So it seems all community circles overlap,
and the proudest heads of rap all seem so obsessed with
cashing in checks, counting cash to impress.
Best dressed nonsense is all they can express.
What a round-about way for a minor league player to rock, or at least try.
White guys decked out in Ecko trying to live a do-or-die.
Damn my generation's pride. We've stayed constantly fried,
and try to carry a loaded gun in pants oversized.
When did becoming a rapper mean you had to lie?
You tried to grow a beard but all your goatee did was flavor save.
I'm hype as a red bull in a china shop, sipping haterade.
I pulled a Ye, called up Mase, prayed for better days
when dummies loving blow and brain can hit the burial hay.
It's a tailspin, may day. The ends justify their ways, at least it's what they say.
But let me tell you right now, I'm not the answer to a cancer.
Just showing being honest can make a woman out of a video vixen dancer.
Instead we have dudes jumping crews more often than freelancers.
You'll be the double exposed cellulose shaded one walking on tip toes.
Bad gamble, you fold. It's dangerous I'm told to be a voice of real reason.
Bastards call it treason to lead a legion of heathens towards a new season.
But I refuse to let loose these lyrics without a lethal cause.
We're forming a brigade, kill your kings, kill your gods.
credits
from Square One,
released October 28, 2012
All lyrics by D. Koloroutis.
Produced by A. Torres.
imaGenius, who produced my tape, also produces and raps on this album. Him, Pliny, and Kartune are some of the hardest working dudes ever. Get into it. DK Thundah