Дорогу молодым (Prod. by Karimbeatz)

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Таро

Таро (feat. tenderlybae & Егорик)

Happy Easter..for sure thank you much...
Easter Thunder Cowboy Rap by songwriter Edwin H. Balder
"The weathervane’s hymn cuts through August haze,
A rusted compass pointing where the old ways graze—
These stalks keep time with granddad’s almanac,
But the soil’s gone quiet, bargaining with tractors’ backtalk."
Daddy taught me debt in the language of crows—
One for the mortgage, two for the rows that won’t grow.
We’d mend fence wire with blistered defiance,
While Momma hummed Psalms to the silent defiance
Of jars lining shelves, peaches bleeding syrup like years,
Her apron pockets heavy with unshed tears.
I’d chart futures in the grain silo’s dust,
Hide from hail storms in its ribcage of rust,
Too young to know iron’s kiss on the tongue
Was prophecy, not poetry, for the unsung.
Oh, the earth keeps a ledger under its nails,
Thunder’s fine print in the drought’s courtroom tales.
We signed our names in pesticide veins,
Let combines rewrite what the almanac claims.
But the crows still bargain, three seeds for a lie—
“Stay hungry,” they croak, “or learn how to fly.”
You came home with contracts and a corporate smile,
Said “Progress tastes sweeter when you starve awhile.”
Momma’s preserves shattered like census records,
Daddy’s fists clenched around phantom harvests.
I found you at dawn by the dry irrigation ditch,
Your shadow a scarecrow stripped of its stitch.
You muttered “Soybeans pay better than ghosts,”
Left your childhood boots as roadside boasts.
Now the mailbox coughs up subpoenas in spring,
The fields a chessboard where pawns eat kings.
I stole midnight’s ink to tally the cost—
What’s lost to rust can’t be sold to frost.
Let the auctioneer chant his heartland’s rant,
I’ll sow wild clover where their concrete can’t.
The crows brought me crowdfunded rain,
Trading viral storms for the right to remain.
I hybridize memories with heirloom grit,
Streamline the plow but let the dandelions commit.
Momma bakes rage into sourdough starters,
Daddy’s ghost debugged the John Deere’s martyrs.
We host agritourists in the barn’s new guise—
Instagram widows paying to romanticize
The “authentic decay” of our hollowed-out home,
While I code drip systems from granddad’s loam.
The crows judge all, but cut me a deal:
“Keep one acre wild, and we’ll kneel to no reel.”
The weathervane’s still singing off-key,
True north buried where the wild chicory
Breaks through the GPS-straightened rows—
A rebel bloom the spreadsheet doesn’t know.
The crows tally interest, but the land’s reply?
“Debt’s just a season… and seasons die.”

Link to best of our country hits that you can cover to get to the top... https://soundcloud.com/edwin-balder/sets/country-hits-you-might-need?si=307edea8be674dc3bedee9345a814080&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

All Rights Reserved Edwin H. Balder
Thanks so much to my band: Hot Cookie
See Our Music Videos Here> https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC-509h42heKT05D8egf2U9w

Link to the best of our R & B, Soul, Funky, Hip Hop, Rap & Blues Bangers you can cover  to add hit power to your world https://soundcloud.com/edwin-balder/sets/hit-r-b-funky-bangers-by-edwin?si=a366189f83684571b35fd59768210669&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

Thunder Cowboy Rap by songwriter Edwin H. Balder

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