B. Sharpa

by Ben Sharpa

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about

It's time to B. Sharpa!!

Once in a while an artist comes along with the vision and ability to turn a genre on its head whilst taking it back to its roots. Ben Sharpa has achieved this with his debut solo offering, B. Sharpa, an iconic album that pays homage to the best socially conscious lyrical traditions of hip hop whilst innovating a completely fresh sound that Sharpa himself calls robot army music.

Described by BBC Radio 1 DJ and experimental music maven, Mary-Anne Hobbs as “one of the most inspired and agile lyricists in the world today”, Ben Sharpa has created an epic work that takes the listener on a journey into the tortured mind of an artist who has remained fiercely dedicated to his art despite the hardships he has had to endure as a result.

On B. Sharpa, Ben addresses corporate greed, the media, the music industry, politics, the struggle of the downtrodden in the African continent, the ecology and the art of emceeing. At times Sharpa reflects what he sees with the lucid clarity of a prophet, at other times this reflection is clouded by an opiate haze of conspiracy theory paranoia. Throughout the album, Ben rides the rhythms with the ease and fluency of an old skool hip hop veteran, effortlessly switching from playful, witty braggadocio to spaced-out asymmetrical streams of consciousness, to gritty heartfelt tales of street life.

B. Sharpa is at the forefront of a new wave of ‘soundsystem’ music, underpinned by heavy, hybrid hip hop beats with influences from electro, dub, Detroit techno, dancehall, electronica and glitch. On production is Dplanet, Sibot, Kaptin (a Sharpa alter-ego), HueMan (RIP), X-24th Letter and UK Bass Music super-producer Milanese. There are guest features by label-mate KONFAB, Archetypes, Teboho Semela (Sharpa’s sister, a virtuoso violinist) and Brooklyn-based, Lyricist Lounge all-star, Wordsworth.

Ben’s razor-sharp lyrical skills effortlessly bring the various influences together as a coherent whole. Even with the eclectic nature of the production, the listener is left in no doubt that B. Sharpa is a bona fide hip hop album by a master craftsman.

credits

released 26 July 2008

tags

tags: african hip hop bass ben sharpa dub glitch hip hop hip-hop/rap rap robot army music south african hip hop spaza tebz Cape Town

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about

We develop artists who understand the cultural significance of representing the reality of life in South Africa. Whilst deeply rooted in Hip Hop culture, we push aesthetic boundaries. Our sound is influenced by a wide variety of music, everything from Roots, Dub and Dancehall, to Electro, Detroit Techno, Dubstep, Grime and naturally, the sounds of Africa. ... more

discography

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Track Name: Epoch Intro Ft. Tebz
On the 25th day of the 3rd month in the Chinese year of the snake,
Out of the southern most parts of the planet,
A young black infant of royal African descent was born.
From his humble beginnings – rumour has it somewhere between Sharpville and White City, Jabavu, Soweto

He learned from a seedling how to swing his tongue like a double-edged sword,
Following the careful instructions of his wise father and beloved mother.
The boy grew RAPIDLY…

Travelling the globe in search for the sacred iron mic only a chosen few true Hip-Hop heads could ever pull out from underground stone.

And as he continued to grow and search, his mind was developed and honed until he had been Sharpened with diamond-tipped wit and iron clad with the armour of street skills.

Now having been dubbed a lyrical warrior and Kaptin of an underground army, With only God as his reinforcement and truth his sword, the young man was called to crusade, waging war on all which is wack, unreal and insulting to the public intelligence.

And after many days and nights in quest for the ancient weapon, He finally found it – hidden deep in the mountain valleys of the Cape Agullus dungeons.

He now unleashes to you in the form of Sharpa. Ben Sharpa.
Track Name: Callin' It Quits (We're Here)
We’re here... We’re here...

Chorus_
All through the city streets they callin’ it quits,
All due to shitty beats that’s all in the mix –
Real emcees resort to radio hits,
Fake lifestyles for sports and video tricks –

Verse 1_
Lights, camera, action! Show at the Helm,
Mics, sound check, attach decks – roll film!
Dancers to Rappers – from Actors to Role Models –
Half of these cats end up broke – back on the bottle,
Cold Hollow – sick planet that we live in,
So foul yo – You get taxed for having children!
Family plans usually scrapped or change
When mammary glands lactate before she graduates –
And baby daddy? He probably out chasing dreams,
Playing patty-cake with a crowd of lady teams!
Shady deals – Oh what we do to pay these bills,
You ate a meal – your record label made a mill!
We’re here… We’re here…

Chorus_
All through the city streets they callin’ it quits,
All due to shitty beats that’s all in the mix –
Real emcees resort to radio hits,
Fake lifestyles for sports and video tricks –

Verse 2_
We lost in a mind-game – that cost 6 billion migraines,
Too much tell-lie-vision sauced my brain like Cyber-babes,
Time-Space fabric slowly ripping open –
I’m learning to defy gravity through firm focus!
The future’s here and still the vets persevere,
The Golden Age is resurrecting from the rear –
Coming back with Boom-Bap and soul-stories,
Plus Electro for my Robot Armies!!
The new flavor – most cats are scared to fuck with
Move over – Sharpa’s here – prepare for the raucous!
I’m part speech therapist – like Audiologist
Rock the crown of my Dad, past Kings and Conquerors,
It’s no surprise – I’m at war – exposing lies
Open your eyes, and so will I roll the dice
It’s no surprise – I’m at war – exposing lies
Open your eyes, and so will I – roll the dice!

Chorus_
All through the city streets they callin’ it quits,
All due to shitty beats that’s all in the mix –
Real emcees resort to radio hits,
Fake lifestyles for sports and video tricks –

Verse 3_
My sixth-sense, always buzzin’ off the meter,
When kids pretend to show love when the meet ya
Jealous fellas, steady plotting your demise
Cinderella’s step-sisters in disguise!
I sit with Elders, around a camp of new recruits,
Who spit splendor – trashed the tennis shoes for boots,
Burn the fire – train in beat-rooms, produce -
Take you higher – kill snakes like street Mongoose,
In corporations, I sledge-hammer glass ceilings –
It’s motivation, to edge past the trapped feeling,
Of being stuck, in sticky bubble-gum industries,
Cheating us, with thumb-suck songs and trickery,
Wicked Wizards – eating children like chicken gizzards,
Street symbols, and rituals to worship lizards,
The Media – the root of many money evils,
They feeding ya, dissolution soup and poison sequels!
Track Name: The Eye Seen
Chorus_
Ben Sharpa, Ben Sharpa, Ben Sharpa – Eye seen it!
Ben Sharpa, Ben Sharpa, Ben Sharpa – Eye seen it!

Verse 1_
I seen playas pray with priests – pimps in shiny polished suits
Politicians, poor people, pack rats and prostitutes
Persevering paraplegics perish in secret –
The parents who conceived them’s hearts tear to pieces,
more tears for the Kleenex
Faces sobbed when feces dropped in public shame
They’d pay dearly for doctors and Huggies
I’ve seen guns runnin’ in the gutters –
orphans give bloodclots to druggies
Like they inject shots in the South Suburbs
I’ve seen cops with pet monkeys lock up geniuses and turn ‘em Ted Bundy
Black Sunday fed my hungry grassroots abundant Fruit Loops packed in slum graves
They’d resurrect deadless restless youth like Lazarus some say
With mics I’ve seen the past plus future like Hue-man
Pass through one glassy eye – glazed –
gaze caged in a wage-raise maze
With no way out, ’cause no pay route means
hey it’s time to face the basics
Like DNA man – it’s all laid out… and I seen it

Chorus_
Ben Sharpa, Ben Sharpa, Ben Sharpa – Eye seen it!
Ben Sharpa, Ben Sharpa, Ben Sharpa – Eye seen it!

Verse 2_
I seen momma needs a home, she needs her son – he’s always gone
On a wild-goose chase he calls his life – music based
All the while pops is like “boy just put some food on the plate”
I seen refugees with 10 degrees sell you trees to pay rental fees
Con men for president – Bush bombing some Bedouins
News headlines read, ‘Bin Laden is dead again’
I’ve seen tribesmen irrelevant, townships erected
Houses infested, crowded with tenants –
A lousy incentive when jobs are finished
And one out of three dependants’ mouths need dentists
I seen the spread of AIDS, while heads get a case to replace the medic-aid
I seen centre stage in dark-brown ghettos, where we all pay the beast
At least a pound of flesh to get a peaceful ounce of rest
Like dogs trapped in pounds – royal Gods found in kennels –
I bet they’d put us down no less, than a thousand arrested per annum
Under duress – judged with a senile old blind sole-witness
I’ve seen the Nile River child float by with no reply or peep from a Holy Christian
White assassins bible bash while tribal factions die in action
Seen futile flights of passion from suicidal rights of passage
To man from childhood, I seen the mountain find Muhammed
A new democracy – but I seen everybody’s gone demon-crazy
A loud-speaking activist, proudly South African – now what happens next?
Track Name: Hegemony
Chorus_
Why?… do we have a police protection service
When?… their duty is to snatch me and arrest my person
Who?… the usual suspect, verbal Kaiser Sose
What?… doing what I must to get by the whole day.

Verse 1_
Where – from Cape Town to J-Sect to Eastern Cape
I heat radio-active airwaves, transmits through deep space
We free-base beat breaks at least 3-days-a-week-basis
Other 4 for other chores, tug-o-wars – my mother’s poor
Cutting corners now a fact of life cause the chips are stacked so high against us
It’s like the greener grassy side is just a crime beyond those barbed wire fences
With mile-high defences, and armed response jobby-job carbon copy cops
In rental suits – burning and lootin’ more than Bob Marley uses herbs
When doing music events – enter Red Jackets frisking you
Mental antagonists with gun and badge taking a piss on you
Misogynist fags in blue who harassed that ass when the whistle blew
Taint my reputation in public places for a thrill or two –
It’s straight to the station, fingerprints in the ink plus interviews
But cynical tools and a little shrewd Jewish lawyer the rich been using
To elude criminal prosecution….

Chorus_
Why?… do we have a police protection service
When?… their duty is to snatch me and arrest my person
Who?… the usual suspect, verbal Kaiser Sose
What?… doing what I must to get by the whole day.

Verse 2_
How – by any possible means to jump obstacles means
I gotta do what I gotta for cream – stick you like Scorpion teams
They don’t care if he’s a hero like Steven Biko
Or high strung on a killing spree, like Asanda Baninzi
Cops all over the city ready lock you if you’re dark-skinned
Easy for the Boer to moer you if you look poor and got comments
I’m a hardcore hot-head – conform not to any pork chop
I mind control swine patrol in Jedi mode –
and bribe your whole ride with cold drinks
then flows that sink like Jose Cuervo raw shots
On the rocks or neat, everytime I walk the streets
Pigs wanna ‘bleep’, stop me, stomp my feet constantly
ADT, Securcorp, SAPS, Armageddon Security –
Come fe test – duel with me, Fuck you up with impunity
The purpose of the sirens is to pump fear in nervous systems
Circus clowns of society who police but deserve prison…

Chorus_
Why?… do we have a police protection service
When?… their duty is to snatch me and arrest my person
Who?… the usual suspect, verbal Kaiser Sose
What?… doing what I must to get by the whole day.
Track Name: B to the E
Verse 1_
Yo, I don’t need to hold 9s,
I burn steel and leave bullet holes to riddle up your road signs
Seal them up in an instance so you miss your directions,
My cold rhymes turn summer to winter reflections,
Tell a story melancholy, rain blood on your killer party,
pardon me when I brought the pain to your brittle body
Roll with God H.E.A.Ds so you hardly see me,
Stroll down to B-n-B’s and forcefeed a weak emcee.
And nowadays it’s even harder to satisfy,
coked-up crowds who starve artists with poor appetites,
so I devour with Sharpa soul power,
piss midas dust, kid, watch the gold shower.
Don’t say I never warned you cowards,
the industry sucks, so sour now, when I spit lemon heads go ‘yuk!’.
Pukka up lips until death kiss struck.
Suckers wanna hug us but their bitches wanna fuck.

Chorus_
B to the E, to the N, to the S, H, A, R, P, A
y’all know the rest.
The B to the E, to the A, to the T, to the S,
banging, they be jamming headphones to death,
S to the I, to the B, to the O, to the T,
tell no lies, yo that white boy be fresh.
The B to the E, to the A, to the T, to the S,
kill your eardrums ’till you’re tone deaf.

Verse 2_
I get down to the root of a thing like Alex Haley,
News hound, street journalist type like Candice Bailey,
For those who don’t know the name, it’s like black Lois Lane at the Metropolis,
only more in tune and on top of shit,
So here’s the scoop; most emcees of today are just obnoxious,
content with meagre pay, lust and a hot chick,
only problem is they fail to see the game’s object,
furthermore they glorify murder than who God is.
The results: Obvious! Prison truck and fatherless.
Children fucked from the start, single moms and joblessness,
So how does one reverse the effects of a system,
that makes the people worse than sick till death is just a symptom.
Bio-engineeered weapons like AIDS and syphilis
Tuskegee experiments, airborne epidemic kits.
And ain’t no monkey stew eating here,
the West turned Africans at best to coke junkies of the new year.

Chorus_
B to the E, to the N, to the S, H, A, R, P, A
y’all know the rest.
The B to the E, to the A, to the T, to the S,
banging, they be jamming headphones to death,
S to the I, to the B, to the O, to the T,
tell no lies, yo that white boy be fresh.
The B to the E, to the A, to the T, to the S,
kill your eardrums ’till you’re tone deaf.

Verse 3_
Envision; they got us twisted in an unfavourable position,
contortionists couldn’t worm their way out of mental prison.
I’m forcing kids to learn the way how to burn down the system
and turn their fears and doubts to optimism.
Rock to rhythms, I drop the knowledge, you caught the wisdom,
now decipher the parallels between life and a cipher.
I rot crumbs and bury ‘em from the legs up,
A hot number, might as well marry him like Makeba.
With Sibot I’m wild hot, a nun with striptease,
like Demi Moore commit felonies and come for six weeks,
whether prison or writtens – bend bars like David Blaine,
rapper magician moving target so you can’t aim the blame,
same as these chicks that try to lock ‘em down,
told the streets I knocked ‘em up when I was rockin’ shows and shockin’ crowds,
hot sex on a platter, yo that comes after,
Then Im Audi, Jetta mach 6, with a foxy in an Astra.

Chorus_
B to the E, to the N, to the S, H, A, R, P, A
y’all know the rest.
The B to the E, to the A, to the T, to the S,
banging, they be jamming headphones to death,
S to the I, to the B, to the O, to the T,
tell no lies, yo that white boy be fresh.
The B to the E, to the A, to the T, to the S,
kill your eardrums ’till you’re tone deaf.
Track Name: Edwin the Hardboiled
Chorus_
Hard-boiled egg headed Ed bled, dead -
Set a predetermined date to rest his head in bed with fate,
A head who never thought ahead – too late!
Caught a lead bullet, gun led to bloodshed
It’s safe to say he should’ve read the red safety gauge

Verse 1_
Nevertheless, rainy days and paramed take-aways
Tailor-made a bitter end to his jaded ways
That wins the bread and paid his rent:
He made a friend who played with Gems
And later Zen while blazing stems, his name was Ben -
Sharpa shaving men like barber’s razor edge,
Together they made the best team – trade secrets
And bravery theft soon became profession -
Many moons raiding dens of crazy gems
Rolex and gold bracelets while maidens slept naked breasted
Yo sometimes Ed would even rape and take the necklace…yesses!
Now close shaves with death closed in as the stakes rose in risk
No wait a sec – it was only lust for greater wealth and stolen gifts
That made a mess of they solid trust, stainless rep and soul eclipse
And scathed a blemish-free relationship like a traitor’s kiss,
Cause in the midst a snake hissed when egos split –
Hate injected the duo with shady methods Edwin had been daily testing
Bust dipping into petty cash for drugs like acid litmus papers
Plus hidden agendas created badly backbitten members
Out of friends, once partners in crime united -
A knot boy scouts could not untie, yet now Ed and Ben sharply divided
Over the sparkle of diamonds – fencing! Caught up in the jewel duel
And all cause of ol’ knucklehead Ed started lying…

Chorus_
Hard-boiled egg headed Ed bled, dead
Set a predetermined date to rest his head in bed with fate
A head who never thought ahead – too late
Caught a lead bullet, gun led to bloodshed
It’s safe to say he should’ve read the red safety gauge…

Verse 2_
After the fall out, they went all-out, and the cold beef never thawed out
Ben rocked the rhyme road while Ed stuck to the wrong route,
So with ten toes, two timbos and one loaded gun with a long snout
Ed stole a small pouch of ice that was found to belong to
A certain Sir Fredrick, son of Cedric von Sedgwick –
A filthy-rich rotton German don in S.A. on pleasure trips,
So anyways, Ed robbed the don’s son armed with a shotgun
Drunk in a Cape nite club parking lot, lots of bling and no bodyguards
Oh what a folly god – and not for Fredrick mind you,
But for half-witted egghead Ed when fucked up on the jobby job,
Cause this one proved to be a truly sloppy jewelry robbery –
Yo lets just say ‘haste makes waste’, and it probably cost him all he got
Cause when he stole the purse he chose the hearse with no remorse,
Not knowing of course that he had just earned himself a holy curse
When Cedric heard the jack occurred he slapped Fredrick and grabbed the horn –
The von Sedgwick don sent his mob task force to track Ed’s course,
What happened next? Gats burst – Ed fell flat first, a collapsed corpse
They clapped and cracked his eggshell in half – flashback to the source
Like Humpty Dumpy, his thick headedness was last resort,
“Congratulations Edwin! You’ve just won an all-expense paid,
One-way holiday, island Hotel Hell vacation with no fuckin’ passport!”
(After they poached that egghead, he knew he wouldn’t be coming back)

Verse 3_
His mother cried like onion eyes,
Her son had died with butterflies her stomach fried…
A tonne of crimes he’d once devised upon her mind
And plus the lies he’d tell her frequently
She couldn’t believe her womb conceived a murderer, thief
Worthless cheat – a cursed fiend and serpentine of delinquency!
From curious keen lurking teen, with pretty dreams of pearly teeth
To petty thief penny schemes – then on to mega cheese jobs
He couldn’t be stopped – turned his greedy wants to many frenzied needs
And by any means, long as the monster breathes constantly it feeds
Off a dead city like hardheaded E. – fell on his dirty felon knees
Last seen shot with hot UNITA diamonds and a Lexus key –
In the end he learned his lesson like Frank Talk, the rest is His-story by Ben…

Chorus_
Hard-boiled egg headed Ed bled, dead
Set a predetermined date to rest his head in bed with fate
A head who never thought ahead – too late
Caught a lead bullet, gun led to bloodshed
It’s safe to say he should’ve read the red safety gauge…
Track Name: 5ive Fingers
Verse 1_
See Christ-like fly rhymes side-swipe your limelight
MC night life, mic fights, handgun and knife heists!
Eye sight – hi-rise flats and Dungeon Rat bites
So out of spite I ran white mice – back up in drain pipes!
Land mines like mine-shaft workers – mad, no human rights!
My Union strikes – looming like COSATU war and scores of Muslim lives!
When shooters arrive – swarming with Desert Storm pseudo-stripes
Looting like grave-robbers, campaign for Oil Price!
Crude barrels intrude cerebellums for the spice
Slaughter like ammunition blasting out of contraband –
Sort of like these massacres in Africa when I attack!
Counteract common wack counterfeit imposter cats!

Refrain_
When Kaptin’s on your track, you glory days are numbered – count on that!
(There’s only 5 fingers left!)
When Kaptin’s on your track, you glory days are numbered – count on that!
(There’s only 4 fingers left!)
When Kaptin’s on your track, you glory days are numbered – count on that!
(There’s only 3 fingers left!)
When Kaptin’s on your track, you glory days are numbered – count on that!
(There’s only 2 fingers left!)

Verse 2_
So cut the crap, you’re sucking ass – we’re suffering like succotash
No money-cash so we stay hungry as the Sudan!
UNICEF – too enept! Useless, clueless as a sleuth who slept
Rulerships grew rich but coups kept crews in check!
Who’d have guess the space cadet – Black Mark Shuttleworth
Would’ve blew the set from here to Budapest
Without a booster engine – leave your bubble burst
Even Hubble heard and seen me trouble Earth
Its ludicrous – but not Ludachris!
Cause nobody’s new to this – Hip Hop been Ben Sharpa’s usual shit sine the uterus!

Refrain_
When Kaptin’s on your track, you glory days are numbered – count on that!
(There’s only 5 fingers left!)
When Kaptin’s on your track, you glory days are numbered – count on that!
(There’s only 4 fingers left!)
When Kaptin’s on your track, you glory days are numbered – count on that!
(There’s only 3 fingers left!)
When Kaptin’s on your track, you glory days are numbered – count on that!
(There’s only 2 fingers left!)
When Kaptin’s on your track, you glory days are numbered – count on that!
(There’s only 1 fingers left!)
Track Name: The Sick 'n Tired Ft. Archetypes
Verse 1_
I’ll turn the wackest mc Hammer tracks to classic bangers like Casablanca
But frankly I don’t give a damn to back a rappin’ dancer
They stuck in the mud pop like flat tubes on the off-road circuit
Up in the drudge music for some loot and awards that’s worthless
I’m skipping the Barnum and Bailey carnival trainee circus
Specifically I’m on that no-joke flow chokehold – mainly murderous
Sometimes I hurt scriptwriter’s feelings like vagina stealing
Deliver like a milk truck driver while suits are meeting
Daughters and wives are feeding on my rhymes like soup to needy
Street corner minors – teething kids who grind ‘til they bleeding
And still ain’t eating right – dawn to dusk to deep at night
A meal a day just ain’t an equal way for us to lead in life
Competing like crabs in a barrel, dragging those who can carry the load
Perhaps even more care to bear their souls
I tear your bones like a bear hug to free emotions
Leave you motionless with a stare thugs only see in low-res
No rest or restitution ‘til the worker’s revolution
Get some union rights that truly fight to coexist as humans
Try producing your own city or home with stock prices
Or them shitty-ass cellphones you busily yap on while I sweat
Like a devil in the Babylon sun travelling long to work
While you sit bedridden on Telecom networks
The only legwork rich jerks put in was slave-related
So don’t be mad if it was your granddad that made us jaded

Chorus_
We sick ‘n tired of the sick and tired
Victimised by the venom eyes of Queen Elizabeth’s empire
We sick ‘n tired of the sick and tired
Tricked with lies and the –ism talk these capitalist rich conspire

Verse 2_
Capitalism, Communism, Consumerism,
Socialism, Gism was supposed to lead us all into God’s wisdom
But It’s all –isms in my red eyes from alcohol and ism
Just trace the suffix and escape that dollar prison
What’s realism? Let me touch you ‘till you feel it sizzle
I’m seeing visions but the Tele- lies to me in pixels
Systematic analog-digital subliminals
Encrypted transmissions that reinforce your fear impulse
It says black people are poor and poor folks are criminals
Criminal minds are dumb and dumb hobos just deserve to go
Simultaneously whites are painted radiantly
Radiance sheds the light and light gives life, which created me?
Basically black is death and white’s a blessing
Being rich is a privilege – not a right
depending on how light or fair-skinned
Suss it out for self – your health all amounts to wealth
Some live hand-to-mouth so how the Hell
they’ll use their mouths to yell?

Chorus_
We sick ‘n tired of the sick and tired
Victimised by the venom eyes of Queen Elizabeth’s empire
We sick ‘n tired of the sick and tired
Tricked with lies and the –ism talk these capitalist rich conspire
Track Name: Genocide Awards (Skit)
Thank you ladies and gentlemen for this auspicious award...

I must thank my team - Pioneer Unit, Con-Camp, Otis Larynx

and of course yes - Ben Sharpa

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Yes, yes ladies and gentlemen - its Genocide!

Genocide! New on the market!

Come get it while supplies last... while lives pass

And now a proud word from our sponsors...
Track Name: Off the Rails
Chorus_
Sometimes my whole style’s off the rails like that Pakistani night train
Miles off the trail unless I’m scanning for a mic frame
Sitting at work thinking of next words for me rhyme game
Like Scrabble’s my jobby – handle it obviously high-trained,
My style’s off the rails like that Pakistani night train
Miles off the trail unless I’m scanning for a mic frame
Sitting at work thinking of next words for me rhyme game
Like Scrabble’s my jobby – handle it obviously high-trained

Verse 1_
Word forms and language shapes disturb norms and damage fakes
My thirst was born to famish lakes – hunger calls to the savage race
At first deformed with half a face and no aftertaste
Seems like rap has taken blacks to a place where we cant escape
This is lunacy bafoonery even a fool can see thru you mc’s
That’s tuning me and thinking that you schoolin’ me
But truancy is usually your final outcome on the m-i-c
Like Houdini for you to see me its gonna take a miracle
Cheap tricks – like chicks who spread they legs quick
And eat dick to see riches be bitches
So I’d rather flip shit – and feed ‘em passages – scriptures
Like Jesus of Nazareth while on Calvary we deliver

Chorus_
Sometimes my whole style’s off the rails like that Pakistani night train
Miles off the trail unless I’m scanning for a mic frame
Sitting at work thinking of next words for me rhyme game
Like Scrabble’s my jobby – handle it obviously high-trained,
My style’s off the rails like that Pakistani night train
Miles off the trail unless I’m scanning for a mic frame
Sitting at work thinking of next words for me rhyme game
Like Scrabble’s my jobby – handle it obviously high-trained

Verse 2_
I been down with Dplanet, Sibot and Milanese
In previous lives way before Livingstone and the Queen
Still some English think we swing in the trees, spread disease
make pets out of monkeys and dress up in fig leaves!
Well Im here to bring the light from an ancient continent
White people- labeled as Dark, only up until they conquered it
Created borders and divided the whole
Some say it was for order – I say population control
Battered my body, bruised my ego in spite of my soul
They planned to steal that too, and make like it was I who had sold!
But so long as the truth shall reign supreme
The proof of the pudding is in eating of the ever faithful dream
Yo I’ll never do this rap shit in vain duke
It only serves as a window to view and see my actual pain thru
And those who overstand the struggle will remain true – I praise You!…

Chorus_
Sometimes my whole style’s off the rails like that Pakistani night train
Miles off the trail unless I’m scanning for a mic frame
Sitting at work thinking of next words for me rhyme game
Like Scrabble’s my jobby – handle it obviously high-trained
My style’s off the rails like that Pakistani night train
Miles off the trail unless I’m scanning for a mic frame
Sitting at work thinking of next words for me rhyme game
Like Scrabble’s my jobby – handle it obviously high-trained
Track Name: Avant Garde (Front Line)
Verse 1_
Unplug mics when I clutch mics with firm grips like Man handshakes
Im flooding every entrance – violate MCs like gan rapes!
Ben buggin’ on a sentence, crushing ants under the World’s pen-weight –
Dead weights get ate like steaks!
On the plates of Illuminati mandates – I’m an opposition factor
Not a pot to piss in, but a clling – like ghetto obstetrician doctors –
The wrath of a Spawn king is delivered,
My bones jostling in my coffin casket when I’m dead, crawling with maggots!
My clone offspring I’ll leave to do the job of beheading faggots –
Tossed in the river, coughing with shivers!
Lost in the currents of currency shifters – we’re in a State of Emergency
And the terminal cost is indifference!
My flows were born incurable – illest kid in the incubator cubicle
With a future full of promise and a rout to microphonics
Mom dukes got no loot, but I could rock shit –
And school you for some steady profit – or at least a roof over my head!
But don’t confuse – who wouldn’t rather choose than beg,
Running free with no wooden leg – oozing red!

Refrain_
We’re on the frontline when its crunch time
and got no room for pop bafoons with monkey rhymes
It’s for my soldiers and home-growers –
this time we play out these jokers like the cards are mine!

Verse 2_
Now come get your lips bent out of shape trying too hard to bite this
Like stenographers fingers may hurt first day on the job, typing!
Dictations of an auctioneer’s eye-witness accounts in court appearance –
I’d spit this shit on account of all the tearless!
No warm endearments for a mental crippler sent to snitch –
This is no bitch-singing rap, or rented mistress swinger act!
Its all for real like awful feelings feel in criminal cats,
Subliminals that come alive like Cinemax!
And Black Thought the accapella shit I do is so phat
I get new gym shoes in every track I run – plus every lap!
My MC tag be Kaptin – so don’t wear my joint out like gout,
I’m a bit too ill to catch twice!
Roughing it like mic boy scouts with no pouch, no bag to sleep in –
So we’re only napping on the weekends!
And open cats with raps like leaky taps drip, splash-splish with topics
Til you so wet you get galoshes!
Then I close career options like Farah Faucet’s –
You had the talent by habit and fair-and-square you lost it!
You need some more work ethic – some more purpose and method
Before eve steeping to war with these self-determined peasants!

Refrain_
We’re on the frontline when its crunch time
and got no room for pop bafoons with monkey rhymes
It’s for my soldiers and home-growers –
this time we play out these jokers like the cards are mine!
Track Name: Ason of Old (Ft. Tebs)
The rock was his pillow, the pavement his bed…

Chorus_
He leaves home less lost, with a gun and rose
wearing his heart on his sleeve left him a crown of thorns
now he believes in no rest, the stress of hunger grows
swearing at old age and death, the only fun he knows

Verse 1_
Find your talent; find your gold, he said -
Buy the ballot buy the vote,
But if you sign that rally sheet
We’ll both get thrown inside the hole!
Though solitary isolation might help you refine the chi,
It’s involuntary constipation boy – you need a lighter load,
Now drop the quiet role, if you seek the diamond-studded roads kid,
Go ask the one who mines the coal, and keep 3-eyes opened
For Ason of Old – Who roams the undergrowth -?
Shit, I’m told he’s known to chow fatal fungus toadstools
For sustenance and soul food –
Busted threads, seams aint been touched up since old school
Rusty dreads – sleepwalking the streets dusted his hairdo,
And his stare too – type cat to creep up and not just to scare you either, (Boo!)
So watch your rear view, travelling back-alley avenues
Cause a poor man bandit was an angry man handler too
But he only wanted food to console his sour stomach juice
Or a buck for brew, but you never considered giving a cent
Let alone a fucking hoot ….to Ason – while you busy paying the rent

Chorus_
He leaves home less lost, with a gun and rose
wearing his heart on his sleeve left him a crown of thorns
now he believes in no rest, the stress of hunger grows
swearing at old age and death, the only fun he knows

Verse 2_
Yo bro, you didn’t know, Ason of Old, he be well-seasoned veteran
Gold Medal of Honour rocker plus Cape Town welfare recipient
And the cunning cold block cuts a strict warfare curriculum
For him and his homeless, loyal kinsmen and 4 kids
Cause its all hell enrolling your little girl on Iceberg Slim ho lists
She kicks yells and screams ‘Daddy, No!’ but shit’s hopeless
See selling the soul of a seedling in search for the doe
It’s relative, only to severing your own penal node
Ironic, yes, but every time I see him he’s speaking to the Lord
Like a priest torn between the 10-head beast and a peaceful dawn
While he eggs me on to read, some more I adjust to receiver mode
He then recites the ‘laws on drugs’ section of the Penal Code
Geezer forever set me up situations, testing my cerebral scope
Telling me of bonafide felons who’ve so-called seen it all
Let the comp set the table and deal the cards – still beat ém all
See He’s the type to meet Grim Reapers in dark halls and kill
The beef, defeat the brawl with ill techniques and awesome skill
Cause Ason of Old saw the real, raw deal hungry meals
No happy money bills, once broke even his little brittle rib bones,
But chill and watch sonny build an imperial king’s throne
With his own two torn wrinkled palms ‘til he’s living calm,
Eyes sparkling, so twinkle, twinkle on Ason
Let the Gods wonder where you wander….

Chorus_
He leaves home less lost, with a gun and rose
wearing his heart on his sleeve left him a crown of thorns
now he believes in no rest, the stress of hunger grows
swearing at old age and death, the only fun he knows
Track Name: Why Ft. Wordsworth
Intro (Wordsworth)_
The world’s corrupt,
On the streets Police that’s high are dangerous,
Pull their guns out for no reason, aim at us,
Somehow we have got to change this.

Chorus (Wordsworth)_
The world’s corrupt, it won’t change – I don’t know Why,
The government and TV want to tell lies,
For no reason, harassing you and I,
Fix the streets – and police could at least try!
(x2)

Verse 1 (Wordsworth)_
Reason and rhyme, uplift your soul, freein’ your mind,
Change people’s lives, I give the sun reason to shine,
Out on corners, daughters, moms and fathers,
And sons with their arms and palms out for quarters,
Rags for car windows, washing with water.
Locked if you loiter, cops to extort us,
Seeing art imitate life, my daughter drew a picture at school,
My neighbour was beating his wife,
Good and bad, there’s a balance that ain’t,
Why kids see blood looking at red on a palette of paint?
Why not apples? Hearts? Roses? Good stuff?
Good luck. Hood stuff, trying to be hood tough.
The other day me and my man Krook’d was driving,
Talking about Brooklyn now we looking at sirens,
Police corrupt, the government out here got a tricky plan,
To let us go then we had to pay fifty Rand,
Try to slow you down, try to stop you with their hand,
To put you in that bus or van – it’s a city scam.
Had me upset to start my day,
I realised I’m still home though I’m far away. Yeah.

Chorus (Wordsworth)_
The world’s corrupt, it won’t change – I don’t know Why,
The government and TV want to tell lies,
For no reason, harassing you and I,
Fix the streets – and police could at least try!
(x2)

Verse 2 (Ben Sharpa)_
Ben Sharpa and Wordsworth – Street Journalists,
Of the new millennium, for the record you heard of us,
It gets darker – in a world full of hypocrites –
Cops pushing ignorance, children illegitimate,
Born out o wedlock, in a broken environment,
Growin’ up with heads hard as bedrock, and violence –
Political tyrants starve they own people out,
Current events nowadays – harder to read about,
The world’s corrupt and it’s only getting worse – why?
Reminds me of the Hegemony in my verse – Why!
Do we have a police protection service?
Of course not – cause the beast was sent to murder us!
So now the youth pack weapons in a rucksack,
Knives, guns, bats and drugs – what the fuck is that?
But I don’t worry, so long as the light shines,
We change the times through the mic as a lifeline!

Chorus (Wordsworth)_
The world’s corrupt, it won’t change – I don’t know Why,
The government and TV want to tell lies,
For no reason, harassing you and I,
Fix the streets – and police could at least try!
(x2)