Swordplay

by Baba Brinkman

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04:40
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released April 20, 2004

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Baba Brinkman New York, New York

Canadian hip-hop with an intellectual bent, nothing but sexy beats and sumptuous brain food.

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Track Name: Induction
These riddles I write
In the middle of the night
Got me livin' alive
With a little bit of spice
I'm not a literal type
So I consider it wise
To deliver the hype
In a critical light
And minimalize
The subliminal – psyche!
If I'm winnin' the fight
And beginnin' to thrive
It's 'cause I'm not liftin' the mic
And grippin' it tight
To be given a prize
Or fixin' my sight
On a visible height
To legitimatize
My difficult plight
'Cause if I did then I might
Just limit the size
Of my physical flight
And get cynical, right?
Let the pinnacle rise
'Til the minute is ripe
I'll give it a nice
Welcome when it arrives
At the end of my life
When my differences, like
Reciprocal sides
At the edge of the knife
Together unite
Track Name: Scientist
As an act of defiance, I insist
On disrupting silences with an iron fist
I’m not a mindless artist; I’m a scientist
Einstein and Darwin are partners I enlist
I spark alliances, chasing after infinity
Matter is energy trapped in genetic memory
I gather it into me and capture it vividly
When adapting it into these raps with intensity
I don’t ask for sympathy, though it’s often hard
I want no part of post-modern art
Or doggerel shot-in-the-dark Hallmark card
Photocopied poems thrown in the shopping cart
I don’t know where the problem starts, but it finishes here
Witnesses hear the difference; every sentence is clear
Innocent ears listen as fear and sin disappear
This is sheer Genesis; redemption is near

I’m a scientist in the lab; I mix it up
With a giant gift of gab, just a nut
But I’m not Quannum or Common
I’m an anomalous phenomenon
Just tryin’ to spit this rap, and live it up


Basically I’m takin’ this beat and tappin’ it
Like the base of a maple tree, for the sap in it
The flavour is sweet, makin’ me passionate
It tastes like an aphrodisiac when I fashion it
Exact craftsmanship like renaissance art
I begin to come apart when the song starts
Oxymoron at heart: blonde and smart
Drawn in sharp contrast to common sparks
I blaze from dawn to dark, and at sundown
That’s when I rap to the fat drum sound
I wrap my tongue around the claps and pounds
Like the underground Pied Piper: rats come drown
‘Cause half the acts around are sinking ships
About to relinquish diminishing grips
I make fingers slip when I bring this quick-
Witted English linguistic brinkmanship

I’m a scientist in the lab; I mix it up
With a giant gift of gab, just a nut
But I’m not Quannum or Common
I’m an anomalous phenomenon
Just tryin’ to spit this rap, and live it up


When I rap, I stand on the shoulders of geniuses
With hats back and baggy pants, holding their penises
Posing overeager for media shows, but I see them as
Poets and dreamers, you know what I mean? This is
Why I flow with a seamlessness that approaches perfection
And openly question those with Jehovah’s protection
Although my only weapons are jokes; with no aggression
My most hopeless obsession is with my own reflection
So I suppose the impression I give is narcissistic
A smart, gifted, artistic, hard-fisted, dark, twisted
Sharp-witted, scarred, sadistic, heartless mystic
As harsh as it is to have my worst parts listed
Definitions are simplistic one-dimensional blurbs
Invented in the intention to blur sensual curves
I was sent to this earth with unconventional words
Which I intend to disperse until some tension is purged

I’m a scientist in the lab; I mix it up
With a giant gift of gab, just a nut
But I’m not Quannum or Common
I’m an anomalous phenomenon
Just tryin’ to spit this rap, and live it up
Track Name: Toxified
I really hate to do this to fakes, but the truth is
All it takes is two lips to make this music
And compose soundtracks to show how in fact
I know how to rap and got my flows down pat
I'm the best-kept secret, blessed to speak this
My breath crests the peak and gets swept beneath it
Like dust under the rug, like lust under the love
I trust when my number's up, justice from above
Will curse every critic whose words get me livid
Diverse metaphysics as the earth steady pivots
On its axis, know what I mean? I'm so keen
I can flow at the speed of a sewing machine
And stitch patches to fix rips, nicks and scratches
Then sit back and sip six packs of fatness
I got a little trouble with cholesterol level
But when the dust is all settled, the rest is all treble

It's cocky hiphop
I talk as if I'd never been taught to quit
Rock the mic
In a din of adrenaline like winning a cock fight
And when it gets dropped the night's toxified

I rip apart a track when I start to rap
Cardiac arrest, chest collapse, heart attack
I stress the coronary artery, the corollary
Coroner's report said the tests were extraordinary
The autopsy shows what hiphop cost me
I couldn't shut off the flow and just talk softly
And so instead of an out of court settlement
I chose to live and overdose on adrenaline
I'm forever blessed, my flesh is resurrected
Whenever I flex it's like pleasure injected
A Sorcerer's apprentice with swords of tempered steel
Mental skills' harder to ignore than a dentist's drill
I rip mics toxified with nitrous oxide
And spit with lopsided lips in cyphers cross-eyed
I'm known to set the mood but don’t get it confused
'Cause I wont let the juice alone until I set it loose.

It's cocky hiphop
I talk as if I'd never been taught to quit
Rock the mic
In a din of adrenaline like winning a cock fight
And when it gets dropped the night's toxified

Rappers with flaccid erectile tissue
Get blasted with massive projectile missile
Like the mother of all bombs, nothin' but raw funk
Ruggedness locked on, what is it y'all want?
I'm at your service, when I rap so perfect
Serpents get served, then act so nervous
Like after raw sex with no contraceptive
I'm next on deck lookin' calm and collected
My life is about writin' each crisis out
Liftin' this mic to this mouth, and hypin' the crowd
Like electric voltage. I get no kicks
From rejection notices, so neglected postage
Can't stop my delivery, and when I talk busily
My style cannot really be clocked visibly
And so my flow seems like a ghost in the machine
That goes between what I say and what I'm supposed to mean

It's cocky hiphop
I talk as if I'd never been taught to quit
Rock the mic
And when it gets dropped the night it toxified
Track Name: Dead Poets
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

I’m livin’ every day with the dead poets’ society
Rioting inside my head, so it requires me
To keep every word I’ve read close beside me
Inspiring me to never go quietly

I’m posturing like I’m the offspring of Oscar Wilde
The foster child of Geoffrey Chaucer; now
Hip-hop’s the trial I face here, so I adopt the style
But I've got to make clear that since my eighth year
I’ve been possessed by Shakespeare and William Blake’s spirits
And still I wait to hear a voice like T.S. Elliot’s
And Percy Shelley is the first to tell me just
How to speak out of turn and keep my verse rebellious
I read Keats and learn from a grecian urn
How to reach eternity through the gyre where Yeats purns
So I can meet Traherne, plus I’m a freak like Burns
With his twenty-some children, though I’m still a young pilgrim
And I’m buildin’ a temple from the skills my tongue’s yieldin’
So I feel like John Milton; paradise is lost
For the thrill; I’m John Skelton crossed with Wordsworth
And my zeal is unwelcome in George Herbert’s church

I’m livin’ every day with the dead poets’ society
Rioting inside my head, so it requires me
To keep every word I’ve read close beside me
Inspiring me to never go quietly

For a challenge I’m known to approach talent shows with
Poems that I stole from Edgar Allen Poe’s lips
Opium hits dope Alexander Pope’s wits
I was Samuel Coleridge in a trance when I wrote this
And I awoke with the whole song done
I felt the soul of John Donne; Andrew Marvel
Taught me to chase the sun; I can’t make it stand still
So instead I’ll make it run, with puns denser
Than Edmund Spencer’s, and modern lyrics
Modeled on Robert Herrick’s; when I dispense words
It’s like a forge is firin’, and I’m strikin’ the iron
Inspired by Lord Byron when I’m writin’ the Siren
Song; evidence of desire went wrong
And lost innocence; my memory’s gone
In a sense, Tennyson has been reborn
In a form with the fingerprints of Henry Vaughn

I’m livin’ every day with the dead poets’ society
Rioting inside my head, so it requires me
To keep every word I’ve read close beside me
Inspiring me to never go quietly

As a poet I’m conscious of the goals I accomplish
That I owe to accomplices, and when I’m feelin’ honest
My conscience bids me to admit to stealin’ sonnet
Styles from Philip Sydney; I’m fulfillin’ a promise
I gave Dylon Thomas to rage against the dyin’
Of light; I’m like Adonis: I’m still a novice
But I already got the skills to thrill a Goddess
Or start a riot in the heart; that’s why it’s pounding
I’m Thomas Wyatt’s foundling; on Ezra Pound’s wings
I fly, quietly grounding my weight on the past’s crutches
I’m Robert Browning, and this rap is “My Last Dutchess”
I’m puttin’ the last touches on the way it’s sounding
In strange surroundings my grasp clutches
For balance; I spin words, recalling how fast structures
Fell and splintered at my feet like Alan Ginsberg
That’s how I’m ensured power of speech, and now I’ve been heard

I’m livin’ every day with the dead poets’ society
Rioting inside my head, so it requires me
To keep every word I’ve read close beside me
Inspiring me to never go quietly

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments...

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so...

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes
On what wings dare he aspire
What the hand dare seize the fire...

As holy and enchanted
As 'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon lover...

Who'd stoop to blame this sort of trifling
Even had you skill in speech, which I have not...

Well those passions read, which yet survive
Stamped on these lifeless things...

To whom thou sayest "Beauty is Truth,
Truth Beauty, that is all ye know on earth
And all ye need to know"

Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run
Track Name: Microphone
This ain’t a microphone; it’s a microscope
It’s like a slideshow of my whole life up close
This ain’t a microphone; it’s a microwave
Ultraviolet blazes inside this cave
This ain’t a microphone; it’s a microchip
A device to flip memory bites through my lips
It’s nothin’ but a mic, though, when I go home
It’s the cyclone life of the microphone

This mic dangles loose at the end of a black chord
Like a hangman’s noose in front of the dance floor
Each night paying dues I stand on a trap door
And I’d like to thank the muse at the plentiful rap source
‘Cause my slang and language use is gonna pass the course
So crank the juice and let the energy blast forth
I’m gonna be forced to take advantage of this amplification
To state my plans for this planet’s emancipation
I understand if you're wastin’ away, waitin’ for the chance to take an
Extended vacation, spendin’ your pay-cheque
Straight spinnin’ in place in a panic, anticipatin’
The end of creation; man, I’ve been in that state and
I’ve managed the transformation to a standing ovation
With this mic in my hand facin’ crowds of people, just trustin’
That we can work out beef with nothin’ but speech and percussion
Just peaceful discussion and powerful beat production

This ain’t a microphone; it’s a microscope
It’s like a slideshow of my whole life up close
This ain’t a microphone; it’s a microwave
Ultraviolet blazes inside this cave
This ain’t a microphone; it’s a microchip
A device to flip memory bites through my lips
It’s nothin’ but a mic, though, when I go home
It’s the cyclone life of the microphone

Weak speakers crack when this mic feeds back
Screeches travel through the tweeters jacked up with each pass
And when people react to these unique speech acts
It creates an equally fast species of feedback
I need that positive twist to write these raps
The props that I get increase my peak capacity
And my abilities increase the props that I get
It’s a simple and deep fact of cause and effect
When the tree sap’s runnin’, I ain’t stoppin’ for breath
The only problem is stress and system overload
If they’re not given proper rest microphones can blow
The equipment connected; it’s a risk the poet knows
And I’ve got to accept it when I’m kickin’ my poems
Most are written at home, long before they enter the light
Hand printed and typed songs invented at night
That eventually might get launched into the mic

This ain’t a microphone; it’s a microscope
It’s like a slideshow of my whole life up close
This ain’t a microphone; it’s a microwave
Ultraviolet blazes inside this cave
This ain’t a microphone; it’s a microchip
A device to flip memory bites through my lips
It’s nothin’ but a mic, though, when I go home
It’s the cyclone life of the microphone

I used to suffer ‘mic lust’, and drool when I saw them
But when I touched and tried to bust, I knew I was rotten
So I withdrew from performin’ and kept writin’ new songs
Not the type to rush to rock a mic tattoo on my arm
Now I finally feel like I’m just movin’ along
With no excuses or those wrong-headed abuses of charm
That people use to get on stage, replacin’ the real
Relationships built with microphones based on skill
It’s more than just the taste of a meal that makes it appeal
It’s more than just the shape or the face on the bill
That dictates its place in the till or the amount of it
Beware of counterfeit poets at shows who don’t know how to spit
The mic proudly sits above MCs’ debates
Power-trips and picks out victims like the Three Fates
But the system predates the green age of the icon
In days bygone poets rhymed without mics on

This ain’t a microphone; it’s a microscope
It’s like a slideshow of my whole life up close
This ain’t a microphone; it’s a microwave
Ultraviolet blazes inside this cave
This ain’t a microphone; it’s a microchip
A device to flip memory bites through my lips
It’s nothin’ but a mic, though, when I go home
It’s the cyclone life of the microphone
Track Name: El Plantador
Freedom of birth has rooted me from the first
Leavin’ the worst curses muted to my feelin’ of worth
I’m bein’ reimbursed for puttin’ trees in the earth
So I’m grateful, ‘cause it’s hateful when you’re needin’ the work
The seasons reverse; in the spring, bees and the birds
Got a reason to sing, bringin’ their seeds into birth
And sprouts, pleasin’ to nurse, upsurge like a fountain
And begin’ to burst out the dirt up in the mountain
I’m countin’ the amount and the worth of all my poundin’
Runnin’ around, I work the ground, my words resoundin’
Verses abound, but the sound carries downwind
Drowned as it tarries ‘round the area I’m found in
Weight packin’ straight pounds around to break your back and
I make it happen; I race down mounds; I’m paper stackin’
My tapers blacken; late nights creatin’s the best
I’m breakin’ cheques, makin’ connects, wakin’ to sex
My achin’ breasts never takin’ less than they can invest
And I ain’t paid to rest, as any day can attest
I’m hatin’ the stress, but I’m lovin’ the freedom
I’m shakin’ the pesticides with gloves when I need ‘em
I’m racin’ the rest, numbers above and I beat ‘em
I’m makin’ a mess; I’ve got mud up to my knees, and
I’m shovin’ the trees in where I dug and then squeeze ‘em
I’m duckin’ no-see-ums and other bugs and I’m bleedin’
But under my breathin’ this is what I’m repeatin’

I chant this to replenish
Like a sandwich when you’re famished
Under bandages my hand is
Badly damaged, but I manage
By the handle grip to brandish
My shovel as I plant this
Great expanse of forest vanished
Where the planet has been branded
Trees get slammed into the slanted
Land with frantic speed I dance with
An enhanced sense of romantic
And I can’t get disenchanted

I’m draggin’ my feet; to get speed I shift gears
I fiercely lift my knees, and my fatigue disappears
My sweat drips swiftly; my lips bleed and get smeared
Which I lick quickly, 'cause it’s the sea mixed with tears
Clocks tick six year as I walk between trees
And the slash is deep with distracting green leaves
My dreams lead, and I seem to be fast asleep
I’m trapped in a deep trance, but I plant masterfully
I stand half-deceased at the end of my last screef
And when my hand slaps the tree in the sand, that’s just sweet
And actually, it’s past belief the feats I’ve had to pull
Wrapped in these rags of wool, tree bags full
I’m like a black sheep that’s track-meet speed compatible
To pass me you have to be released by a catapult
And every word that I speak is autobiographical
So follow my path; it’s all flagged with red tape
And I shed weight with each micro-site I impregnate
My shredded legs keep me upright to levitate
Up the block everyday, but the rocks never break
I’ve got to measure space and do whatever it takes
Some nights I lie in bed awake and shiver and shake
But I never let a late night get in the way
‘Cause every second I waste is like instead of my pay
And when I’ve got to separate my head and escape
From all the effort it takes, I just rap to meditate

I chant this to replenish
Like a sandwich when you’re famished
Under bandages my hand is
Badly damaged, but I manage
By the handle grip to brandish
My shovel as I plant this
Great expanse of forest vanished
Where the planet has been branded
Trees get slammed into the slanted
Land with frantic speed I dance with
An enhanced sense of romantic
And I can’t get disenchanted
Track Name: Fatalist
It takes individuals to make statistics
With sophistication the shapes get shifted
The risks we take make the race ballistic
So shake your fist or get fatalistic

I’ve gotta make a list of reasons why I’m not a fatalist
That’s not a way to live with the weight of this world the way it is
You can push paperclips for the sake of your kids
Or shake your tits and wait tables for minimum wage and tips
Or relax in a state of bliss, trapped in the Matrix
Watching the latest clips of fallen dictatorships
Eating potato chips with flavourless dips
But to achieve weightlessness, you must believe you created this
Whether it’s done consciously or unconsciously
Whether you walk nonchalantly or run constantly
Whether you live under palm trees or march to the drum’s beat
Complicity comes back to haunt your sleep
And pride and obstinacy, like monsters, creep
Inside these songs of freedom the soul longs to speak
You gotta sow if you wanna reap; still, karma runs deep
Sometimes you can’t see the cause of cosmic grief

It takes individuals to make statistics
With sophistication the shapes get shifted
The risks we take make the race ballistic
So shake your fist or get fatalistic

In the East, soldiers roam with raging hormones
With radiophones they bring the sword to stones
And lay poor bones to decay in war zones
As the oldest poems and ancient lore known
Gets ignored and thrown on the floor when the door’s blown
Looters roar home; there’s no more shalom
A sore groan rises from inside the Sorbonne
As another throne tries for the glory of Rome
And when the mousetraps close, send in the backhoes
And start drillin’ the plateaus, lookin’ for black gold
Wherever the map shows gas, tank tracks go
G. I. Joe attacks… Damascus ho!
It’s like, first to act, last to know, ain’t that so
But even the biggest assholes and total wackos
Must have souls that reflect the supernatural
They just catch colds and forget about the macro

It takes individuals to make statistics
With sophistication the shapes get shifted
It takes individuals to make statistics
With sophistication the shapes get shifted
It takes individuals to make statistics
With sophistication the shapes get shifted
The risks we take make the race ballistic
So shake your fist or get fatalistic

Spirit sickness grows deep as we dig ditches
And pig pen pits, asleep to the big pictures
And even those who witness the sickness just get suspicious
And turn to scriptures lookin’ for reasons to burn witches
There’s so many pernicious ways to earn riches
And so many kitchens bursting with vermin and dirty dishes
I hope the first thirty-six courses were delicious
And worth every risk, ‘cause dessert’ll be vicious
Like a circle with the center waitin’ patient for penetration
Like a flag incineration on a day of veneration
In a veteran’s parade, afraid of intimidation
A sleeping dragon’s been awakened and the next generation
Will face the implications and waste their innovations
Building gates to defend their nation against the hateful vengeance taken
On the same men impatient to put limitations
On reproductive freedom and call it bush administration
Track Name: Procrastinator
I'm a procrastinator, planning to act later
A chronic nap-taker and chronicle narrator
A fact-stator chasing some honest rap pay-dirt
I'm a sonic blast maker, a foundation shaker
Creating a half-acre-wide impact crater
I'm a rhyme saturator, a mad saber-rattler
Afraid of his shadow, a unilateral hate-battler
A snake-handler, original gate-straddler
Balancing eight platters of words on a straight ladder
Plus, to make matters worse, surrounded by fake flatterers
Any mistakes happen just call me a plate-shatterer

Information-gathering station conductor
I'm shaken up worse than World Trade Center structures
Reluctant to say that I've just been taken upwards
By alien abductors, my face covered for days
With suction-cup clusters; there ain't enough words
To explain the pain I've suffered; my brain is ruptured
I need to be chained up and fed some plain custard
If that doesn't work, and I remain flustered
And labeled insane, then take me to shock therapy
And tell the doctors there to be careful and not bury me
And when it stops, carry me to the lobotomy chair
And keep me there until I'm cheerful as a cocky parakeet
Polly wanna shot of narcotics for thought-clarity?

My popularity drops – it's probably a conspiracy
Apparently when I talk someone at the top's scared of me
I'm not paranoid; don't offer me charity
I don't want steroids; my body is very weak
I only shave my hairy cheeks once every week
And I can barely speak, my throat is so dry
It's no surprise though; I've been high my whole life
So I go try to flow nice at shows and it's no dice
And most nights I ghost-write lyrics to cold light
And grow spiteful of my previous oversights
As greedy as cobras’ bites when I hold this mic
Obese, dressed in vertical-striped Obelix tights
Beats like these might backfire like motorbikes
And catch fire, shoulder spikes and fat tires
I'm a bad liar, a critic satisfier
Turning higher learning into passionate desire
So hook this black wire to the amplifier
And get blasted by a verbal crack supplier
To the buyer: I never criticize a rap addict's cries
I give 'em safe injection sites to protect their rights
But I'll make 'em sweat tonight, and exercise
To inject some excitement into stressed-out lives
It’s like all depression gets left outside
As I bless the mic and leave the rest how it lies
Track Name: Solar Eclipse
Thunderous beats shake the ground underneath
Hundreds of feet that jump and leap and thump drunkenly
Beneath the trunks of people who’ve all come to see
Someone unbelievable, with a tongue to speak
With two lungs to breathe and a mind composed
To rhyme blindfolded on high vinyl ropes
And drive winding roads disinclined to doze
I won’t let my eyes close ‘til it’s my time to go
As I find the signposts to keep me oriented
To keep me soaring into the morning with no resentment
To give me more incentive to get my stories printed
Ignoring poor intentions until this party’s ended
I’m sorry if you’re offended; just count to ten
And then bounce around when the record sound spins
I’m out to move mountains with a fountain pen
And then step down proudly in the crowd and grin
I’ve been around the bend, and I’m trying to make it back
To the only place I have where I’m still safe at last
As I trace my path through this race of rats
All I taste is ashtrays, waste and trash

Every paycheque cashed represents my survival
I go from wet to dry as I flow; I’m inter-tidal
My style has been stifled by my most intense rival
Who resides in my throat and prevents my arrival
At the end of this wide road, this Möbius strip
It’s got me frozen stiff, lonely and sick
Until the moment I lift this microphone to my lips
Then every poem is a glimpse of a solar eclipse
As cold as the polar tips before greenhouse gases
I bring out raps at extremely loud bashes
‘Cause I’ve seen how fast people stream out of classes
Where senile bastards read from out the classics
My dreams outlast it; I stay in position
But my name is a prison and my goals remain distant
I’m unable to make decisions between fame and wisdom
So my aim is missin’ and I just blame the system
I bitch and complain, fixin’ to quit payin’ my dues
It’s a game I choose to play, and it’s okay if I lose
Say if I do, take two, another day in my shoes
Makin’ moves, breakin’ through; I’m not afraid if I bruise

I create flavours and moods with wide brush strokes
And use subtle notes to describe crushed hopes
When knives cut throats, lives blood soaked
Eyes shut closed, I just float by such gross
Types of close-up descriptive images
And flip minute to minute ‘cause the script is limitless
Depictions of women and kids gripped in grimaces
Diminish in a mist as the fiction finishes
Pictures of innocence begin to evaporate
I’ve been too fascinated with tragic fates
To graduate, and I tend to exaggerate
In fact, let me navigate back to my happy place
Where friends congratulate and there’s pleasure and pain
Sunny weather and rain, milk and honey, leisure and strain
Where the earth forever remains but it’s never the same
It just gets better with age like the veterans claim
As I sever the chains at the end of my noose
And let energies loose to get my enemy’s goose
Go ahead, send in the troops; just remember the truth
Everything loops back to the centre’s replenishing juice
Track Name: Pagan Party
We goan’ party like we just came home from war
And have an old school Roman orgy
We goan’ party like it’s Mardi Gras
And we all gettin’ drunk in Old New Orleans

I’m-a take it back to the Golden Ages
Before the plague made rap so dangerous
Back to a place where the most contagious
Rash was behavin’ so outrageous
Back in the day, when no cow was sacred
That’s when the pagans would go out naked
To dance and play and have wild relations
The passionate way, with no hesitations
This place is a nomad oasis
Where people go mad or go back to basics
As some grow fat on soul saturations
I’m so glad I know where that place is
Where no rat races sow active hatred
And most have nothin’ but mo’ happy faces
We goan’ have one of those celebrations
If we gotta take it back to Cro-Magnon ancients

We goan’ party like we just came home from war
And have an old school Roman orgy
We goan’ party like it’s Mardi Gras
And we all gettin’ drunk in Old New Orleans

We goan’ party like a war is over
And no one in the downtown core is sober
A cornucopia of gorgeous odors
Roaring motors, and four-leafed clovers
‘Cause the whole world over there’s no more exposure
To any explosions, swords or soldiers
And no more extortion of foreign cultures
Where people get treated like organ donors
For the vultures; party like there’s no more onerous
Bulldozers or border closures
An no courts either to lord it over
The people, and ignore the voters
And no more debt-loads and mortgage holders
And no poor workers and remorseless owners
Party like the weight of all chores and homework
Is born no more by mortal shoulders

We goan’ party like we just came home from war
And have an old school Roman orgy
We goan’ party like it’s Mardi Gras
And we all gettin’ drunk in Old New Orleans

We goan’ get rowdy like it’s carnival
Mardi Gras in the heart of New Orleans, y’all
We got rich and poor, short and tall
We got garbage haulers and Barbie dolls
Blue-collar workers, rock stars and all
We goan’ get retarded to start it off
And let the bar flow like a waterfall
As unconscious bodies get carted off
I know it’s hard to stop when the jar is involved
But it’s not your fault if you drop the ball
When it’s all yeast, hops and barley malt
And the floor ain’t really that far to fall
And your home ain’t really that far to crawl
And it ain’t about logic, not at all
So don’t give no thought to the smartest call
And get off the wall, ‘cause it’s a party y’all

We goan’ party like we just came home from war
And have an old school Roman orgy
We goan’ party like it’s Mardi Gras
And we all gettin’ drunk in Old New Orleans
Track Name: Lotus Eaters
Sitting on a beach
With a guitar in my hand
Moments on my mind
Like footprints in the sand

The rivalry that lives inside of me is so explosive
One side drinks chai tea and knows yoga poses
And keeps life peaceful and sleeps nights, buenas noches
The other side smokes roaches, take drugs and overdoses
With his eyes open wide high-speed on roller coasters
Yo I chose this life I lead, at least most of it
But sometimes I need to go with the flow a bit
I know this little island in the sea where the lotuses
Grow; in the Odyssey, Ulysses noticed it
In Homer's myth it's known as the home of the Lotus Eaters
I go to sip ambrosia; each drop on my throat is sweeter
And I'm a devoted seeker of the ultimate high
Music to blow the speakers, tequila, salt and lime
It's like I go to sleep thirsty and wired all the time
So I'm slow to speak words to describe how sublime
The flowers you find in this place taste
If you believe in religion imagine heaven as a state
Of complete hedonism, imagine freedom in prison
Where there isn't even a difference between dreamin' and livin'
I feel like a demon driven to this heathen existence
That I've seen in a vision like a gleam in the distance
Though I admit feeling a bit of a sneaking suspicion
That I've seen it retreating when I've been within inches

Sitting on a beach
With a guitar in my hand
Moments on my mind
Like footprints in the sand
Last night
I saw fish in the sky
I saw stars in the sand
My oh my oh my

My pain isn't there, except in the past tense
My brain is aware of nothing but distractions
That's why I came here, hash and absinthe
Dreams and carefree bohemian passions
A stranger's hair smells like frankincense
I strain my ears towards a Rastaman's
Music I can't quite hear; that's when I sense
A change in the air, perhaps an accident
Reacting to veins impaired by pathogens
Breathing, I reappraise where my path has been
Leading; my bloodstream needs a drastic spring
Cleaning, and I react with abstinence
I have to cleanse myself and take my life back again
This is what happens when people like me get tethered
To the hedonist life, and keep squeezing pleasure
From the heat of the night; it's like we can never
Believe the feeling is right, so eventually we sever
The leash and take flight; for me it's an effort
But I need to be delivered, and keep eating better
And keep seeking the treasure found in deep reading matter
I can't even measure how long I've been inside relaxed
Gradually digesting in Venus Fly Traps
But I can see the sky now; I've got my drive back

These things in life that I can't explain
Intoxication it bleeds my brain
It eases my pain
It feeds my flame
It bleeds my veins
It cleaves my frame
But I need my strength

Sitting on a beach

I feel like I'm a beast on this beach all I want is peace

With a guitar in my hands

As I stand inanimate a minute in this distant land

Moments on my mind

With one open eyelid left behind on this blind island

Like footprints in the sand

My inner dilemma's been expanding as long as I've been in this trance

Last Night

I had to sacrifice the afterlife to feed my appetite

I saw fish in the sky

I listened to my heartbeat and start to weep wishing to die

I saw stars in the Sand

But instead of letting hardships win I make departure plans

My oh my oh my

I think I'm ready to fly
Track Name: Insomnia
It’s 4:45 and I’m fortified and on track
Awake overnight, a glorified insomniac
I wait for the morning light to make contact
It’s a glorious sight for sore eyes; as dawn cracks
I’m ignoring it; why? My vision’s gone black
It’s time for a long nap, and I’m ready to be
Settled deep in steady sleep; nestled in feather sheets
I’m already intrigued by what I see ahead of me
An iridescent beach, a crescent peach moon
A phosphorescent sea stirred by a western breeze
That carries a pleasant tune with a resonant beat
From the direction of desert dunes, as I begin to creep
To a crest where a vision looms: I can see seven priests
And a collection of ruins where earth and heaven meet
Sacred temples and tombs where spirits live and breathe
Their holy breath in the rooms, and I watch expectantly
As a ritual resumes; but the head priest removes
His headpiece and beckons to me impatiently
As a second priest prepares a place for me next to his seat
And I obey his decree on shaky feet breathlessly
And leave the safety of the beach in a state of ecstasy
And proceed to the left of the priest and then stare
As the high priestess descends the temple stairs
And she’s dressed in expensive layers
From her knees to her chest and I freeze; in her hair
Is a bee’s nest; it’s the headpiece she wears
That keeps the rest of them all meek and scared
I try to be prepared, unaware that she wasn’t
Even comin’ for me, and I would be spared
Then I’m on my feet runnin’, surrounded by bees buzzin’
I can see the priests covered in about three-dozen
Apiece, with the priestess standin’ above ‘em
Lookin’ like she’s lovin’ every minute of it
For a moment the image hovered in my vision and doubled
And then the next thing I know I’m back under my covers
Smothered with sunlight streaming through the shutters
Track Name: Shaman
In the rainforest, I can hear a strange chorus
Of frogs and crickets playing for us; my brain is porridge
As the medicine man prays to the source
Holding my head in his hands; my presence vanishes
Into the depths of this trance; images dance
And spin as he chants and shakes a bundle of plants
His lungs expand and flows of cigarette smoke
Exit his throat, the rumble in his chest grows
In the background, the jungle silhouettes glow
Then all at once he lets go; my head is sweat-soaked
I’m a humble guest, though, with no question marks
I think I just lost control of my wits in this pitch dark
A matchstick sparks; as the blackness splits apart
The medicine man sits with a candlestick
Held in his hands lit; the flame’s dance enchants it
Then he hands it to me and stands, and that’s it
Track Name: Last Days
I feel my words add up to one thing, and that’s nothing
I’m struggling and searching; I’m verbal axe-juggling
Stumbling and lurching, my syntax troubling
I'm Busting verses, trying to capture something
Subtle about the rapture and passionate suffering
Attached to the cluttered path of cash coveting
Corruption contaminates the task of governing
Consumption demands massive gas guzzling
With hands tied up in the act of ass-covering
Above I see the sword of Damocles hovering
Assassins set to dispatch another king
As the pendulum swings, feel the plastic smothering
Sending some scuttling back under mother’s wing
Others stand muttering, watching sand crumbling
Castles come crashing to land, their plans tumbling
I can’t help wondering how the dream was killed
It's like the frame was built weak, but it seemed so real
I blame myself and accept the shame and guilt
For being a training-wheel, out to gain the skills
To play the game well and chase fame and wealth
The same as everyone else; yeah, it strained my health
To remain in the filth, but the pains I felt
Didn’t move me to action, and plus I knew this would happen
But this stupid attraction to hubristic passions
Grew, and through attachment I flew into a trap and
Couldn’t clue into the fact of the illusion’s enchantment
Until I sat on the ruins of the last human advancement
A loon laughing alone in a thousand-room mansion
With computers, fax, and phones used to grow food plants in
The last bastion, what remains of humanity
Madness rages in a string of profanity
All that’s left of an age of insane vanity
Condensed into one case of vain insanity
I scream and complain to the rainforest canopy
My name and DNA chain aborts, vanishing
As animals watch the last corpse from Titanic sink
The planet thinks: “Finally, man is extinct”
And begins replenishing all the damaging things
That we did with our hands while micromanaging
Now we’re back to the last days of weapon brandishing
When we still have a chance to change; come back from the brink
And cancel that command on the satellite link
It’s like, the battles of right-wing fascist militants
Remind me of mankind’s past irrelevance
You can wipe us all out like Florida brown pelicans
And it won’t necessarily spell the end of mental elegance
We feel these evolutionary arrogant elements
But as long as there’s still chimps, dolphins and elephants
Or any mammal animal with strands of intelligence
Language and culture eventually will swell again
I can’t tell you when, but I know it’s possible
So let’s drop the bull: this show is stoppable
But all in all I’d rather outgrow the obstacles
Than start all over from go; that’s so illogical
For us to make progress, though, the soul has got to flow
And soldiers have got to slow down and start talkin’ peace
Part of the problem seems to be with corporate greed
But they’re all just people with kids they got to feed
Lost in a colossal sea of private property
And can’t see the forest for the trees, just frogs asleep
In a pot of deep water, boiling hotter
Soil erosion problems, oil and slaughter
Destroy and prosper, spoil and conquer
Enjoy it while it lasts, boys, it wont be much longer
Track Name: Babel
See now is the time
When freestyles combine
And wild minds connect
To produce miles of rhymes
That wrap a thousand times
Around this ball of twine
Like power-lines
Still the tower climbs
Encircled in spiral vines
As every hour finds
Us closer to cloud nine
It could all turn out fine
In the end like fairytales
Where females marry males
At the end of weary trails
And friends with cherry nails
And grins carry the veils
But the legendary scale
Of it all is very real
With a fear I barely feel
I can clearly reveal
Babel is terribly frail
And threatens to unravel
If the dictionary fails
If we neglect the song
Concealed in the lexicon
And instead press on
In the direction we’ve gone
Headstrong, just pawns
And can’t resist being drawn
Into a festering swamp
Where no one gets along
And the congested throng
Would give its left arm
For a second of calm
Does the question belong
Anywhere in this quest we’re on?
This is the dawn of wordplay
That serves to straight
Purge agitated nerves
And gives words what they deserve
This world is made of words
They were created first
And gave us our naked birth
And kept our place reserved
On the face of this earth
Sacred words taught us
The way it works
From caves in the dirt
They enable us to flirt
With this elevated perch
And make sure that sages lurk
And the pages are versed
‘Til they’re like slaves and serfs
With an insatiable thirst
To rehearse, play with words
Narrate and create mirth
A job with major perks
It’s got my crazy bird
Tryin’ to break the shaman’s curse
I can’t stay in one place and chirp
Stagnation hurts
So when my aches converge
To where I can’t take worse
My legs stir, and there’s
No questioning my path
I get my things and dash
I spread my wings and flap
Nothing can bring me back
The way I think and act
Could be linked to the fact
That I’ve been trapped
My whole life in English class
Where the ink is black
And the paper’s white
So when I sing this rap
That’s the way I take flight
And relinquish the past
Wide awake late at night
On the brink of collapse
Less afraid of stage fright
With every page I write
Ready to grace the mic
With a charismatic presence
And take rap expression
Straight back to its edges
‘Cause it’s fraying at its edges
I’ve been taking magic lessons
Since my days of adolescence
Asking enigmatic questions
And laughing irreverently
At Catholic confessions
But I’m not past lifting
My hands and asking forgiveness
Or learning surrender
I’m having to live with
Fire while burning to cinder
Summer turning to winter
Lumber turning to splinter
Wonder turning to cynicism
Permanent injury
Returning to sender
Earning to spend, we’re
All churning in blenders
Serving currency lenders
Currently interest
Is working against us
Like murderous fingers
Like scorpion pinchers
Holding us with their
Poisonous stingers
Hoisted, sinister
Over us, quivering
Noiseless, dripping
And poised to deliver
Destroying and limiting
Choices like liver
Cirrhosis limits
Enjoyment of liquor
As a boy I was quicker
I think I’m growing thicker
Stoic I slowly wither
And show it; my hope flickers
I know it’s a stark change
But really there’s no difference
When it starts to rain
And the flame starts to wane
Darkness reigns and sharp pains
Plague the heartstrings
Harsh things mingle
And it’s hard to maintain
But the blaze can rekindle
If a single spark remains
Cymbals clang, bells jingle
Simple and plain
Babies age from dimples
Into wrinkles and veins
From the Olympic games symbol
To a limp with a cane
Some begin to complain
‘Cause they think it’s a shame
Every link in the chain
Is made to dwindle and fade
The only way to stay sane
Is to contextualize
Whatever gets to arise
Is standing next to demise
Death moves life
Like breath moves rhymes
And the flesh we use dies
And never gets two tries
So it’s best to utilize
Every blessing in disguise
Respect lies within
And proof testifies
It’s like, unless you reply
You lose; there’s no second prize
So guess to get through
Surprise tests, but choose wise
‘Cause true lies exist
And stress reflects blue light
And celestial skies
So let the moon rise
On the ocean horizon
From the coast to the highest
Mountain, open your eyes and
Don’t be surprised when
Emotion flies out and
Your throat chokes with sighs
And throws your insides out
From this explosion of rhymes
If you’re doped by the sound
And hypnosis arrives
And your soul cries out
Well then you know you’re alive