We're Your Age
by Anti-Swag Fiend Party
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We're Your Age LP (+ "mini-poster" / handmade lyrics book / sticker)
We're Your Age was printed on recycled materials by Bellwether Manufacturing. It includes a double-sided fold-out "mini-poster" and you will also receive a sticker and a handmade lyrics book. We're Your Age is Anti-Swag Fiend Party's first full-length release and has 12 tracks.
Includes immediate download of 12-track album in your choice of MP3 320, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire. -
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Digital Album
Immediate download of 12-track album in your choice of MP3 320, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.Buy Now name your price
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Intro
02:07
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Anti-Swag
04:02
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The King & The Ferryman
02:57
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Crocodile Deathroll
03:10
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Grem
04:18
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10. |
In The Name of Hip-Hop
02:49
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11. |
We Don't Care Anymore
05:05
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12. |
Life Is Yes, Life Is No
05:12
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about
Anti-Swag Fiend Party's first LP release. Beats and lyrics created and delivered by both C.DeL and Fricktion. Produced by Rick Warren.
credits
released 21 October 2011
tags
license
all rights reserved
feeds
feeds for about
A duo of weirdos from Bloomington, IN. We Stay squiddy. We don't feed our gremlins after midnight. And we keep our swag the hell off.
contact / help
For help with downloads, click here.
For all other inquiries, including help with merch, click here.
- Track Name: Anti-Swag
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Sick of the radio so I turned my swag off and pawned it. Traded Soulja Boy for a drag off The Chronic. There’s nothin’ on these frequencies that’s strikin’ me as honest. I’m tired of all these weak MC’s with half-assed rappin’ on it. I thought artists were supposed to blow up based on skill. Not because they have a chain or some diamonds in their grill. Not because they make up a dance and provide some cheap thrills. It’s not dead yet, but it’s sure as hell ill.
But how does such a sickness even get defined? Has rap become yet another disease of the mind? You made a million dollars rapping about balling and dancing and now the anti-swag villains are creepy crawling though your mansion. You see I wanted you to move me, but I didn't budge an inch. Now I'm coming harder with a scalpel and a stitch: hip-hop surgery. The scourge get purgatory. And the rest get the best: the fiends in their glory.
We’ll put a dagger to your swagger, once a braggart now a sagger. Better call the body bagger, coroner, the toe tagger. When you’re wrapped up tighter than your rap could be admired. Then we’ll whip out the lighter and we’ll douse your ass in fire. Together we conspire to make your temperature higher, using your Lamborghini as your funeral pyre. I know it’s a new sensation, but you need this revelation. Anti-Swag Fiend Party up with a new creation.
I don’t mean to boast and I don’t mean to brag, but I got more rhymes than most so I don’t need ya swag ‘cause I got lyrics and lyrics, when ya hear it ya fear it. What they play on the radio, I don’t go near it. It’s not about my appearance; it’s about interference caused by this new crap that’s too wack for true rap adherents. This trash is weighing down the rap game, we gotta burn it off. It’s played out with the swag, man. It’s time to turn it off.
So leave the switch down and keep the flames burning. Let the swag go and keep graves from turning. It's not right for me to say what a good rapper must be, but I have more love for rhymes that speak out to me. I'm trying to unearth songs that motivate and inspire and less tracks that detail the price of one's attire. So, your shoes are $450, but your lyrics don't lift me. We're here to fucking party, spike the punch with rhymes worth spitting.
There's only so much one can rap and so much one can talk, see what's on TV and believe that any got across, but I won't sit down and instead stand tall because I'm a stone wall, unphased and all, rooted to the ground, resisting any fall, speaking my mind because that's how I brawl. No, you shouldn't take this shot, but that's your call and we're down to tear it up if you're looking to get mauled.
Together we conspire when rap’s times are dire. While you’re busy gettin’ low, we’re tryin’ to take it higher. We’re anti-swag, pro-rap, so get used to the sound and if they get in our path – we’ll cut ‘em down. - Track Name: The King & The Ferryman
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It was a war to restore my brother’s pride with my brave Argives by my side. Many laid siege and many died, but our cunning and our gods helped turn the tide with Odysseus’ wit and Poseidon’s power, a Mycenaean gift, an equine tower. Despite Cassandra’s cries and Laoccon’s glowers, all Troy was taken in the twilight hours. And that morrow saw a red sun rise, while the city died away fled the wise. Yes, a love was lost, but revenge was found. We burned their city to the ground. Now after years and years of war and strife and witnessing the loss of many a Greek life, I may finally return to my ruler’s right and at long last my loving wife. Ten years it’s been since I’ve glimpsed this place, but something seems different about her face. I’m certain it’s only my weary mind. Perhaps a long soak will help it unwind. But a decade estranged had left my wife sour and nurtured in her an unsavory flower, for as I lay in that bath that would be my last. Another lost to dead love I took my last gasp.
What's this I see? Greek heroic entity? A paladin, a champion, led Acheans to victory. Doth he not intrude? Be he here to cross the styx with me? So is my duty, but is he worthy? You found a knife in your back, but was there coin within your mouth? Has disrespect from a spouse left you lone, robbed and south? No plee, no bribe, nor a thousand tears would sway me to otherwise leave you to a walk of a long thousand years. I stand in control, Agamemnon, the king. Luck leaves you dead, as I give naught to the living, the non-decaying, the standing and breathing, the ones that wonder if death is winning. It will cost you little but still cost you at all. Your soul still waits, demise was just a fall. Death is for each, but you must pass to rest peacefully. The most powerful ferryman, I am Charon, awaiting your fee. - Track Name: Losing It (ft. Rick Warren)
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Never affected. Seem cool calm collected, but closer inspected my head’s a fuckin’ wreck, kid. It’s unexpected. Not many have heard this, but turbulence boils under this placid surface. This hostility is still in me, been fillin’ me for years. It builds in me. It’s killin’ me, but releasing I fear. Or maybe I should say I’ve got a distaste for it. Naw, fuck that. Conflict? I straight up abhor it. I’m shaken to the soul on this hook so long I feel at home it’s all I know. Amygdala full of land mines, I proceed cautious. Can’t upset my arms, they’re already feelin’ nauseous. Watch this: the degradation of man. The show is free, but I’ll take donations if ya can. Feels like I’m livin’ my whole damn life on the fence. Maybe Charlie was right, “No sense makes sense." ‘Cause if there’s one thing I’ve learned about this world it’s that it’s tricky. The heartless live forever while the good die quickly. You wonder why I walk around lookin’ so sickly? 'Cause this fucked up world can change on ya instantly. Mind and surrounding now fine, it’s astounding, one misstep, with quickness, problems start compounding. Internal, external, one moment it’s swell. Then, one loses balance, it all becomes hell. Oh woe, boo-hoo, ‘nother suburban kid cryin’. Might seem better off, but I’m still livin’, still dyin’. Middle class family, lower class mindframe. Financial headaches turn to capitalist migraines. Divin’ headfirst into a future of debt and I’m not even sure what I’m doin’ it for yet. Workin’ so damn hard for this so-called education. What’s the fuckin’ point, do I need one more complication?
I’m convinced, though, that age is just a state of mind, a mental space where my footsteps race to reach my prime. I’m convinced though, that I’m completely out of line like I made it to the end before I knew it was my time. I’m convinced, though, that everything will still be fine. At least that’s what I say, though I know that it’s a lie. I’m convinced, though, that I’m about to plummet. I can feel it in my stomach, but maybe I’m just losing it.
I'm never who you thought you met, cast from a different crew and set, cold, alone, not much more than bone, the product of a mixed up home. In a world where you thought that you what you bought, a lie that I fought, but they never get caught. On my knees, but I breath, though I'd rather that I leave. It's rough and I can't help but keep it on my sleeve. I'm just a brick wall, still and cold, red flesh beneath my skin that wears as I grow old. It's just a sick world, trying and dying, we fill it with our speech and each one of us is lying. When the metaphysical becomes physical and your chest reaches a plane between pain and existential it's critical that you STOP. I know it hurts a lot. Was it your family losing their sanity? Was it real love or was it in the club? Could I whisper to the dancer that I'm just another cancer? If she doesn't want the answers, I'd be more than pleased to take her. All my friends say they're worried about me, but I'm still in one piece, at least I am physically, but suffer from BPD. You don't need to try to scare us because we're already scared in the face of all the world offers, all that's too much to bear. LEAVE ME BE. I don't need to be taken anywhere, unless it's to a state of perdition, in which case I'm already there.
There's a fine line between borderline and being out of your mind, but I think I'm fine. Would it be a crime if I let it out in rhyme at the expense of you worrying all the time? Whatever doesn't kill you make you want to die a little more and care less to discover what we're even here for. I've got sad marks on my body parts, the crossroads of depression and epidermal art. There's too much you can't tell your friends. This is a place where all meets end. So, my friendships are burning. Their nurture is hurting and while all this is concerning my life keeps worsening.
(I’m convinced, though, that age is just a state of mind, a mental space where my footsteps race to reach my prime. I’m convinced though, that I’m completely out of line like I made it to the end before I knew it was my time. I'm convinced, though, that I'm not worth adoring. When I asked you for death, all you gave me was the morning. I'm convinced, though, that this is all just for the best because even though I'm still this way, I haven't yet lost my breath.) - Track Name: Crocodile Deathroll
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It has eyes that gleam, the skin of veridian machines. It's a killer in a river with cold blood, but it's you that shivers. Twixt a swamp-like scene or body of salt and water, it claims nothing but it's king and it's delivering the slaughter. it may seem cool and calm, but don't be fooled by this pose. It will strike without warning and make meals of its foes. Be wary of the river bed and never venture underneath unless you intend to disappear post ending in its teeth. Destination: Decimation. Crossing paths with this creation. Between the reeds while it feeds, there's no motion while it breathes. There will be flesh in its maw and gore where you once stood whole. You won't live long enough to say it, but you fell victim to a crocodile deathroll.
A hundred trigger pulls behind its serrated rows, a biological success, many millennia show. No evolutionary change, strange, far from a must with a formula that left the dinosaurs in the dust. You’ll be crushed in a tussle by scale, brain, bone, and muscle. It’s too late by the time you hear the swamp’s leaves rustle. One thrust, one splash, one ripple, one roll. Unfold, but your story will never be told. Lack of breath in the depths, ripping, tearing through flesh while flooded lungs and bloodied gums contest for your death. One long, loud moment then eternity’s rest. Under the river’s rippled flesh no one would hear it if you wept or if you scream. Water teemin’ with demons, but it seems so serene. It’s like a dream until you see that ridged back emerge and when you feel your limb’s crack you know you're on your end’s verge.
So quick, so quiet, so menacing, so efficient so you’re quick to lose everything. You won’t find salvation on your native terrain. Once it starts it doesn’t stop until nothing remains. So illusive, once subtle, now threatening, so efficient so it’s quick to kill everything. No defense, no chance in this fight. You’re condemned once this ancient beast has you in its sights. - Track Name: Grem
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All my gremlins! Oh, Schafz! What's that sound? Everybody get down. No living around because there's gremlins in your town. I'm going to skip the body count when my girlfriend can't be found. So, put the pedal to the ground because there be gremlins to get pound. They're chomping on hands, hijacking cars, wreaking all this havoc at the local bars. This is a new breed of chaos, so don't alert the authorities; a new kind of noise of which they couldn't believe. Who could have ever agreed this beast could be conceived? And your mind won't be swayed until they've made you bleed. Striking terror in all, pushed by their need to feed, mouthful of razors, green skin, and claws defining this creed. I could have never believed that this could be my Christmas eve! Finding bite-sized monstrosities with no order to heed. So, tell me where's all the light. Right now it's either fight or flight. It's time to get armed because I'm taking down some gremlins tonight!
Don’t! Don’t! Get ‘em wet, gotta keep ‘em dry.
Don’t! Don’t! Feed ‘em after midnight.
Don’t! Don’t! Let ‘em out into the sunlight!
Don’t go outside ‘cause there’s gremlins out tonight!
The desolate hours, out on the prowl, ante meridian feast, the night fills with growls. Once gentle and calm, now fierce and delicious, an adorable pet to a beast most vicious. One rule neglected, one flouted through trickery, to break the last the only way to stop the misery. What started as mischief escalated fatally. They’re quick to rip shit up, nobody is savin’ me. Kingston Falls falls victim as the town crawls. With these green menace that’s got us all enthralled and appalled, this city’s in flames, these guys are to blame. Even in your own home liable to get maimed. So prep your microwave and wait for the sunlight. These rascals are packin’, so be ready for a gunfight. It’ll be a long night so find some cover 'cause these grems are lookin’ for a fight mothafucka!
It's a fight night scene for Kingston Falls scenery and a fright sight scream with gremlins in the machinery. Once a piebald little cutie, now a vicious form of greenery. Should've known after twelve ain't time for mogwai to be eating. Face death. Take a breath. Only one more gremlin left. Here and now, I'll take a bow as I'm about to tell you how-- how I took the lead to show the town what I'm about, how I brought up the speed and took the little monster out. He couldn't handle me when I just straight up took a bottle, taped it to a toy truck and I hit full throttle, kicked up an oriental blade and dissected every limb of his. Then, cut down the blinds and let the morning light in. Or was that the way that I let the story end? Did I take the reigns to let foe turn into friend? That I'm not another fiend is something I could not pretend. So, now I'm rolling with the grems and here they're growing again. Here they grow again. New batch!
Get! Get! Get ‘em wet, gotta multiply.
Feed! Feed! Feed ‘em after midnight.
Don’t! Don’t! Go out into the sunlight.
It’s about to get grem in the streets tonight.
Get! Get! Get us wet, gotta multiply.
Feed! Feed! Feed us after midnight.
Don’t! Don’t! Let us out into the sunlight.
We’re about to get grem in the streets tonight. - Track Name: Squidlings (ft. Corey Banet)
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It was devil’s night just to set the scene. Found myself in a place where I’d never been in a foreign locale, somewhat alienated, but I never could have known the joy that awaited. Now you might be wond’rin’ why this house I did choose. A good friend of mine was on the ones and the twos. The designated one, so my lips stayed dry. Plus my eyes followed later-- not gonna lie. But all that noise is far from the point. Regardless, I found myself up in this joint. Expectin’ to know no one but with whom I came, but on my way downstairs I thought I heard my name. Confused at first, whence came this call? Saw a zombie girl, bloody-mouthed and all. Didn’t recognize that painted up visage, but I saw those eyes and formed an untainted image. Met her once or twice, familiar with the girl. Awed she remembered my face with the one on her. She’s got looks to spare, guess she’s aware today, because to my surprise, she’s castin’ them my way. When I stepped in here never imagined a chance I’d stumble on a staggering beauty that’s lookin’ to dance, be on this end of an interested glance, let alone in one night plant the seeds of romance.
I just keep staring, but I think by now you’ve noticed me. You give those eyes, I can’t keep from smiling. If you’re a daydream, you seem so very real to me. This can’t be happening. Now I’m wrapped up in your fantasy.
How did I manage not to know all this time that you existed? Like before you walked, I closed my eyes and missed it. Can't act too obvious, though you've become a muse to me. And now, inspired by your beauty, I'm writing all this poetry. You've got this look of sincerity that says I can spend my life with you. And my breath with its brevity could speak the words " I do." You make up's gone, at least it's calm, and that's just the way I like it. I wrote this song with sweaty palms because I'm just too excited. It's not about your curves as much as it's about your confidence, but don't be misled. I still love the way you look and dress. I may be less than you deserve, but I'd treat you like a princess; work up the nerve, ask you out, and give you my best from smiles to sex. I see your chest, but not just physically. Hear your heart beating. I know we can share moments intimately. I'm the man who'll hold your hand. I'll check on you when you need me. If we're apart, I'll drop a text, and reach you through circuitry. It's impossible for me to avoid these highs. I'm buried in your eyes and my stomach's filled with butterflies. I want to hold you tightly, but you still wouldn't be close enough. I want to kiss you softly and then take it up a notch. I'm obsessed. I know this. Maybe you've noticed you exist. You're sitting. I'm staring, not glaring, loving what you said. Don't worry. No hurry. I've caught you might be interested. So, here I am. I'll raise my glass. Here's looking at you, squid.
A boy-- he loves the sound she makes in the morning when she wakes. A girl-- she loves his art and counting stars before both hearts break. If I knew then what I know now, I’d still go through with it all somehow. (We needed something out there.) If any pieces linger around; it’s part of me, part of us now. (We needn't find ourselves in despair.)
Each night I come over, still sober. I just want to be intimate, lie together, each familiar with that arm that never fits. So, when they're tangled in ways our bodies are not sympathetic to, I leave my arms in their positions, sleep without my blood for you. - Track Name: It Tastes So Good (But Now I Know) [ft. David Fischer]
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They can feel they can love; they’ve got thoughts, wants, and needs, but they don’t look like us so they bleed for our greed. Convinced from our youth we need it, but we do it to be pleased. Lobbyists and propaganda working so hard to deceive. Filled with grief and disbelief as I watch it all unfold. Mass deception as the bodies turn cold and on the machine rolls as we shell out checks to these massacre merchants, profiteers of death.
The animals that once lived free were caught and killed for needless "needs." The pets you loved were such a prize; the ones you left were euthanized. Murder in the freeze of the moment. If we have hearts, we don't show them. Made to eat, or so I've heard, but were they made for us to torture? It's just a life that met a knife. Decided once, why do it twice? The reasoning is so nebulous to justify what's in front of us: "How about the local farmer's business? Or survival of the fittest? So we can eat, God put them here. Or it tastes so good. I just don't care." It tastes so good.
No consent, I raped her – but it felt so good. Burnt your house, put you in danger – but it smelt so good. I robbed him and I shot him – but it paid so good. Cook and eat the flesh it’s rotting – but it tastes so good. Someone could have saved her – but it felt so good. Someone could have stopped the flames – but it smelt so good. Someone could have wrapped the wound – but it paid so good. Someone could save the doomed – but they taste so good.
And I’m not talkin’ genocide in a far off country. It’s in your own backyard funded by your own money and you never stop to question what goes on behind those walls, don’t see the blood-soaked floors. Your final cries fall onto deaf ears, reverberating off the cold concrete. Meanwhile you chuck your rapper and continue down the street. Eyes and mind closed, since your birth, that’s how it’s gone, but how much further can you go before you realize that it’s wrong?
Unabashed hedonism, pleasure at a high cost. Three times daily satisfaction in exchange for lives lost. You’ve got an eye for a thigh, a slab for your freezer. Opacity blinds, minds stuck on a shelf go no deeper. Willful ignorance and industrialized apathy. Death disguised, your eyes distracted from catastrophe. It’s dastardly, these bastards be, cashin’ in on savagery. Murder as a product executed to a vast degree.
As the masters of self-deceit, "ignorance is bliss" is your moral code. You think a bird never opened its beak if you never heard it crow. Since a meat plant's walls aren't made of glass you have no trouble looking at it. Close your eyes to the slaughter inside because the taste makes you all addicts. And addicts you are, no use trying to deny it. "Give us food, give us fashion, put them in entertainment. We love to watch them act and we even pay for it, ignore the gory facts and we feel no shame for it." You fund the blood on the hands of those without remorse and got blood on your feet because you're wearing a corpse. Do we believe in morality? Because we sell ourselves short. Even aiming tools of death have been degraded to sport. I find science's findings found how to make animals scream loud. "Mutilation at the lab station; we've got another sick creation." I can't close my eyes anymore; I can't make it so. I couldn't tell that I was lost, but now I know.
Should I call it life or just a beast? Is this for fun or this for feast? I found a hook stuck in my mouth. I feel my bone being pulled out. You lack the care, but hear the sound. You push my corpse into the ground. You took a hook out from my eye, but you didn't see me die. And then you let me go and said that I can't possibly be dead. In markets, you only see some, corpses packaged from back to front. Since you didn't see how it's death was done, do you know which animal it came from? There's so much blood. There's so much pain. Don't you fucking turn your eyes away. - Track Name: Beyond The Veil (ft. gONNA gET gOT)
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It's been too long a time with an itch to fill my pockets, a scratching with no screaming scraping behind my eye sockets. Now I can't keep my hands from being locked on this fixation. Keeping money when I need it provides such a gratification. You can't keep me out or in because you've got a place with borders. All I see is a space with four walls and four corners. I dress up, dress down, change all of my features. I walk in, pay $2, exit with three liters. I get back in the car and make it back to base, help my friends get drunk with a smile on my face. Still, it doesn't feel right and sometimes it's embarrassing. Some friends put me down, bet don't complain while they're receiving. And it feels like shame when every job I want I didn't get. I need my feet on the ground, but I'm not there yet. When I'm so hungry that it's woken me again, I can't help but wonder if it's what you make or what you spend.
From beyond the veil, where we hail, we emerge not as victims but as takers and we tell it in a tale. Equipped with the stance we’ll be gone before you glance, you'd never catch us or suspect us because you’d never get the chance. Praised by some friends, exposed to others’ judgments, the same people who don’t question where their support or their money went. There’s a quiver in our marrow, so we lurk within the shadows. We won’t contribute any money. Send the corporate to the gallows.
Got the mark of the beast engrained on my brain. Every time I close my eyes, I see your storefront up in flame. 'Cause I’m sick of being prodded and I won’t just fall in line at least not without your products keepin’ my pockets lined. No, it’s not the same a corporation and a person 'cause one human can’t leave a million others hurtin’. "Thou shall not steal," we’re told time after time, but how’m I supposed to buy that when we’re bein’ robbed blind. Manufacture your goods payin’ cents on the hour. Now they’re in my pocket, how’s that for consumer power? You can look down your nose. Yeah, feel free to judge, but I’m here with my five fingers and I’m not fittin’ to budge. Got my sights set not on those that do the work, but on the ones up top with their suits, ties, and shirts. ‘Cause it’s time to fight back against their corporate reign. Buy local, steal multi-national-- that’s the aim.
I'm in a Costco with a crossbow. Just trying to find my lost soul because there's an emptiness, but my MD says "buying puts off dying," but I'm not buying what you got to sell. Sky high visions but they fell so flat, but I want my American Dream 3D if I buy your flat screen T.V. Will it fill that part of me missing? Put your hands out, but I'm just pissing till I fill your corporate coffers. Try and try I won't take your offers (NO). You can find a sweet teen flower to pay 9 bucks an hour. Profits give the NRA power, so you can never ever duck this shower. - Track Name: In The Name of Hip-Hop
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Top rock. Work the lung. This is how it gets done. You know that song that you sing? Well, hip-hop doesn't get sung. Got the right kicks, bought the right record. Get down with vinyl if you want to scratch better. And you want to scratch better because we made the weather to do this together, down to the last letter. It's this way, it's that. It's already correct. Break the faulty bones. Don't even protect ya neck. I paid my dues, yo! Show me some respect! I gotta label all kinds of shit so that I can keep it in check! And there's so many dots that I don't bother to connect. Evolution in music is something I allow myself to neglect. But what about diction? Like if it's about heart or the money? Are they rappers or emcees? Well, they do the same fucking thing! Both are fucking rapping, king with high court terminology. Here's an ever dead jester evading hip-hop technology. We're dealing with a science masked as a culture and style. So polluted that I don't want to think about it for a while. It's a machine on fire, clanking and clattering, gears grinding and gathering. Calculations overstating all their ratings when they're taking what you're making. Who am I faking? It's my own rules that I'm breaking. The hypocrisy is penetrating. We're embarrassingly fascinating. I'm pointing fingers at pointed fingers and neither side is going to stop, but there should be nothing to it, so I don't do it in the name of hip-hop.
Now what’s real hip-hop? Is it the beginnin’? Outdoor jams with Kool Herc spinnin’? B-Beats with nothin’ written, just toasts to spit. Is that the real old school shit? Or is it ’82 when “The Message” hit, Duke Bootee and Melle Mel droppin’ consciousness. Might it be DMC, Rev-Run, and the Jam Master kickin’ hard rhymes and guitars through ya ghetto blaster. Fastforward to the late 80’s, round the time I was a baby. Maybe it’s that gangsta shit that drove the politicians crazy or the thugged out rappers with the diamonds on their chest or the white kids actin’ shady out in the Midwest. I guess it’s hard to say what it is today, but I know it’s not about the riches or the radio play. Call it an MC or a rapper, rap or hip-hop, either way, it’s all about standin’ up to tell ‘em what you gotta say.
What we are prepared to do is to drop dope rhymes; we want to see you move, but there's a style out there that we want to omit. So, throw your fingers in the air and yell "FUCK THAT SHIT." What we are prepared to do is to drop dope rhymes to get you in the groove. So, don't stand right there, move around a bit because everybody's got a voice. We're all allowed to spit, so tell them what you got to say. - Track Name: We Don't Care Anymore
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I grew up chasing an image I'd never seen in any poster, but when it finally did I wondered" Does this mean I'm getting closer?" More so for show and the want to celebrate a bond with peers, an affliction that's conditioned over grueling adolescent years. There's nervous shaking. Souls are breaking. Pressure building. Children killing. Time is standing. Still demanding, reprimanding, disbelieving, unachieving independence, mold-destructing, face-constructing, rules-engraving just for nothing. Fuck, I'm bleeding, life-obstructing. I've come to discover that it's individualism releasing me, relieving me, from a misguided elitism. It's a prison. I'm drowning, though I can swim. Life feels less grim when you can share this sort of hymn, though it's in me to figure out. What's this all about? Should I stay silent? Or should I shout? I'm being torn apart from inside out, but I wrote this anthem revamping laws for the fearless that feel this. The realists hear it when the people say...
Hey! We don't care anymore. There's nothing to it, so let's do it. It's time for us to say
Hey! We don't care anymore. Yeah, here's our anthem. Bring it to them. Hear the people say
Hey! We don't care anymore. If something mattered, it just shattered. Hear the people say...
Hey! We don't care anymore. Take off your crown. We know what counts. Don't tell us what to say.
One look at my apparel might leave you thinkin’ I’m livin’ at the bottom of the barrel, but with assumptions please be careful ‘cause I’m better than I’ve ever been. Patience abounds and I’m feelin’ ready for anything. What goes around doesn’t always come around, but fuck it I’m hittin the ground with a steady stride, no longer petrified. I came alive just in time to get my head inside... inside the game and get my brain into a frame of mind to leave those same old lames behind and face whatever games I find the world is pitchin’ at me. Took a stand, line in the sand, and I stopped them from gettin’ at me. It’s a new day and hey I’m happy. So, don’t try to pave my way from the backseat. I’m tryna abstain from the plain and the hackneyed. Gotta carry on and proceed. Can’t slow down now I’m at full speed, but always keep it low key, like a chronic sack with growin’ seeds. I’m worth more than you thought’d I be, more than just what I was taught to be, 'cause what they wanna see is hard to be, and you’ll make yourself a mockery, but I set my self free with a lock and key. As long as blood still fills my arteries, every part of me, down to the heart of me, is lookin’ forward to a brand new smarter me. If my heart beats and my lungs breathe, you can be damn sure you won’t budge me. So, drop that gavel, you’re done see. Now only I can judge me. So, when I close my eyes and I’m contemplatin’, don’t be mistaken now, I ain’t prayin’. You won’t catch me in need of saving 'cause I know I’ll never let me be forsaken. So, when everything around me drifts away an’ I can feel the corporeal world dissipatin’ in a place where thoughts are locked away an’ my mind is clear, but I still hear ‘em sayin’...
If you're the sky, I'm not the cloud. I am the bolt that's screaming loud and that's the way that I am bound. I made my path when I turned around. If I inhale, you're not the breath. You're just the thought that I had left. You became the thing I do not need, naught but the voice that could not lead. The force that could not pierce my hide, the mountain you can't get inside. I am the heat. I am the cold. The paradox volcano bold, enigmatic, but with purpose, making normal none but nervous, turning heads on mornings grey, using days to hear people say... - Track Name: Life Is Yes, Life Is No
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No matter what flower I am, or how tall I grow, my roots are in nothing but dirt. Still I'm standing and I keep on planting. Somehow I'm going to make this work. We're all here whether it's for or with each other, showing some degree of love to one another, but we take so much that it ruins the charm of giving. We disrespect ourselves and all the others that are living. Decimating music became such a manageable feat. I'll be standing in the ashes when the warmth depletes. Crush music and all of its majesty with just a little bit of swag to destroy sincerity? The din that is music obnoxious with temerity. Just a bit more clarity could unearth the verity of a scene's solidarity, augmented by popularity. It's what we're fed, we're bred by TV. There's too many flocking to it due to familiarity. We're taught all to achieve is monetary. So, we took sick and strange and made it regularity, just me and Fricktion upkeeping the polarity. I'm giving it my all, trying to resist gravity. It's time to cut me open and demystify my pulsing body, but I'm not ready-- hands shaking, eyes heavy. Evacuate the setting! There's something we're not getting! We're dying. We're losing it. We're crying. We're through with this. Now adults braving waters, leaving behind all that made us kids. I'm finding cause to raise ruckus over so many nuances. Some call it reckless, but I say intuitive. My head hangs low and I find it discouraging like a girl put down needs to find her voice again. It's just a story that set sail beyond the veil, but I couldn't bear to look at it, so I wrote it in braille. Reality is both blinding and binding. You can't unsacrifice ignorance in the presence of these findings, but I'm not new to this. It's also pulchritudinous like a fair girl with a name I made aquatic. Someone once told me things will start to look up, but when I do it my eyes are just burned by the sun. Still I don't look down, eyes straight ahead. I know falling to the ground puts me next to the dead. Sometimes memories are most, sometimes memories are least, but let not yourself be weighed by the deceased. Understand you have something to look forward to and if the future's not bright it's at least worth going through. I know you want to believe that these words are true, but whether you do is entirely on you. Keep your chin up, this is how life unfurls. Learn how it feels to expose your neck to the world.
And I know that life is yes; life is no.
It’s yes and it’s no. It ebbs and it flows. You’ll never guess where it goes till the sec that it rolls around your way. Don’t let a day slip by. That’s why I grip my pen 24/7. ‘Cause I’m not tryna sit around and hope for heaven. 'Cause I’ma get nothin’ listenin’ to a reverend. Huffin’ and puffin’. instead of stuffin’ everything into a black and white frame, think ‘bout what you might gain. If you can see, the world’s not as simple as you thought it’d be. It oughta be plain to see it changes quicker than you’re taught to see, quicker than the change of blood that’s flowin’ through your arteries, a constant odyssey always comin’ at you with oddities. But alot of these aren’t comin’ at you on a straight and narrow path. Probably comin’ at you with some good as well as some bad. At times I’ve wanted to believe I’m being guided by a hand, but I’ve come to understand that there’s nearly nothin’ planned. But I keep steppin’ with my mind as my only weapon for defendin’ my self, my sanity, my fam, my brethren. So, I dropped steel in exchange for graphite and wood 'cause this lead has done more than a sharpened tip could. So, I’m on my toes, because I know that what would seem dead wrong to me might be another man’s good. Our common sense might be nonsense in your neighborhood and I’m damn sure they’re ain’t no real definition of ‘should.’ But I do what’s in my power just to deal with all the stresses. Take it all in stride because each mess is a lesson. I’ve never been on the end of a loaded Smith & Wesson, but I know I’ve seen my fair share of life’s no’s and yes’s. Just when you find your pathway, that’s when it bends. I could be halfway or a fraction from the end, but we’ve only got this finite time here to spend. You want life’s answer? It’s yes and no, my friend.
In the key of nostalgia, it's hard to let go of the past and the future frightens. So, sometimes you want to make it last. But I (w)rapped this gift for you. Please don't waste my present. It's all I could do. I hope you got what I meant. The message was sent; the care was sincere. I'm trying to reach you while you're still here. Though perhaps in bed, wishing you were dead in the darkness where all of that led. We're just as much here as you want to disappear. That you can't join us is a lie I don't want to hear. Can you hear me when I breathe heavily? It's me, C.DeL, trying to tell you something: In all I've made, I played the matcher. All I create reflects my stature, passes on myself, So, I couldn't be happier that the face I wear belongs to a dream catcher, a life-chaser, a story-maker, a standing and breathing pain-embracer. Let's sing this song. I don't care if you can sing. This is about a hope that we need to bring to the lives we live when we're just trying to kick it and every conscious minute that I know I spend in it. It's a fight we have to fight and when I lay down tonight. It doesn't matter if I did it right-- just that I did it. I won't shape others' troubles into hooks and stick them in my feet or leave a piece of myself in the coffins that I see. Though existing is daunting, as memories are haunting. At the end of the day, do I have nothing? Or is there a line I could dare to tear so I could possess what I claim is there? And should I let myself worry that the rest will shatter? No. I do what I do because none of that matters.
