Get all 15 Dunes releases available on Bandcamp and save 30%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Sturgeon, Babushka Deli, Plugged In, Breezin' Steady EP, Maltese Gumshoes, Dunes Instrumentals Vol. 1, Iceman, Don't Get Along, and 7 more.
1. |
Cigars and Fedoras
02:36
|
|||
Intro:
It’s what it is kid
It’s what it is kid
It’s what it is kid
Double 2’s, twenty blues [22-20 blues] watch you’re lid kid
It’s what it is kid
It’s what it is kid
It’s what it is kid
Double 2’s, twenty blues [22-20 blues] watch you’re lid kid
Verse:
Knows his dome hideous, the kid Sisyphus
Holding up the rock like its sock money
He’s got the habits of a fifty-clam president
Odysseus, quick-witted, gripping a fifth, the kid can spark a cannon
He’s Robert Johnson spitting rhymes at the cemetery
He’s Van Zandt digging graves to get a pawn ticket
He’s nice with it, crooning blues penitentiary
Feeding pigeons, a smidgeon of clay back-handed
On the Greyhound bus with all the fat ladies
Cigarette smoke smells in the backseat
Cleveland to Detroit is something wealthy people
Wouldn’t call prayer while throwing glares like the sun’s heat
He holds a Choco-taco like a glass of Lagavulin (Oh shit!)
Heavy rumored buying Bitcoins with Kohl’s cash (head-crack!)
Up in Lynn, they call him Nomar Garcia-Kafka
He’s Jimmy Page to Contessa Von Zeppelins
Doug Stanhope, he Popov’s like Vodka
He holds a bone-handle, like the gat a chicken-wing
A DOOM cartoon, like mama I want to sing
There’s something arrogant the way he cause embarrassment
To everyone he works against, the peons up to management
They call him Barracuda, Bishop of Bermuda
Always had a torcher on his side named Yuka
Rhyme schemes fizzy like a high-ball’s ingredients
Expedient with beats, he gets em freaks disobedient
A pale-faced kid, with bad nose and steak ears
Crazy on the mic like De Niro up in Cape Fear
Spitting havoc like a pair of automatics
Kid his cherry-wood verbiage smacks the breath up out ya attic
He takes his brandy with champagne, reefer the same way
Cigarette tips on lips cocaine stained
Filling glasses to the brim
Whether Chartreuse, or Grey Goose, or Number Five Pimm’s
Known to throw bows at the rising of the moon
Having wads in his pocket that could choke a raccoon
Sheer-stocking ladies wearing hand-carved shoes
They been slipping kids the mickey while he twenty-three skidoos’
Outro:
Uhh - It’s what it is kid
It’s what it is kid
We’re turning off lights Teddy P style
Kid Sweeps undefeated for a while
It’s what it is kid
|
||||
2. |
Babushka Deli
01:43
|
|||
Verse 1:
Bill Grease timeless, finesse with the wine list
Finest to ever do it, rap god Aquinas
Blessings inherited; his highness combined with
Blunt smoke beats made by Sweeps with a fine stitch
Counting dimes, press rewind, never mind kid
Gun smoke jokes pull the yoke on a fine bitch
Most folks lose their mind when the rhyme switch
One day the kid slick, next day he shines shit
It’s like a sunrise bus ride
Light hits the windows of my mind and divides combines
Like a half-sipped nip spilling spirit down your thigh
With a half-baked grip that personifies the time
Sinking feeling like them cars in the pond
Kids stole em after dark, like the boot of a bong
Had to be in ’82 or ‘88
You can see them in the winter time right beneath your skates
Verse 2:
There’s a gin game in Union Square in one of them saloons
With a Cuban book maker holding beer-soaked doubloons
Calls me Barbaroja when I get funny in the head
Figured running up a tab was better than counting out the bread
There’s a Riddlist up on Harvard Ave
You can see him on the block, you can hear the kid shout
How far the cat run through the woods, place your bets
Below the nose it goes, you can feel it in your chest
Who goes there? Smells like kibby
Hennessy the kid, with Armenian chickees
Known around Korea town to play the game Chicago
Above the autobody shop they bundled up the Fargo
Dice game sells beers if you’re polite
Spanish said inside that place, it isn’t very nice
Lots of talk of little dogs whenever they’re upset
Best forget the meaning like it’s Benny and the Jets
|
||||
3. |
El Samurai
02:53
|
|||
Verse 1:
Strictly ill shit, rhythms get hidden kid, real quick
Bill Grease the mick with SW sticks, it all clicks
Spitting like ginmills pour liq’s
Sipping a fifth gripping bricks to kids rich
Known to punch dummies who like to wave money
Stealing honeys by the tonny, slick talk and gin rummy
It’s all good – another unaffordable neighborhood
Where yoga pants tramps sip white wine, I shine to em
I rhyme to em, yo, it’s over their heads, but they smell bread
It ended in bed, kid enough said
A hundred rapper’s what it takes to read one book
Gold chains click when a neck gets shook
I’m not the one, turn around before I sick the hounds on ya
Pound for pound, kid can rattle like a dozen cobras
Alligator skin boots that’s my destiny
Kids with gold teeth reek of dirty brown celery
2004 Grand AM, door smashed in
Desiccated bones, rolled thin with the wax in em
Carved oars to make swords, shit’s unfair
Kids waving steel get their wigs peeled like Nair
Plumb dumb stupid, shot a dozen Cupids
Stick ain’t missed, it’s what it is, kid ruthless
Sweeps got the bundle from the Nicks the kid’ll
Never do a bid, he keep it hid like the educated rich
Hook:
Eyo, it’s Bill Grease, the kid Sweeps murdering beats
Making feats wearing sleeves of mink, gold cufflinks clink
Raising drinks, kids see pink
Jack-boot rappers think their shit don’t stink, it’s what it is
People up in ya biz, couple grand handlers
Hammers and sticks, while you stammer and shit, how your rhymes lit
Shut up kid quick, Grease was never here
Throats clear right before the kid spits
Yo! Yo I can’t believe Raekwon Don was at the Bennigan’s
Ice water avalanches, blanche white lighting on the grip again
Shit-wilted rappers talking drip again
C’mon man, yo the same damn shit again?
I’m wherever there’s a liquor bottle opening
Cold prose, toking, holding rope, cutting cloth different
Phoenician purple-vision Tyrian inks
Yo, we frosted up the girlies they been begging for minks
Yo my snub nose cackles at the eyes that blink
Patter-rap, smack the shit out ya clap-trap links
Kid don’t think, gimme all the shin-plaster, faster
‘fore my blaster leave a hole mighty fine distinct
Beyond the pale shit, albino state of mind
Chewing to the rind, kids a few drinks behind get shot dead
Head crack attacks matter fact we black bread
We jack the cred, walking women to their beds
Hook:
Eyo, it’s Bill Grease, the kid Sweeps murdering beats
Making feats wearing sleeves of mink, gold cufflinks clink
Raising drinks, kids see pink
Jack-boot rappers think their shit don’t stink, it’s what it is
People up in ya biz, couple grand handlers
Hammers and sticks, while you stammer and shit, how your rhymes lit
Shut up kid quick, Grease was never here
Throats clear right before the kid spits
|
||||
4. |
Los Banditos
02:06
|
|||
Verse 1:
Started from the bottom and I’m there
Head on a swivel, high-noon sun glare
Dead man’s hands black aces and eights
Jumping freights with a sunburned face
Bones they break, shotguns for the snakes
Rattle that talk that make a man lose face
Stole from the greats like Prometheus
Previous genius, provides for the devious
Who hate homogenous
What that word mean? Never mind that
Bric-a-brac slurred words, break a man’s back
Bandana on the beard, kid be looking kind of weird
Had a 38 special in his pocket, no cap
Last words heard: yo, where Bill Grease?
Only kid wilder than the kid called Sweeps
One thing’s certain, dead or alive
Los banditos got that vibe
Hook:
Los banditos got that vibe
Los banditos got that vibe
Los banditos got that vibe
Los banditos got that vibe
Handsome is as handsome does
Drinking stiff and hanging loose
Hand in glove the noose was tight
The thread that hung the mother’s goose
Verse 2:
Bill Grease freak with em den of thieves
Whiffs that shit make a drowned man breath
Back in the times Erin’s Isle spoke Greek
‘Walked in the water without any feet
Hip hop nerds sing lovebird turds
R&B birds talk shit and get hurt
Snakebirds sing like moss turns green
Old Thompson kills them nightmare dreams
Skins of teeth’s the quantity
Of figs I’d give to hear you breath
Slow to anger, quick off the mark
He’ll dent your car for free
That’s that shit, them kids get hits
Sweeps, Jack Pool and Grease ain’t’ missed
One thing’s certain, dead or alive
Los banditos got that vibe
Hook:
Los banditos got that vibe
Los banditos got that vibe
Los banditos got that vibe
Los banditos got that vibe
Handsome is as handsome does
Drinking stiff and hanging loose
Hand in glove the noose was tight
The thread that hung the mother’s goose
Los banditos got that vibe
Los banditos got that vibe
Los banditos got that vibe
Los banditos got that vibe
|
||||
5. |
Bill Grease Rips
02:24
|
|||
Intro:
Uhh, yeah
Yo, we aim to stay!
Verse 1:
Every damn time golden hip-hop gets flak
Watch your back, Jack Poole will grip a pen like a gat
Yeah, we’re legends, I don’t give a smidge about your brethren
Barbaroja’s known at every 7-11 come get him
It’s all butter when you’re face down in the gutter
Tattle tale Gail’s like to wail like their mothers
I can rap in brail if you close your eyes carefully
Gimme all your money, never chum with Grease faithfully
Hook:
Bill Grease rips while em other cat’s trip
Got Sweeps in the mix, we been cooking up the fix
Got slang that make a brain go – dang
Knocking normies out the frame
Came to bring the pain, and we aim to stay
Bill Grease rips while em other cat’s trip
Got Sweeps in the mix, we been cooking up the fix
Got slang that make a brain go – dang
Knocking normies out the frame
Came to bring the pain, and we aim to stay
Verse 2:
Cookie jar dunks, chunks of meat got sprayed thick
Choicest of voices his verbiage sauté’s clips
Rich from the stolen always open books he’s memorized
Reciting Keats to your girl while he squeeze her thigh
Had a couple friends pass away in strange ways
Crazed off the liquor dead-ringer for Sling Blade
Eyes mad jaded like an emerald in the sun
Talk a lot about yourself, he’ll shoot his mouth like a gun
Kid – run it! That’s right the Casio wrist computer
Ironically worn, till torn off to change users
Why do ghosts spit bout yellow brick roads?
Yo a chef I know said Dorothy was yapping in a brogue
Where the beer go? Malt water corn syrup
Bones lit by chicks, leaving ash around the damn whip
Used to know cats who claim to always run bank
Right until they ain’t now they crank, whiffing paint
Hook:
Bill Grease rips while em other cat’s trip
Got Sweeps in the mix, we been cooking up the fix
Got slang that make a brain go – dang
Knocking normies out the frame
Came to bring the pain, and we aim to stay
Bill Grease rips while em other cat’s trip
Got Sweeps in the mix, we been cooking up the fix
Got slang that make a brain go – dang
Knocking normies out the frame
Came to bring the pain, and we aim to stay
|
||||
6. |
Bill's Domain
02:51
|
|||
Verse 1:
Yo he’s Tony Soprano of Collins Cove, kid, watching the ducks
Old Thompson in the pocket, kid we call it lunch
You can’t relate, eye’s dinner plates make
Yo, the dumb look dumber, kid, they’re mumbling they’re great
Now it’s Salem down to North Station, back up to Haverhill
What the kid do? Besides crushing up, all the pain pills
Levitated stakes, kid Sweeps spins the plates
Generate the charge to keep my whole style awake
Been a while since I’ve taken everything on your plate
Save your face I keep it moving like the product on the way
Call me DHL like the dude heavy late
Kid’ll sock it to your eye-socket, kid, and pocket up the change
Poke your brain with your nose bone on Fat Albert breaks
Kid up in your view his crooked tooth gave it away
Last seen tragically, flapping gums happily
For anything and anyone who’d listen to his majesty
Hook:
Yo, catch him up at Dead Horse Beach by the gas tank
Chop-Suey sandwiches, smoked tea lapsing
Old Thompson bottles with a grip of smoked bones in em
Kid’s slick, but got a little old soul in him
(Kid’s slick, but got a little old soul in him)
Verse 2:
Kid spitting at the Bill and Bob’s parking lot dump ducks
Scratch ticket champions with hard hats in dump trucks
Ninety-nine beer garden fights frequent
A broke nose, I suppose could be called piquant
Crushing gravel at the Anchor for a couple hundred beers
Stains on his bomber like fresh outta Cheers
Call him Norm like McDonald like the legend
Catch him in the corner puffing dirt brown lettuce
Lynn’s the Walnut, where old men’s wallets
Got a chain that connects them from their belt to their pockets
Hell’s Angels neighbors – always paid the rent on time
But if you got a six pack, you better bet it’s five
I know some rough cats smelling like the tanneries
Grandfather’s fathers used to work polluting everything
The North Shore’s a haven for some cold beach drinking
Catch me with a bottle not speaking
Hook:
Yo, catch him up at Dead Horse Beach by the gas tank
Chop-Suey sandwiches, smoked tea lapsing
Old Thompson bottles with a grip of smoked bones in em
Kid’s slick, but got a little old soul in him
(Kid’s slick, but got a little old soul in him)
Outro:
He’s at the Polish American Veteran’s League
With the pickled-egg breath down and outers
Placing bets, listening to Stan Getz and shitting on your family crest
The no-tooth losers with dead dreams
The boozers who knew the future was dead mean
Glasses up if you know what the kid means
Per usual, this is a Bill Grease and Sweeps tragedy
Carefully crafted for those who know, and those who don’t
I need another Heineken
|
||||
7. |
Stone Cold Chillen
02:44
|
|||
Intro:
Uh – yeah
Uh – yeah, it’s what it is
Verse 1:
Nostradamus Clay, get you played I'm getting paid
wits be frayed the way we break the beat apart
Cassius suede, shoes blue crooning Blue Moon shooting
Pray the spray will stay the way it was when I was looting through the crates
All em fakes say they don't like jakes
But call the boys in blue when Sweeps be detonating the breaks
At high stakes, kid the take was fucked up like smashed plates
I'll smack ya face, in any case kid I'll smash ya date
Kid this is fate the way I'm handling irregular
Metaphoric atmosphere's appearing like a senator
Forever clever, pulling levers while you bucks been tethered
To wack beats that you lease kid I can win whenever
This ain't a test: yo I'm shooting when you start to flex
Up next: rappers long forgotten used to gargle Becks
You're in the wrong place, send a friend a fucking text
Needing help, red beard been aiming at ya chest
Hook:
Stone cold chilling, Sweeps been chilling
Grease take it back like ’88 Top Billing
Yo Dunes ain’t the clique you wanna f@#$ with
Jack Poole rude, Grease crude, and kid Sweeps brings the ruckus
Stone cold chilling, Sweeps been chilling
Grease take it back like ’88 Top Billing
Yo Dunes ain’t the clique you wanna f@#$ with
Jack Poole rude, Grease crude, and kid Sweeps brings the ruckus
Verse 2:
DeLorean Beige, we sway the way they used to throw a knuckle
Letting out a chuckle as the ribs split, start to buckle
This huckster's trouble spitting venom tipped sticks
Get my kicks whipping hicks with fly quips like I'm Bertrand Russel
Don't appreciate ya looking like that
Ya rhythm flat like ya stack, I'll rob you blind behind ya crooked back
It’s fade to black whenever Bill Grease starts to rap
Confirming your fears, I'm drinking beer, kid ya mother’s fat
Never mind, its fine, I get mine, you’re getting stabbed
Funny how a Stuart Hughes suit can turn to bloody rags
They used to call the kids like you limp wrist hacks
Hip-hop brats deserve an axe through their fucking backs
Yo ya amateur, I'm raising up the temperature
Incredible, his words come out the furnace spitting flames at ya
My misdemeanor put to meter - as we proceed
To give you what ya need – a large, fatty liver
Hook:
Stone cold chilling, Sweeps been chilling
Grease take it back like ’88 Top Billing
Yo Dunes ain’t the clique you wanna f@#$ with
Jack Poole rude, Grease crude, and kid Sweeps brings the ruckus
Stone cold chilling, Sweeps been chilling
Grease take it back like ’88 Top Billing
Yo Dunes ain’t the clique you wanna f@#$ with
Jack Poole rude, Grease crude, and kid Sweeps brings the ruckus
|
||||
8. |
Where You From?
02:45
|
|||
Verse 1:
It’s like Don’t Be A Menace, Winter Warz reverse dentist
Kid I’ll smack you in ya jaw, I’m raw kid the bestest
Check this, hundred thousand clams baked and packaged
At this, Sweeps and Grease – we ain’t the average
Joe sloppy copies spit slang they can’t say well
Poppy seed mommies spread legs that ain’t aged well (eww)
Willie McTell spells, the blues crooners got me
Puffing mad Parliaments, Maggot Brain philosophies
Probably the sickest white kid with red hair
Barbaroja spits till red becomes grey there’s
Enough wack rappers who think themselves dapper
Red snapper looking floozies get shook and start crapping
Nutmeg, rap game, James Joyce, disciple
All praises due, without the dude it’s just trifles
IRA blam blams for Stan fans of garbage
Free styles by the dozen, never Uzi’s by the tonnage
Hook:
Where you from? Nowhere Massachusetts
Where the fun was parachuting pills and cursing at the sun
Where you from? Hundred thousand punches plus the bruises
Down and outers spitting slick shit without funds
Where you from? We’re major, you’re minor
Don’t deserve to be a player in the game of raps fucking finest
Dunes Deep Mobbing like the Queensbridge jersey’s
Double O Hennessy the Prodigy of Cursing
Verse 2:
(Whoop there it is, another strange use of rap slang)
Whoop there it is, another strange use of rap slang
Keep it in the lane, lame brains stay the same
Throwing gutter balls and begging for the spare
Sucking air, acting like this shit’s Hollywood Squares
Get corrected, fix your shit quick and get to stepping
Dunes is two dudes against your whole crew we’re reckless
Gnashing of the teeth like a dog with shaved ears
Behaves weird spitting slick through the beard
Change of scenery, the verbiage full of greenery
At least to me it’s looking like Grease jacked machinery
Drunk as a skunk throwing steel around for fun
16 bars, a full clip to get funds
Stiff upper lipping the kids, who never knew what it is
To get a nickel out a beer bottle
Still never worry a bit about a beautiful bitch
My belt’s notched like a 45
Stiff upper lipping the kids, who never knew what it is
To scratch a ticket for the booze money
Still never fuck with the kids who think they know what it is
To murder beats nonchalant
Stiff upper lipping the kids, who never knew what it is
To get a nickel out a beer bottle
Still never worry a bit the kid, you know what it is
The livid lazy eye guy
14 carat gold computer wizards
Recognize the reference and you recognize the difference
Barbaroja does what he does
Sipping gas, clutching stacks and grabbing funds
Yeah, we’re done!
|
||||
9. |
In The Pocket
02:24
|
|||
Verse 1:
My Uzi weighs a ton kid, it ain't a gun kid
I don't care about your funds, or where you're from kid
I was young manufacturing potato cannons
Grill sparking hair spray - a tough luck baron
Sold bones to those who’s prose radiated
Scratch ticket wits rich, always underrated
Coffee-stained brains change range
You gotta calibrate your scope, don’t be a dope
The game’s changed
I invented shit, kid I got a patent
Mostly I been drinking like I’m Charley Patton
Doing anything, for anything to f@#$ing happen
Keep your Benson & Hedges, kid I rock the Mavericks
Clutching mics on a barstool
Looking like a fool with something to prove
Drunk rap Marc Maron
Kid Sweeps got vermouth money
Now its time for Bill Grease to creep freaks
And smooth honeys
Hook:
Chuck Brown said give me the bridge
Keep it cold, like your rhymes out the fridge
Keep it in the pocket
Off the cuff smug hype shit plugged into sockets
Got the dope? Kid, try to cop it
Chuck Brown said give me the bridge
Keep it cold, like your rhymes out the fridge
Keep it in the pocket
Off the cuff smug hype shit plugged into sockets
Got the dope? Kid, try to cop it
Verse 2:
My rhyme shines like a dime, kid
Copper and nickel, the kid spittle’s all the time, kid
Got designs in my mind I can’t express well
Till I smoke a few bones, singing Willie McTell
Punching throats, pulling yokes, tugging boats to boast
I like to toke, telling jokes while I toast
This is for the kids’ living lives on the ropes
Trying to cope around dopes who just want you to croak
Where the beer at? Gotta have a couple after weed naps
Speak of the devil, yo on the level where the weed at?
Sweeps beats get you elevated
Bill Grease steez is the opposite of meditating
Jack Poole has fuel mad innovative
And still wack rappers get celebrated
Sick and tired of rich kids asking how to rock it
I don’t know kid, shit, keep it in the pocket
Hook:
Chuck Brown said give me the bridge
Keep it cold, like your rhymes out the fridge
Keep it in the pocket
Off the cuff smug hype shit plugged into sockets
Got the dope? Kid, try to cop it
Chuck Brown said give me the bridge
Keep it cold, like your rhymes out the fridge
Keep it in the pocket
Off the cuff smug hype shit plugged into sockets
Got the dope? Kid, try to cop it
Outro:
I am - somebody
‘Said I am - somebody
Cause you really are somebody…
|
||||
10. |
It's All Talk
02:58
|
|||
Verse 1:
Long time ago we used to spray paint bridges
Train cars, Alprazolaming, yelling at the pigeons
Hitting bullies with the hair spray potato cannon
Smoking cloves, telling jokes, laughing at the scratch ticket dopes
Until we scoped all the dope prose, coded language thrown cold
Old enough to be considered classics
Punks get jumped with Brand Nubian aluminum bats
Yo that’s that, it’s what it is, kid we’re past it
A lot of cats dragging trash around, bragging that they don’t read
Say they wanna rap but can’t stomach the Old E
Try to start smoke but haven’t even charred a lung yet
Claim to crush gravel having never known the taste of Becks
The kid Grease he’s been known for his feats
Saw him shaking down the Riddlist up on Tremont Street
Told the Hooker Street schizo he called the fake cops
It’s the only way to get the kid to snap up out his thoughts
Hook:
People like to say they rock blocks
People like to say they know what you don’t
It’s all talk, kid a lot
Yo cause Dunes is two dudes, I don’t mean to be rude
But we knock it out the park copasetic
People like to say they rock blocks
People like to say they know what you don’t
It’s all talk, kid a lot
Yo cause Dunes is two dudes, I don’t mean to be rude
But they knock it out the park copasetic
Verse 2:
Kid I can knock it out the park, like a knuckle to a NARC
Like a blade inside a sock, in the shade till I’m not
It takes a lot to be the kind of guy Grease is
Taking off the muzzle, watch the muscle twitch whenever the kid needs to
Competitive, kid you need to, repetitive ain’t a re-do
Incredible, tough, impeccable luck, these gettable bucks ain’t ever enough
Exception to the rule, sipping three brews
Naw, you’re right dog, multiply the number by three, dude
One Scotch a Bourbon and a Beer
Unrivaled in the way they minimize a man’s fears
Try to hide inside, but time resides beside the crimes
We harbor in our minds; we try in vain to hide them from our peers
Not for nothing, kids try their best but get it wrong
Smoking over priced cess inside of overpriced bongs
Using other people’s money for the session
The shit’s cute yo these dummies need a lesson
Hook:
People like to say they rock blocks
People like to say they know what you don’t
It’s all talk, kid a lot
Yo cause Dunes is two dudes, I don’t mean to be rude
But we knock it out the park copasetic
People like to say they rock blocks
People like to say they know what you don’t
It’s all talk, kid a lot
Yo cause Dunes is two dudes, I don’t mean to be rude
But they knock it out the park copasetic
|
||||
11. |
Midwest Swordsman
02:32
|
|||
Verse 1:
I drank a fifth of my last name for luck
You cowards get f@#$ed
Rough, tough, bumbling, stumbling gets you nip-tucked
Ohh, damn incredible shit sucks
Autotuned crooners leaving hip hop nonplussed
Punching bag slam, the damn vig got you tits up
Lady on my lap does something similar fills cups
Cigarette machine dreams, drunker than Pimm’s cups
Hit you with the shit that had Holyfield’s ear tucked
Heh- rough smug incredible fly shit
The ink I wrote this with came distilled out a live squid
What you looking at? Kid you’re wack around my shit
This that heart attack rap, kid, with a dry wit
I find the time to blow your small mind on the Sly
On your family stone it was inscribed that you can’t rhyme
Shut your yap, shit is wack, it’s a damn fact
I’d rather swallow a pistol than hear another wealthy kid rap
Hook:
Rough smug incredible fly shit
That’s the kind of shit kid I’ll make before my end
Make the beat switch rhymes inevitable my hits
Can get you fucked up, right or wrong am I fly? Shit!
Verse 2:
Pumping off the breaks to flip nice whips
No chain gang, Sam Cook-ing these fly shits
Not a damn thang, Orangutang-ing these shite kids
Kicking money up to Sweeps and Grease on the sly biz
Marquis clean, light green with the tan seats
Lumberjacked out, lifting skirts from mad freaks
Used to sling cards, drank too much was a rap geek
I turned that shit around, I’m sipping Aces while I’m rapping, it’s happening
Cowards act tough till they’re clapping
Kid been running round the boroughs making bloody noses on the average
Innocent kids can turn to savage,
Minimum bids can leave a kid thinking he’s the new Maverick
Hook:
Rough smug incredible fly shit
That’s the kind of shit kid I’ll make before my end
Make the beat switch rhymes inevitable my hits
Can get you fucked up, right or wrong am I fly? Shit!
Outro:
Kick against the pricks, put a stick against ya cabbage
Only law they know is kicking ass on the average
Sweeps and Bill Grease running number till they bag it
Till the day comes, they’re making hits for the masses
Dunes
Bill Grease
The kid Sweeps
And Jack Poole
|
||||
12. |
The Drunk Poet
03:06
|
|||
Hook:
People like to chirp about nothing and don't know it
Take it from a bored gutter snipe drunk poet
By the time their 25, you see the glass in their eyes
and they wonder why my bottle keeps flowing
People like to chirp about nothing and don't know it
Take it from a bored gutter snipe drunk poet
By the time their 25, you see the glass in their eyes
and they wonder why my bottle keeps flowing
Verse 1:
So I did the only thing the kid could do to pass the time
Swigged lot of wine and tried to fabricate a smile
I nodded at their nothings, and laughed at boring jests
But you see this got boring quick, and what happened followed next
See a gal said I looked Irish, and her father was a cop
‘Said I was from Haverhill and I liked to kick small dogs
She said I was a bigot and I smartly said, “nuh-uh”
Her boyfriend took a swing at me, but not before I ducked
So he punched a gal in high heel boots who's balance was undone
She tried to break her fall by grabbing onto a man-bun
The man-bun had an owner and that owner was holding hands
With the gal who mistook Bill Grease for a well behaved man
So then I had bolt, kid, I didn't have to travel far
A Fenian ginmill’s the safest of the bars
My people screaming funny things, they offered me a drink
They told me how they ended up despite some other things
Well, the moral of this story if there really can be one
Is life can sure be easy if you always hold your tongue
But if you like a ten-day drunk over a life of ease
You’ll always have a friend in the kid Bill Grease
Hook:
People like to chirp about nothing and don't know it
Take it from a bored gutter snipe drunk poet
By the time their 25, you see the glass in their eyes
and they wonder why my bottle keeps flowing
People like to chirp about nothing and don't know it
Take it from a bored gutter snipe drunk poet
By the time their 25, you see the glass in their eyes
and they wonder why my bottle keeps flowing
Verse 2:
I've met men who'd fish for fish and smash em on the rocks
That way they wouldn't fuss so much when stacked like little logs
Their cigarettes were folded up into their shirt sleeves
told nasty jokes they'd never tell unless to you or me
Yo I also met the gamblers who in old age turn to bust
‘Stories told have little chance and always best of luck
Wagers made on everything - pinball without the flippers
Rabbis, priests, imam's and queens, kings and heavy lifters
So, imagine then to my surprise the questions that I hear
Don't you know drinking’s bad? Is gluten in this beer?
And I like to think despite my ways I always show restraint
‘Til fortune failed, I do declare and a grave mistake was made
See this one time down in Brighton well I played a little show
I rapped a lot of dope shit to folks I didn't know
And those people they were all the things I tried to rail against
Y'know the money-having youngins who somehow don't pay for rent
Hook:
People like to chirp about nothing and don't know it
Take it from a bored gutter snipe drunk poet
By the time their 25, you see the glass in their eyes
and they wonder why my bottle keeps flowing
People like to chirp about nothing and don't know it
Take it from a bored gutter snipe drunk poet
By the time their 25, you see the glass in their eyes
and they wonder why my bottle keeps flowing
|
Dunes Boston, Massachusetts
Collab project between beatmaker Sweeps and lyricist Bill Grease
Streaming and Download help
If you like Dunes, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp