A Hip Hop Story: One's Hip Hop Section One (2013)

by WilkSHAKE

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released December 13, 2013



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A Multi-Faceted Musician. WilkSHAKE as a Rock n Roller and Psychoman as a Rapper and Beat Maker.

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Track Name: Back in the Day
A sharp little shorty, watching his brother and his crew
rapping sentences, before he turned two
parents friends came over, he’d put on a show
putting his hat out after, collecting some flow
from spring showers to snow, working on his afro
daddy and momma fighting, daddy decided to go
just him and momma, and his older bro
nobody but him knows, where his older bro goes
candy canes or the corner, led to seeing the coroner
to much of one thing, talking kilo’s not quarters
pieces in order, turned into a money hoarder
fucked over one dude, messed with the wrong soldier
now there were just two, and his mama got the flue
went and got checked, there was nothing they could do
at 9 years old, he stood at her funeral
remembering the priest, with his book of roman numerals

words in his head, became too much to take
he scribbled on envelopes, concentration never breaks
word after word, then verse after verse
freestyle madness, no time to rehearse
just spit it record, mix it and press it
compress it, reset it, release it, forget it
on to the next, baking rhyme bread at ten
breaking bread with synonyms, feeling calmness in his head
he’s finally zen, not happy for pretend
hip hop music will mend, everything around the bend
junior high rapper, battling clowns with no effort
more then clever then ever, tougher than king leopards
living with his uncle, who is addicted to meth
he smelt the poison, from each exhaled breath
decided then and there, he wished no sudden death
had to make some money, to leave this decrepit mess
delivering penny savers, with his cassette player
from big pun to slayer, and devils to prayers
he wanted it all, he was hungry like wolves
twelve years old, some real talent he pulled
finally thirteen, he could apply for a job
his old dirty clothes, looking like a slob
he got his buddies sister, to typewrite a resume
1 penny per photocopy, 6 for a nickel on his way
one at sam the record man, and one at swiss chalet
didn’t have his license, but he applied for valet
he applied at the pub, even at the library
then he got a phone call, from his auntie sherry
she said hey sonny, how is my skid brother?
haven’t seen you since, well since we lost your mother
listen up kiddo, i met this new guy
he’s a little shy, but one of a kind
he likes to freestyle, and he owns a little club
down on 52nd, just north of mr. sub
its called diamond, and i told him about you
said your a little sunshine, with light to shine through
so he went up 12 blocks, and stopped in for a sandwich
payed in nickels and dimes, with was rather outlandish
this could be the shot, and next year is high school
stop to re-fuel, and to go over his rules
don’t say yes, the very first time
if they ask you to sign, they better of heard you rhyme
don’t hate or put down, just boldly criticize
when they talk to you, stare them straight in the eyes
Track Name: Diamonds
He had this image in his head, about this club diamonds
hip hop was science, this place looked real violent
he got to the step, saw two huge puerto ricans
heart started racing, could understand what they were speaking
one put his hand on his shoulder, and he quietly said
are you sherry’s nephew? cause if not we got your head
he replied yes, and he thought his was dead
the other put his hand out, and said come on in
they opened the gate, he checked his winter coat
time to roll on, and see what this is all about
so confident, in his aunties friends office
nervous though, admittedly slightly nauseous
this place seemed lawless, smells like street sausage
kind of place he’d have to, wash his hands often
sat there cautious, feeling exhausted
rules etched in stone, his plan was flawless
the door creaked open, he though it was him
a tall man said hello, the names jim
in this venue game, purely to win
if you don’t fit the bill, than I won’t let you in
you’ll need some nice shoes, nice shirts and pants
here’s a hundred bucks, consider it an advance
go get a hair cut, and clean yourself up
don’t give me attitude, when i say you jump
no rocks booze or bumps, or hanging with dirty chumps
make your money stretch, you get paid once a month
show up on time, right after school
grade nine starts soon, I’ll employ no fool
if you do what I say, and work hard for your pay
i’ll get you through school, just respect my harsh ways
big rappers spit here, no time to mess around
now go get set up, and get ready to throw down
So he didn’t say nothing, except when do i come in?
by then the door slammed, he was all alone again
he took the hundred bucks, and slipped it behind his belt
officially feeling, the coolest he’s ever felt
walked out the office, towards the entrance
felt acceptance, felt independence
not to mention, humble remembrance
hungry for presence, with a fierce vengeance
he went straight home, but that night he could’t sleep
his uncle so fucked up, he didn’t make a peep
so he decided to sing, and he found his first hook
wrote that shit down, without a second look
Passionate music, and a sick club that’s groovin’
gotta finish high school, then soon he’d be moving
the very next day, he got new pairs of pants
pair a slick kicks, and a ring for his hand
Track Name: Can I Bus?
His uncle arose and began to swear
Where you get those sonny? my pockets are bare
he staggered around, and then fell on the floor
he ran to the bathroom and locked the door
Looking in the mirror, he sees a new person
couldn't believe his eyes, what a conversion
his nerves escalated, a mental submersion
time to go to work, musical excursion
hopped on the bus, travelled across the ghetto
knees shaking, and lips like gelato
greeted at the club, by a chick in stilettos
his voice cracked high, unfortunate falsetto
she showed him in, walked him to the back room
wait right here, jim will be here soom
this back room was dark, and it has steel sink
fill with empty glasses, from last night's guzzled drinks
He sat there feeling pity, for who had to clean those
then the door opened, jim poked in his nose
he said i gotta go, now fill the sink with soap
sweep this shit up, while the glasses soak
He couldn't believe it, he was a dish pig
he furrowed his brow, what a shitty gig
he looked out the door, an nobody was there
put on his apron, and netted his hair
he said to himself screw it, I'm still getting paid
leaving his uncles, there could still be a way
so he scrubbed those cups clean, then he wiped the walls
when the back room was clean, he scrubbed the bathroom stalls
when jim came back, Jim's club looked pristine
Jim didn't remember, it ever being this clean
Jim couldn't believe, what a fresh scene
newspapers on the rack, replaced with rap magazines
he looked at Jim, and Jim stared right back
he knew his magazines, looked better on the rack
he had a sore back, he cleaned till it hurt
but he stood so tall, damn proud of his work
Jim said good work, here's $100 bucks
you're promoted jim said, now you're gonna bus
he thought to himself, what the hell is bus?
he thought to himself, CAN I BUS
This shit is a must, he's got records to bust
rhymes to destroy, and honey's to lust
every step on earth's crust, with a powerful thrust
this work is so hard, his efforts were just
He began the next night, so he tightened his belt
filling those bins, until his fingers had welts
as each bin was filled, more connections were made
16 tracks in his head, spitting them everyday
he handed out tapes, recorded by his ghetto blaster
this was the perfect gig, a young kung fu master
the nights went buy, earning tips and pay checks
a producer came in, and offered him a check
If you work with me son, you're talent will be exposed
i'll make you fly higher, than a thrill seeking crow
i heard your flow, and that shit is so dope
we'll be be hanging up lights, at 5000 people shows
so he thought to him self, i better talk to Jim
for the last two years, he'd been stuck on bins
he's not a bus boy, he's a hip hop artist
so he signed the deal, then the producer departed
so he went to see Jim, to tell him what he'd done
his first record deal, finally he'd won
jim sat him down, and he said listen son
just remember out there, know when to run
you already signed the deal, so show up at the studio
rap that shit tight, do tracks and videos
but when it's time to get paid, make sure you get your way
cause criminals out there, will screw you all the way
Track Name: Industry Devils
He woke up that morning, the summer air was so fresh
his first recording session, hopped on the bust and headed west
these lyrics written down, he edited for two years
they exposed his soul, and exposed his fear
rapping every day, for five days straight
the producer and him, relationship was great
he trusted this man, he said son you're doing great
just rap out your soul, and we'll make a sick tape
there are these new things, they are called CD's
he had no idea, what did the producer mean?
he was willing to risk, when the pressed his first record
his album was dope, lyrics were peppered
unimaginable skill, lit up the producers eyes
so he drafted the contract, he said thought those tracks are mine
then he crossed the tee's, like satanic crosses
played the nice guy, producer has evil bosses
he killed it today, he's a young hip hop giant
just keeping things chill, innocent and compliant
on his music reliant, so he's never defiant
signed the contract, unaware he's blindsided
the album dispersed, and people loved his first verse
how his momma and brother, ended up in dead a hearse
about how he'd moved in, with his junky uncle
about although urban, he'd lived in a jungle
sold thousands of copies, and it was time to get paid
20 000 bucks after the millions the label made?
filled with immature rage, he grabbed table leg
smashed the producers skull, and concussed his brain
taken to the ground, by the producers security
he snapped and lost it, no more transparency
the police rushed in and threw him in the car
just turned 18, 6 months behind bars
In jail he had time, to whittle his craft
time to reminisce, of mistakes made in the past
when he lined up for lunch, he was formulating rhymes
one hour in the yard, getting through his time
3 months went by, and didn't have a scratch
supremacist took hold of em, then he felt the rash
two teeth knocked out, 3 inch gash on his forehead
bloody lip cracked rib, his scleras bright red
black eyes and skinned knuckles, from his honourable rebuttal
ruptured spline fractured nose, the heavy beating wasn't subtle
evident scars, from life behind bars
he keeps to himself, stays away from the yard
his last three months, were infinitely endless
he thought it'd be easy, like his musical ascendance
his craft became simple, but his life became reckless
he never going back, the circumstances horrendous