Mrtzcmp3
  • Shoot the Messenger
  • Salt on Everything
  • Bottle of Humans
  • Da Baddest Poet
  • Plutonium
  • Selling Live Water
  • The Priziest Horse
  • Tokyo
  • Sebago
  • Dumb This Down
  • Teepee on a Highway Blues
  • I Don't Rap in Bumper Stickers
  • Year of the $exxx $ymbol
  • Tourist Trapeze
  • Dismantling of Sole's Ego
  • Famous Last Words
  • Pawn in the Game, Part 1
  • Slow, Cold Drops
  • Man and Woman
  • Save The Children
  • Suicide Song
  • Pawn in the Game, Part 2
  • Furthermore
  • Ode to the War on Terrorism
  • Very Important Message
  • Sole Has Issues
  • Bottle of Leftovers
  • Home
  • Self Inflicted Wounds
  • Sin Carne
  • Cheap Entertainment
  • Predictions
  • Respect Pt 3
  • I Hope You Like My Stupid Painting
  • Locust Farm
  • Every Single One of Us
  • A Typical
  • Center City
  • Crisis
  • Imsotired
  • On Martyrdom
  • Entalude
  • Drive By Detournment
  • Theme
  • Respect, Part 3
  • Respect Pt. 3
  • Manifesto 232
  • MC Howard Hughes
  • Understanding
  • Prosperity

june 11th, saturday, we were laughin', 1 year later,
it took me 21 years to make this album.
but i did 3/4ths of it in the last 2 weeks.
notebooks after phone calls, cars lined up to be extinguished in the office place.
embarcadero is the biggest mauseleum imaginable,
this house can't stay clean.
too many superstars on the rug, too many tags on the fog on the mirror.
this is it, and i can see them when i see me.
reflection is relative, nothing can be finished by then.
these phone bills pile up, forgotten half of the convos anyway.
sole is idol worship, these songs are all different sides of me,
i dont know if that's a good or a bad thing.
but this is cleansing, a baptism in babylon.
a broken bottle of humans where idiosyncrasies are fiestas.
it's party time, and i forgot my hip-hop hat,
cut off all the heads quietly naked screaming for attention.
used to wear my ego as a sweater,
now it's the cape that follows me throughout the atmosphere.
keep your eyes to the ground, swallow your pride.
talk to the voices in your head.
how did the alarm get 2 hours ahead?
it's been like that for a minute, my hands are dirty.
and somehow i manage to separate that from the keyboards and melodies
that swallow up my fantasies.
smoke on these phrasings, i dont wanna be amazing.
just leave me, so i can record album number 6 next month,
and always remain inspired.
...

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