle, there's not a point in you asking..../ Not a thing of relation/ Cheers to recent uprisings, that's all that I'm saying/ Why shoot a cop, I'd rather a banker/ Citibank, Lehman Brothers, all the cantankerous/ Coke sniffing fucks, that gamble with people/ Foreclose on their haystack, and just leave em with needles/

(Hook)/ that is not a noose, that's a halo with string/
/That's not an angry mob, that's a choir that sings/
/Not a volatile bomb, that’s just a bell that rings/
/Funny you don't look as high as you seem/
/And the grass is blue, the sky is green/
/ Now left is right, and you look up at seas/
/Now wrong and right fit seamlessly/
/Funny you don't look as high as you seem/

(Verse 2)/Four dollars a gallon and you’re not pissed off? / Where’s your lanterns? Where’s your pitchforks? / You just point a finger at someone piss poor/ And that’s half the reason I ask what I spit for/ What’s the purpose, it’s worthless, lip service in verses/ Maybe deserving, but it washes out like detergent/ So pretend that I’m nervous, un-assured of the curses/ So it seems I’m uncertain, scared, subject to blurting/ Maybe then, you might pay a bar some attention/ Like it’s Wet Topless Night with a gaggle of women/ Then I’d have a shot to really haggle with timid/ People average and annoyed I play scrabble with lyrics/ Those who won’t acknowledge that I unravel the linen/ Might finally listen and watch all be forgiven/ Shiiit….like that might happen/ Like I won’t be labeled just a dumb ass rapper/ Perish the thought, of uninhibited truth/ Coming from a brash white trash belligerent youth/ Let em do they’re dance, do it just like Humpty/ While I build a bomb and pretend that I’m Chuck D/
Track Name: BiT bY bIt feat. Krosswordze
/Two tone Terry, race traitor, play savior/ Listen, they say later, treat me like gay neighbor/ Outcast, not looked upon with the same favor/ Say I'm the correct spelling of Fiasco's "Lasers"/ Driven off emotion, that's what the speeds for/ Uncomfortably funny, like messiahs and street whores/ If you aren't original, the hell you speak for?/ Always thought that I might mean more/

(Hook)

/Scarlet letter symphonies

/Sleep deprived epiphanies/

Adrift in all the industry/

/Dope but yet I’m sick of me/

/Time’s acquired a stitch from me/

/A quip, a lick of spit from me/

Convinced that I’m the industry/

/Dope but yet I’m sick of me/



(Verse 2)

/Instead I live in my head, speak the color of red/ No gang, it’s for the blood that almost led me to bed/ Feeding demons cheap pints while I’m swallowing smoke/ Hollowing hope as I write, ears following notes/ Beer stained roots run deep, in the premature trees/ Burn, coupled, pops from the premature seeds/ Plain black tee, khaki shorts to the knee/ Dressed down as the sound that speaks from under me/



(Hook)

/Scarlet letter symphonies

/Sleep deprived epiphanies/

Adrift in all the industry/

/Dope but yet I’m sick of me/

/Time’s acquired a stitch from me/

/A quip, a lick of spit from me/

Convinced that I’m the industry/

/Dope but yet I’m sick of me/


(Verse 3)

Living life close to edge/ Am I living? Or am I closer to dead?/ The cost of living is goin' over my head/ I can't even call it/ Can't even tell if I've been flying or falling/ Can't even tell if they lying or ballin'/ Ya'll call it/ I'm tryna Shyne, like that dude that did time for Puffy/ And I want cream, so the fucking FEDS can't touch me/ Is that too much to ask? Is it too much for cash?/ Is it..just so bad, to live just for flash?/ Tired of havin' to heat up a flask/ Out of cheddar, on the block, with a Glock/ To heat up yo ass/ Whether I sing, rap, draw/ Usually 'cididy n***a/ Now this shit is just raw, now I'm just a gritty n***a/ All my thoughts, usually/ Is computated and overrated/ Now it's just complicated...and I hate it/ I can't even sit back, I can't even relax/ Now I'm lookin' for doors to kick back/ And kids to kidnap/ Ya'll best believe that/ It's gonna get rougher this year/ A whole lot tougher this year/ Ya'll motherfucker's finna suffer this year/
Track Name: crushed herbal's feat. C. James
(Verse 1)
/Back... but I don’t know why/ Maybe for approval, maybe I’m the fall guy/ Maybe I’m the wrong guy, never be at all fly/ Maybe it’s a thing where I just like to watch my songs die/ Rest in peace, we never heard ye/ Another stillborn bred out of the Burg speak/ I like to think I’m dope, and my friends tell me so/ They also say to leave, that you’ll never let me blow/ All hail the floundering hero/ Turn my music up and turn it back down to zero/ / My flows ill, I cold chill, I know real, I sold pills/ I sold weed, I sold speed, and even I sold ski/ For brief periods, but some of ya copped from me/ Funny in high school you all nan even talked to me/ Now if we meet, you ask if I’m rappin’/ If you’re upset at me, you’re attacking my rappin'/ If you don’t understand it, you’re blastin my rappin'/ My entire life has collapsed into rappin’/ You ask about shows, ask where do I sing at?/ I bite my tongue not to say that I don’t sing, ass/ Shit makes me hate music/ The whole plot of it is just all consuming/ Used to be just to vent, now I need your approval/ Self esteem wasted, confined to be frugal/ Where would I be if I ain’t meet Flame/ Six years of this has been a lot to retain/ No fallback yet but come equipped with game/ A dot in the mire of the same ol’ same/

(Hook)
/Attention Deficit Disorder/
/Attention Deficit Disorder/
/Attention Deficit Disorder/
/Pistol kissed with mortars/
Track Name: VoRtEx
/Mayview St., Eighty-Seven to Ninety-Three/ My mother and my father and my dog and me/ High-top with a rat tail, Bugle Boy jeans/ Fluorescent color tank tops, cool as the breeze/ Just a young couple, gettin' by, and in love/ Both working jobs just to make it enough/ From an infant to toddler, highchair with a bib/ While Lucy, our pit-bull, slept under my crib/ Used to dare anyone to come close to the shit/ Even went at Grandma on a certain attempt/ 'Till 3, was babysat, then Dad fucked that up/ Backed out her driveway and my skull got cracked up/ Four lanes, got the signal it was safe to come out/ Then BAM, Garbage truck about took his son out/ Sewed my brain lining and pieced together my skull see/ And that was the first time the piper tried to lull me/

(Hook)
/Into a deep sleep, sounds so perfect/
Recall family, discard verdicts/
And during rapid-eye, I'll pretend it's worth it/
That my only thought, ain't to jerk my curtain/

/Through all of that, there was my best friend/ Bonded over bullshit, cartoons, and wrestling/ Our dream was to call Wrestlemania ringside/ Commentated over tapes since we were knee-high/ Day I turned six Mom buried her Pops/ So his mom lit my candles while his family watched/ All the time wrestling, he used to get nosebleeds/ So we’d stop, wet a rag, and then try and control them/ He was there for the marriages, and there for the moves/ And when I got a new brother he accepted him too/ Backed me during beefs, didn’t ask questions/ My dude was blood-kin and a definite blessing/ When I had the 2nd surgery, my brother was right there/ With a joke gift, laughs, and a smile that my life spared/ Certain shit occurred, most the fault is with me though/ And that’s why certain nights, the guilt won’t let me go/
Track Name: A shaman's DayDream
Succumb to the light if you will/ lay still in the meadow or the field/ And just gaze, quit thinking of the day/ Lose conscious thought and play, if you may/ I prefer to stray, packs privy a mob mind/ That breeds violence that stops time/ Momentarily, I step verily/ To ask that clock if it will marry me/ That way I when die, it comes with me/ Henceforth time stops, and so they'll miss me/ Maybe it's cheap, but we all think that way/ Sometimes/ Chartering narcissism with dumb rhymes/

Ripe with vigor and a shimmer of grandstand/ Mumble musings of a damned man/ The silver lining in a gas chamber music/ Nurse a cigarette and just aim for the truest/ Flood memory banks with pleasurable thoughts/ Soon you come to terms with acceptable loss/ Finality takes precedent, that bring hesitance/ So you try for heaven sent for the hell of it/ Look for the well in it, to ease your load up/ I'm lookin' for some bail and shit, to get back tow up/ Release is the key, but where's the perspective/ I must've put mine in my contraceptive/ Enlightened but frightened, commitment's a killer/ A sentence of filler then resentment a steal ya/ Dealin' with the hand you were dealt from the dealer/ Toying with the thought that something is realer/