Headband - Produced by Essex Dogs
Video Shot & Edited by billy woods
History Will Absolve Me
Stanley Crouch. Run ‘em out of town, Ray Handley, armchair quarterback
Scored on the couch, slouched off sour dumb out Dexter Manley
Took the words out my mouth; purple diesel, cotton candy
Burning Down The House. New Wave. Max B acapellas over shoegaze.
Well played, all I can say is touche. Blue Dream, Yellowcake, Black Haze
Pen game equivalent to Thomas Paine. Pen name the ambievalent Mark Twain
Intelligent Gucci Mane. Scholarship student, financial aid reduction made 3.5 the ideal unit
Face disguised, ‘72 Olympics in Munich. Baader Meinhof Complex, she likes it rough, slightly abusive.
But taken in context, you playing the tune, she’s behind the music. Records is Ruthless.
Dave Checketts, I left MSG toothless. Told the croupier, check it, I aint stupid.
Universal Music Group waitin’ for Wayne to go acoustic. Kids meals, yalls chairs is boosted
Fuck a flip, I told my whiteboy, just loop it.
Application folded. Take position and hold it. Dig a hole when the grounds at it coldest. 100 dead Bolsheviks in a pit, froze stiff, glaciers of ice, alaskan fish, deadliest catch, type to stowaway on slave ships. Crustaceans in Barrels. Negroes in a slum. The cattle get funnelled to the barrel of a gun. Did his time like Papillon, came out squinting at the sun, winking at the nun. Life like a remake of The Harder They Come. I want mine here, now, tonight! Corner the market, name your price. He’s ripping me off but the shit is flight. Workers of the World unite for that extra vacation day, 6% pay hike. Don’t bother to ask, you know he hatin’. Eating bacon in the middle of The Great Satan, piously pagan. Memory loss, call me Reagan. I’ll call you Al. Free enterprise is why we standing here, I don’t need another pal. Tryin’ to get me up in the hoosegow, off that such and such. H.R. Puffinstuff. Familiar voice in your head telling you to just give up. Charged off that Cali, Marion Butts, useless aggression like a cruise missile hitting a mud hut. Villagers stuck, between that proverbial. If they aint kill you, then this side’ll prolly murder you.
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