1. |
Heartbeat on the Five
03:48
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Five four
Rule of five five
Until five four
Less alive
Two more
To five four
Don't need to be here
No more
I got 5 on it.
Heartbeat on the 5.
Marking time to hit the rule of five.
Start the clock at the five four on the two four if we still alive.
Tickety tickety rickety rickety tickety tock.
Got me out here marking time with a broke ass clock.
If I start cryin might not be able to stop.
Wasting my time, dropping extra beats.
George say: "It sound like it got a 5 on it to me."
Bad clock got me out here marking time with heart beats instead.
Counting heartbeats and sheep to distract from the dread.
Amateur panderer workin' the system from within the designated parameters.
Not for lack of thinking about it, but I never could be no philanderer.
Don't got no band cuz I never wanted to be no manager.
Polishing turds, eyes and ears of this institution like a Breakfast Club janitor.
High yellow Othello haply still too black to roll with them chamberers.
Like Shakespeare this clock drops beats in iambic pentameter
Hurry up please it's time.
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2. |
Yo Foot, My Ass
03:33
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This guitar is my only friend.
But of late she's just a means to an end.
I could be a pacifist
I could be a pragmatist
I could be a pacifist
Getting my ass kissed
If I was a masochist
I could be an activist
Getting my ass kicked
Ha! YO FOOT, MY ASS!
I'se loves this guitar with all my might
But of late I only pick her up to write
Just a means to work out all my... stuff.
But of late the songs she gives me ain't enough
CHORUS
I could be a pacifist
I could be a pragmatist
I could be a pacifist
Getting my ass kissed
If I was a masochist
I could be an activist
Gettin my ass kicked
It’s all about YO FOOT MY ASS!
She's saying:
"Don't play me, boy."
Listen to the guitar saying:
"Don't play me, boy."
"Quit fucking around with that mediocre bullshit and
Do something to effect real change."
I could right wrongs
I could write songs.
I do not belong.
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3. |
One Drop Rules
04:03
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All black, all white she can't see grey.
All black, all white she can't see shades.
Halfroon. Quadroon. Octaroon.... spades.
Hip hop don't stop for one drop rules.
She be thinking all rap is gangsta rap.
She be thinking all black is gangsta black.
Halfroon. Quadroon. Octaroon.... coons.
Hip hop don't stop for one drop rules.
Can I drop some knowledge before I drop this mic?
What's the difficulty setting in the role-playing game of your life?
See, hip-hop don't stop for one drop of one percent.
Code switching paper bag testing your way into hypodescent.
High yellowin’ low melanin mad Benjamins but still no clout.
We all fall down but who stays down for the count?
It ain't about money, that ain't all what I'm talking 'bout:
Privilege begins with the benefit of the doubt.
Hip hop don't stop for one drop rules.
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4. |
Unresolved
03:57
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I can’t do it like y’all do
Vomiting information.
So here's my situation:
It ain’t none of your business.
It ain’t nothing special.
Everyone’s going thru something.
Everyone’s going thru everything.
I’ll be fine.
I gots three or four chords.
One of them's weird.
I got a big beat.
No clapping on the one and the three.
And opaque lyrics.
With opaque references.
With Eliot references.
("Hurry up please, it's time.")
And Ellison references.
("I have 1,369.")
And Joni references.
("Help me, I think I'm falling.")
It’s just another song.
Unresolved.
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5. |
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There’s a casino in New York City
Built on a burial ground
A casino in New York City
Where special interests confound
And if you make enough and rake it up and save enough
And if you make enough and rake it up and save enough
The special interest compounds
The interest compounds
And you will never ever run out of money
If you don't take more than 4 percent
The casino will keep on paying you
That special interest
I don't understand how the world works.
I don't get it but I'm gonna get some
I don't get it but I'm gonna get me some
It shouldn't work, but I shouldn't either
Give me some of that passive income
I'm telling you: I've run the numbers
And I got straight As in B-school
It shouldn't work, but I shouldn't either
And I don't need to be here
Anymore
I don't understand how the world works.
I don't trust the inventions of men.
I'm writing this song on a plane
I'm singing it into a phone on a plane
So I'll have it when we land
I don't trust the inventions of man.
I don't get why you so mad, bro
The world works just the way you want it
You got your casino in New York City
It keeps on paying you them pretty pennies
They charge a little interest and fees
The land was bought for a handful of beads
They needed a place to buy and sell humans
They needed a place to buy and sell humans
All just so one day you could live off the interest
I know you're counting on that 4 percent
All just so one day you could live off the interest
I know you're counting on that 4 percent
Some say they named it for the wall they built
After the massacre, as a "defense"
But it’s the massacre that was the offense
And I, too, am counting on that 4 percent
I don't understand how the world works.
I'm afraid of Americans
And I don't trust Lou to tell me what Sister Ray says
I don't trust the inventions of men
I don't trust the conventions of men
I'm singing this into a phone on a plane
The lady next to me thinks I'm insane
But I got a window seat
And she's in the middle
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Buggy Jive Albany, New York
BUGGY JIVE is a soul rock singer-songwriter quietly uploading music from a basement somewhere in Upstate New
York.
Equal parts Zeppelin and D’Angelo and Prince and Joni in sound and sensibility, his lyrics often mine the literature of the past to make sense of the present – from Ellison to Morrison to Eliot to Didion.
“Literary Kravitz,” as some say.
... more
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