album cover
Black Rose
354
Hip-Hop/Rap
Black Rose was released on January 1, 2009 by Strange Famous Records as a part of the album Rebel Yellow
album cover
Release DateJanuary 1, 2009
LabelStrange Famous Records
LanguageEnglish
Melodicness
Acousticness
Valence
Danceability
Energy
BPM88

Credits

Lyrics

I hear oohs and aahs when I jump off my garage
People treat me like I'm dying for a cause cause I believe in God
Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny
I'm hanging out with Lady Luck and feeding her winter fever song
Don't need your money, don't need your company
Do need that filthy middle finger out my cup of tea
Like, if it takes one to bleed and two to make the bleeding stop
I'd rather leave a trail of blood
Now it's 2000 and (boop) and I'm still kicking like old habits
Still sticking with no address or mattress now
Half this life spent in these skate shoes
Been spent walking to the beat of a breakthrough
I shake a few hands, hug a few strangers
Make a new fan, cut a rugged loop
Play the new Raider of the Lost, breaks and basslines
Trying to discover some peace on the freight lines
Nine hollows and I'm feeling like a 50 spot
Channeling my lady luck, see what that gypsy's got
She's looking up today, smiling at the thunderstorm
Playing her tiny violin to keep my hunger warm
While a hundred horns blow for the wrong reasons
I write my songs singing so long to all the heathens
Like greetings to your good riddance
It's time for your bad comeback, so come back to the
(Fast forward in a little less)
I came to pigeonhole the skeptics
(Fast forward in a little less)
While I address my Minnesota ethics
(Fast forward in a little less)
Could give a goddamn fuck if the children don't respect it
(Fast forward in a little less)
My name is Cecil, fucking odd or not, Dylan goes electric
So who's that peeking in my window right now?
I don't know but I can see the interest in their eyebrow
I bow to the dying day of my inner works
My medium is extra large until I'm in the dirt
My fingers hurt from all these overanxious brush strokes
Sometimes I'm not looking, I'll wind up in cut throats
Just jokes, man, I'll set them all aside soon
For now they're my baby, the centerfold
So from that circus cannon that you shot me through
To smoking poison in the boys' room with the Mötley Crüe
Talk me through this with the coffee or the newest fixative
And you'll just say that music's a risk to his health
But he sticks to his guns till they stick to you
Keeps twisting his tongue and it'll spit to you
Sings you to sleep with a song of repercussions
But he don't sleep cause sleep is the reaper's cousin
And he's a holy ghost hunter, Steve Perry street talker
Eating some moldy toast under my beef whopper
Small city beat jocker addicted to the Hawkins spit
Offbeat beatboxer who thinks he's rocking it
Hip Hopkins kid with a mouth full of dynamite
Checking myself for ticks and Jimmy Castor troglodytes
I hide the fight and show my best impression of
(Fast forward in a little less)
I came to pigeonhole the skeptics
(Fast forward in a little less)
While I address my Minnesota ethics
(Fast forward in a little less)
Could give a goddamn fuck if the children don't respect it
(Fast forward in a little less)
My name is Cecil, fucking odd or not, Dylan goes electric
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