Call Me Calvin, The Alchemist

Anything but forward is a waste of time.

Here's some stuff about me.

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Autobots fighting Megatron

motoroboto:

Astronautalis - Do You Believe in Life After Thugs?

None of our father’s ever followed orders Just clever Rebels sin causes
Cruising in Continentals and Monte Carlos
They autotune the artist Turning all the hardest to the harnessed
Shots in the air to Cher Thanks for what you taught us
Color me Canseco The A-hole you love to hate, dude
Burning all these BALCO bitches And bearing the Bonds of they truth
I just follow what the fuck my father just taught us
Best be honest Or kid, your keester will catch a palm I fucking promise
Spawned from the stock that’s strongest You can doubt me Thomas
Fell in love with gangster rap Like every other cracker on it
Bite a bit from Big L Fuck it, that’s what Jay-Z wanted
Bloggers will go Britney for Lady Gaga Mashed up with Nirvana
But we heart this You can see it on the twitter feed
Everybody following the same path like centipede feet
So what the fuck that means?
I don’t fucking know But I traded in your indie friends and returned for the radio
The lazy flow Patented by money grubbing Murda Ma$e
Turned crazy slow Once the nation tasted Texas’ purple tapes
And then they go mimicking the Midwest Rhymefest coached Kanye
Now everybody needs love Like Mr. Smith comma James
I’m as guilty as the next pair of fucking skinny jeans
Gave up on the indie rap Just to hear some pretty things
Y’all ain’t never sold out
Y’all just wrote boring songs
Promised on my first shit I wanna write some sing-a-longs
Yup! So, sing a long to this bitch While I spit my nerdy verses Over top of the hits
I love the gangsters with guns But that ain’t what I am
Here’s a little tip of the cap To the cap-peeling kids
Here’s a little bit of a dap To fist-bumping terrorists
You can hate the shape of my tracks Or diss the way I spit
But hey This is exactly who I am An indie artsy fuck Who raps better than your friends


I came in the game And y’all mocked the way my pants fit
Then traded your cargos in for skinny jeans Damn quick
Face it, fat ass You’re waist is way too wide for 510s, prick
Plus the knees are full of holes From slobbering Sage Francis
We hated rappers that were all up on some gang shit
Now we all ignore the “artists” So we can watch Wayne spit
Cause innovators are famous And Cage is busy Blowing Xaneys backstage bitch
A hypocrite up in the house now Jacked a beat to speak a piece
About how unique my art sounds I know, y’all The irony will never wash off
Grown ass man, buddy I ain’t scared of truth, dog
Spit it this way To speak it in your language, fam
Cause rappers miss the subtle stuff Like reading braille with bandaged hands
Set your targets, homies If you want to diss back
But if you diss You just admit that everything I spit is fact
I used to fucking love rap But now the music’s boring
Any dummy with money can make puns Make new recordings
If this song makes you mad Then that should just raise questions
Guilty consciences is what makes you assholes aggressive
Baby, it’s a farce, The indie artsy fable, Warner owns us all, Google ADA Label
But this is not a diss song, This is an op-ed piece
Prove my valid points wrong And I’ll eat my fucking bed sheets