Interstellar Bazaar (Safe Travels Through the Horsehead Nebula)

Produced by Big Bill 
Bass by lccrampton 
Sax by Zach Tridico 
Vocals by Big Bill & lccrampton 
Samples: 
“Money Runner” – Alan Tew 
“Lady Jane” – Nando Carneiro 
“Jurass Finish First” – Jurassic 5 
“Desengano” – Lula Cortes 
“Cat Blues” – The Seatbelts 
Verse 1 (Big Bill): 
I don’t wanna write my verse 
I’m sitting on the couch 
And ready to take a nap 
I wanna do everything but write raps 
Like pet my cats 
Cannot overemphasize the fact that 
I don’t wanna write my verse 
I lost my motivation 
When my mom said I can’t curse 
Man it hurts to be 
As white and edgy as me 
With feelings that are 100% original to me 
And aren’t experienced collectively 
By a million other kids 
With Soundclouds and 808 drum kits 
Thinkin they bout to get rich 
I just drank a lot of coffee  
Got the shits 
Got homesick 
Watched an artsy ass flick 
That I can’t remember the name of 
That I watched just so  
I could make a name of 
Myself 
When I’m in conversations with my hipster friends 
And I need to give ‘em hell 
Or a piece of my mind 
One or the other 
Get in heated fistfights with my brother 
Bumpin jazz covers 
Of hip hop classics at 2 AM 
And wakin up my mother 
Big Bill, I’m unlike any other 
Who claims to be runnin they mouth 
I didn’t say anything funny in a long time 
You probably zoned out 
Lucas told me to say something about 
Penseltucky 
And wants me to finish writing this verse 
So we can get the hell out 
Of this house 
I was lookin for a cool way to end this 
Nah I’m out 
Verse 2 (lccrampton): 
Digging in the dirt 
yeah, Digging in the topsoil 
Microwave tinfoil 
Accidentally kill 
My self-satisfied smirk 
i am here. 
Here i am. 
Which is to say i am not there, 
jetsetting everywhere 
nah, i am the guy who fell down the stairs,  
the guy with the ceiling-stare 
i could Snapchat her, 
become a rapper... 
All these ideas in my head 
not a single one distracts her 
from saving the world 
and helping children 
with melanin / in their skin 
i need to see about a girl. 
i am back 
in the potato sack. 
One more clause for Saint Nick: 
do not call it a homecoming 
this is not a fragment 
i hereby sentence 
me to suburban summers 
freight trains and hummers 
straight to the chest, 
yet i feel like a guest 
in my childhood house 
i just want to go home 
which i will call wherever 
i do not feel so alone 
i do not write letters 
or listen to words 
i hereby sentence 
you to feeding the birds 
with that crazy ill man 
on Tilghman 
and thirty-third. 
Landscapes of tipped freezers 
seem frozen in the tweezers 
of amorphous time. 
Clocks tick on the blu-ray player 
as if i have no mind. 
My brain is pancake batter. 
Infused with backyard berries 
and biblical chatter. 
Book clubs used to meet 
Kids used to play in the street 
i came back home 
to watch ma play on her phone 
Welcome to my dojo 
where what you do not know 
cannot hurt middle-class white folk 
The world awaits these 
fools who address those 
Limitless possibilities 
maybe after i blow my nose. 
Drought. 
i am parched,  i am dying  
to have something to complain about, 
and a reason to stop trying 
so hard, playing cards: 
Solitaire, 
because nobody dares 
to,  
nobody cares to  
pay bus fares to  
a place where you can really see the stars. 
Welcome to home-ownership. 
We are programmed to accept a certain reality.

Song For the Suburbs (feat. Zach Tridico)

The I Like Your Friends Better Than My Friends (Shoutout Delaney)

The Day Is Over

Several Devices In a Series (demo)

See You Smile

Criminals are humans like us.  It is okay to get angry.  Some of these lines are sincere, and some of them are flippant; however, i promise you the intent of this project is wholesome.  i am happy to discuss it; in fact, i hope it will prompt more honest dialogue.  Stay safe.

Circuit City

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