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about

Written during a turbulent time.

lyrics

Geers turn. Man bites at the necklace 'cuz stomach burn with they turn/
Alterpiece of caution tape altered these concerns to gossiping windows/
Numb. Father gone. Not a widow. Hollow hall where found it and faulters around the time he lost his face/
The revolution will not be televised the cameraman'll be throwing rocks/
The machines'll be prompt with iris propped up at the hellish sky/
Round table discussion: sling an Alan Moore V across (and) the words'll have more percussion and safe politics won't be fucked with/
Jaws agape. Wall crawling because I were the clothes of the enemy of the public/
Not sorry when my nack for fashion happens to fit your budget/
The state of static when it comes to advancing is disgusting/
The fact that my pants are sagging drives the elders into madness... and I love it/
Because it takes a village to raise troubled children/
The hill's have eyes but the mouths are so numb from the venom/
They peel back the paint from buildings transparent revealing potholes in bad parents/
With stencils from murdered moments when generation Y was last caring/

The elders I'm supposed to respect are trying to hang me
The country thats supposed to protect is trying to hang me
The cops got their hands around my neck trying to hang me
This life is trying to hang me
This mic is trying to hang me
The country I'm supposed to protect is trying to hang me
The elders I'm supposed to respect are trying to hang me
The cops got their hands around my neck trying to hang me
This life is trying to hang me
This life is trying to hang me

Life's an opaque Blues monochrome mockery slotted between "possibly," hushed parents and a zombie of kid/
Illuminated with drool playing the soundtrack of a muted baby who remembers belly rubs/
The pain a mother can't equate or explain but can spell in hugs/
The cat who used to sell her drugs/
The trains in the vein where north and south fell in love/
A pity above faceless citizens race in hollow boxes/
Talkless 'til sky's falling then we/they find Heaven and Hell in pubs/
The permanence of the former? is a clogged chimney away from a Santa Clause stating that its standard/
You get what you want when YOU get what you want. Check your pockets/
If by night your shack doesn't bare a flag check your options/
'Cuz the American Dream is based in property so best of luck when the roll of the dice bares snake eyes at best/
To disguise how Icarus flight really failed: because society not grooming him properly/
Leaving him to float in an office space rat void of annoying conformity/
With wife, kid and picket fence to fill the void of annoying normalcy/
With dreams coughing in a coffin getting stomped in by boring sheep/

There's a snake in the water. It doesn't need to breath the air but you need to drink the water so I think you should care/
Watch it slither across bricks whisper "Block size caskets"/
Between promises/
Smiling, crying not knowing what to be/
Happy for the bullet to never hit a child playing or sad for the car the child plays in while apartement lays vacant/
Decades old neighborhood naked/
Tears tasting like salt on a door mat "Welcome" chipped away/
For that liquors poured proudly in a new glass cloudy/
Demo dust sands the face different pounding the "Bronze" out of Douglas/
Trusting how "progress" is sounding/
Lusting for the money hounding Classifieds and half the time the snake seems right/
From atop, the serpent's a Hydra. Hydraulic powered coward. Devours the voice. Keeps the facade in plainsight/
Preserves the curbs and corners. Curbs the words of mourner. Slurs the purpose of warnings/
So whats heard from the non conformist to sound like "Hang Me"/

credits

from Analog​(​ue) Tape Dispenser SKECH185 : New Age Middle Finger, released March 1, 2011
Produced by Analog(ue) Tape Dispenser
Written by SKECH1856+

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SKECH185 Brooklyn, New York

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