1. |
Intro
01:30
|
|||
2. |
Shawn Kemp
06:36
|
|||
Yeah.
(Sample: I like it.)
V1:
Nice ass, bright blast, mic track killa/
Overbite abstract white Mac Miller/
Big Bang bazooka tooth inspired propellers/
Hover ground, let me touch down, ain’t none reala/
Dr. Reas in the lab if unfamiliar with my alias/
I’m about to construct flows that fuck up your whole staseis/
I’ve been outer spacin’, innovatin’ in the basement/
The mic god’s back screamin’ muthafuck an atheist/
Please what’s the word? What’s the buzzfeed wikipeed?/
Scan Reas return runnin’ tracks like some Nike cleats/
Spike Lee, He Got Game that should be a felony/
Half my friends locked up half they life, what you tellin’ me?/
Bill Bellamy, the way I cater out the jamz/
And I can show you How To Be A Player, sprayin’ with my fam/
Come test, blood is thicker than your Kool-Aid/
I wish a muthafucka would stunt on me like they Super Dave/
Grind Mode! For you wacks that don’t know better/
I’m feelin’ home sweet home like it’s Indiana/
O Mylanta, Scan’s the man causin’ damage ya area?/
While Hannah Montana’s twerkin’ ya wack ass sterea/
I be on that variance, carry beats with the arrogance/
Like I came out of Cambridge, drinkin’, lightin’ up cannabis/
Just a lil’ puff pass ‘fore my beat drop/
Reas ‘bout to feast on you weaks, he’s a beast, stop/
But I can’t really, even if I wanted to/
I’m from the other school, fuck the icons you runnin’ too/
Duck and move, it’s a battle, plottin’ my stations/
Elated just to have the opportunity to create this/
Space opera, I drop proper/
Science and knowledge combined with my third eye optics/
A prophet to rock shit, obnoxious, I’m on/
Turnt up like my finger when you hate on my song/
Aww shit, I’m all in my zone, fire alarm/
Beats been inflamin’ up, but I’m like fuck cortisone/
I spray showers for hours, like Shawn Kemp I reign/
My slight lisp is pimp shit, aaaa, I must say/
To all you Limp Bizkits, miss me again/
I swear I’m goin’ Kendrick, this game is Sherane/
Play a game of charades where I’m from, get done/
Ass beat, McKinnie Street, south Fort Wayne (Raaa)/
MCs rhymes wack more than a lil bit/
I’m on my trill Kill Bill ill real shit/
Plus you’re my meal tick, eatin’ all ya snack raps/
Mickey D’s MCs please let the blunt pass/
While I’m takin’ um higher/
Like Sly and the Family at Mile High, Denver, Gettin’ stoned on some fire/
While I’m takin’ um higher/
Like Sly and the Family at Mile High, Denver, Gettin’ stoned on some fire.
Bridge 1:
Get high (3X)
Expand your mind/
3, 2, 1, Go.
V2:
Fort Wayne prodigy, obviously it’s gotta be that/
That S-C-A-N-R-E-Aye, son, verbal flare anomaly/
Product of that chronic, poppin’ off that X-otic/
Demonic, proper spit prominence, opposite of your phonics/
Ocarina of time, operate on a rhyme/
In the same way that I used to, déjà vu to my prime/
Feelin’ 30 years younger, dirty, the ground still under/
So why would I waste time hungry with all you MCs to plunder?/
I’m back in this motherfucker, backpackers get to dumpin’-/
Your contents, smell sweet, and my speech is feelin’ funky/
Maggot Brain on the mind, exacerbate how I shine/
With a massive intake of grind, it’s like acid upon your eyes/
Ya bastards, I handle mines, I’m a problem that can’t be dealt with/
‘Specially when I’m selfish, feelin’ myself with felt tips/
Tag up that 2-6-0, but A-T-X where I dwell/
An Angel of Death in Texas, my technique send you to hell, let’s go.
Bridge 2:
Let’s go (3X).
V3:
What you get with a Master’s degree?/
I got some noodles to make, I got some noodles to make/
I got some muthafuckin’ Mom’s Spaghetti in my pocket/
Got a muthafuckin’ mop and a bucket, muafucka/
What you get with a Master’s degree?/
I got American dream, I got some dishes to do/
I got some dishes to do, I got some dishes to do/
I got some issues with some liquor and some chicken to grill/
I got some Faulkner with some guilt and some noodles to cook/
A new girl Sallie May and she ready to fuck/
And that’s cool dad, that’s cool dad, that’s Eric Clapton cool dad/
That’s Styx and Steely Dan, pops/
That’s cool dad, that’s cool dad/
That’s like greek girls at No Co/
That’s like white poems at Starbucks/
That’s really fuckin’ cool, George/
That’s really fuckin’ cool, Paul/
That’s really fuckin’ cool, Craig/
That’s cool, Craig, those aviators/
Bridge 3 (into sample):
Lost, loss (repeatedly)
|
||||
3. |
Yesterday
02:04
|
|||
V1:
My friend’s father mentioned that I was much older than he would expected/
I guess that this party life carried on longer than I would accepted/
Memories faded and bridges I’ve burnt down have made it apparent/
Yesterday’s gone but sometimes I just wish that somehow I was near it/
They say it’s unhealthy, I’m stuck in the studio drinkin’ again/
A pad and a pen, a 5th of the Hen, 2 sheets to the wind/
The glory days been, I dream of a win, I try to grab something impressive to mend/
The purpose of everything I done put in but then I just medicate myself again/
I hope that your husband and children and home incessantly happy/
I hope that your dog and picket fence life are fully intact and/
I’m nothing but peace as I pick the pieces for peace of my mind/
I need a new hobby to release these uneasy demons of mine/
I know that it’s selfish, feel like the world should owe what I lost/
And my life is better than those who have paid a more severe cost/
I’m coming to grips with the fact that I have to get back to my roots/
But I understand yesterday’s lost and there’s nothing now that I can do.
|
||||
4. |
Let Them Eat Cake
04:40
|
|||
Intro:
Yeah, this one gonna make ‘um mad. You know? But it’s cool.
If they want it, they can get it, I ain’t trippin’, muthafucka I’ma spit mine/
Been a few years but I do this and it’s feelin like my prime.
V1:
Bring ya hardcore, bring ya A & R, bring ya Mid-West, bring ya caniba/
Bring ya cocaine, bring ya nosebleed, bring ya whole crew, bring ya whole team/
While I feast out on a dope beat, getting no sleep, a devout freak/
To the bass drum to expose speech, can’t hold me, this is all me/
This is all Scan on the Tascam, this is Danny Tan in a bandan’/
In a Grand Am, hittin’ grand slams, ridin’ kicks like he was Van Dam/
On leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaan like a kickstand/
But I still roll like an avalanche when I’m on flows and I’m damagin’/
See the picture like a cameraman, 3-D MC Cameron/
But I ain’t no fuckin Avatar, I’m a rock star with a molotov/
On top of Mars in a parked car with some Pop-Tarts and some caviar/
Got a cock large and it drop hard when it shake earth off the Richter/
Is that patriarch if I say cock in a Maybach, bumpin’ Iggy Pac?/
Got the game on lock and my sprays hot, this is payback for you hataz/
Meet ya maker, take a paycut, better wake up, cause the stakes up/
It’s outrageous how amazing when I drop cake in ya area.
Chorus
V2:
Can’t change who in the band or the constructs of a woman/
Can’t bend for your rep politics, I can only do what my art is/
I can try my best to address the oppressed aspects, I’m a feminist/
You don’t think so, you can blog about it, in ya grad class, you can talk about it/
Say I’m masculine and I’m militant, but hegemony what we up against/
But I guess I just accessorize, I guess I just epitomize/
Chauvinism, this is all a guise, I’m a racist and I vilify/
Cool mom just genocide, (just get over it!)/
Take ya liberals and your progress and your suburbs and your nonsense/
Take your privilege and your lake house and jump off of my dick/
I expect racism when I read Jezebel/
I’m goin’ to Texas, white girl, you can go to hell/
AKA West Camp, your accent so California/
Sorry bout the homeless cat that was jackin’ off in the foyer/
These streets really need cleaned up and hell hath no fury/
Than a white girl in a Tahoe, tryin’ to be Giuliani.
Chorus and Interlude:
Aaaaaa your lyrics are just really aggressive, okay. I just, uhh, the whole, uhh, militarization (well I’ma tell you like this) of the wardrobe and the lyrics I just don’t know (You don’t get the dopio, you don’t get the tres leches, you get the fuckin’… you get the fuckin’ carrot cake. And that’s not phallic either. Nobody likes carrot cake, it’s just shitty.)
V3:
I would rather say somethin’ than nothin’/
‘Cause sometimes the silence inhuman, it’s violent and abusive/
How can PT tokenize when majority minority?/
I guess that half just passed in your fucked reality/
Gotta keep goin’, gotta keep flowin’, gotta disregard what they hatin’ fo’/
‘Cause as soon as justice come around, there’s an academic tryna’ shut it down/
As cohesive decreases, you can boost up your thesis/
Stick to your safe topics, I’ma give you cake options/
I’m not a white savior, my views will not vanish/
Call me ego maniac, society got me banished/
How is this for me, muafucka, how is this for me?/
Un-American liberal fuck with a college degree/
Vocal on Facebook to these racists who adjacent/
To the grad kids who ain’t sayin’ shit, they complacent with their placement/
In the nation with their tenure track, read and write off the oppressed back/
Their career path use resistance to their own advance, what’s worse than that?
Outro:
What’s worse than that indeed. They must… they must need that… they must want that… and willing to do anything for that… aaa… Yah.
|
||||
5. |
PastaMania (Interlude)
01:42
|
|||
6. |
Fort 'Caine of Yore
02:54
|
|||
wake up round 8, gotta lil baked/
on a mission for the cake as I begin my day/
rollie stayin low, crashin' at the place/
gatherin' composure for the shit about to break/
few days ago, cats all up at his crib/
gotta protect his, gotta family to defend/
now he at my A-P-T on a hit/
ski masks on the coffee table with the clips/
my bottom bitch yellin, "you want our kids to live like this"/
his dirt, fuck it, besides i had to flip/
to the south side stompin' ground, 1/4th pound cop/
petty weed dealer transport Jordan box/
rollin' that Mercury Sable to the sunset/
spreadin' that wealth on some bottles and some dumb shit/
stop by mom's spot, south Lafayette/
for barbeque chicken and a quick cigarette/
her washed up boyfriend tell me how to hustle/
posin' OG as he exploits all her trust and/
that's about the time that the jakes rolled through/
moms look at me like, "what the fuck you do?"/
but it wasn't me, it was the neighbors on some standard/
'what the fuck you see in that house that's abandoned?'/
world war two models, rust belt land of/
that's about the time I rolled out, rolled a gram up/
bumpin Lil Boosie 'Set It Off' was the anthem/
swooped up Joe Biggs, red off the Annie/
yeah! we both kind of tipsy/
pick up trashy girls like we work for the city/
Nino with some hos up at O's place/
Kool Kieth wylin out, Nick Cannon on his waist/
and that white girl up on my face/
while my ethics try to keep the pace/
Fort 'Caine, the street lights deceptive/
it can be a town or a city that's possessive/
rolled back to the south side for the after/
party with the cognac, boombox blastin'/
Blackalicious and electricity in the air/
Paco's off tequila, Chris was upstairs/
I was off a vicodin 'bout to pass out/
choppin' up with Pops by the living room couch/
rattle by the gate and confusion on the face/
of everyone who had that gat up in they face/
that's when we got robbed and gun's popped at Chris mom/
and that was the first time that I saw someone shot/
bastard child, understand this/
H-double-O- D was the anthem/
crazy, nine years to this day/
then I went to college and I'm white so it all changed.
(pasta commercial)
|
||||
7. |
Opus of the Pinnacle
02:16
|
|||
Intro:
United States of Amerikkka (yeah) spelled with 3 k’s like O'Shea all day.
V1:
They see us comin’, we ain’t gon’ stop/
Spittin’ revolution 33’s pop/
A country founded on revolution when the tea drop/
But they offended when my muthafuckin’ beat drop/
Nationalism, their logic is win and they win so they right and they good/
Burnin’ the globe, exploitin’ all labor, settin’ up standards of whiteness with blood/
Private school kid, private school kid, I’m privileged, I’m white, I noticed I should/
Recognize benefits ‘forded myself while growin’ up Fort Wayne down in the hood/
That’s how I fathom, that’s how I look through bullshit society place in my face/
Oppression supremacy living reality order of gender, sex, partner, and race/
Let me keep pace, let me debase bigots existing all up in my face/
Call me a liberal, fuck all you labels ‘cause radical reform I spit with the bass/
U.S. democracy, life and your liberty owned by these companies living off you/
Capitalism through globalization is always defended by World War 2/
Raise up your fist, kill the disease, you serve the elite, don’t die your knees/
You think it’s a joke, you are complacent, modern day Rome, this is your nation/
Money and prison and oil and drugs, war on the homeless, war on Islam/
Ferguson, Palestine, border patrol, pledge your allegiance unto their control/
Conspiracy theory all up in your eyes, blood on your hands and it’s genocide/
Rhymes terrorize, we buildin’ on up, Fight the Power, I’m ridin’ like Chuck/
Burnt many bridges, buildin’ up new ones, 3rd eye rise, see through the blueprint/
This is my new shit, republic nuisance, questioning everything I saw and grew with/
Take it so seriously, not just the music, words of my life, I’m here to prove it/
Poetry deadly, I study and use it, bonus if you can just feel it and groove it.
(The movement! Yeah. Yeah.)
Outro:
I’m more real than I ever been/
From the fetus to the growth to the reverend/
This the opus of my pinnacle I’m goin’ in/
They call me liberal fuck, buy Amerikkkan/
Buy Amerikkkan, Buy Amerikkkan/
D.C. R*******, buy your Grand Cherokees straight American/
Burn your crosses in their yard never let ‘um in/
kill yourself with your own fuckin’ arrogance.
|
||||
8. |
I Got It
02:30
|
|||
(Sample: Revenge!)
Best served cold.
(Sample: Revenge!)
V1:
I’m back up in the game flossin’ upon rock guitars/
Shufflin’ sample on bridges like I was stackin’ cards/
Tag immaculate verse while y’all just poppin’ off/
This punk rock hip hop, cue my applause (Hit It!)/
They tried to tell me that game just can’t be the same anymore/
That’s when I jump in the lab and attack with my vocals cords/
That’s when I construct new beats while I heat up microphones/
This what I tell um when I’m Andrew Luck and the pressure on.
Chorus:
I got it, I got it, godamit I got it.
I got it , I got it, godamit I got it.
Whoooaaaa… Reason, that boy.
V2:
Tread lightly when you speak to the almighty god/
Gotta complex ‘cause my rhymes ascend and beats are hot/
With hell’s fire, my microphone wire stay supreme/
Establish order when I step on the scene like Constantine/
The devil went down to Georgia but I met up with Arab Samurai in Buda/
And we dirty south livin’ but we A-T-Xin’, Weird City muafucka, gotta stay connected/
‘Cause it’s Mid-West reppin’ when I’m claimin’ mine, I-N-D-I-A-N-A, gotta stay on the grind (why!?)/
Nap City, Gary to F Dub now, B-town best believe that I stay down.
Chorus
V3:
Set up shop again, the ATX my planned domain/
Drought season so be careful with that man propane/
Scandocious, the Gemini and Cerebral Veign/
I Rock the Bells real L-L-A-C-D-C profane/
Almost said fuck the game, almost tried to go my way/
But the food chain wanted me secure the reign, now I’m on a campaign tryn’a bang ya brain/
I’m another lane, man, spits inhumane, presidential in the plane, that’s Barack Hussein/
Gotta spectrum of sprays like Crayola Crayons, flood shit non-stop like a sewer main.
Chorus X2
|
||||
9. |
||||
10. |
||||
11. |
||||
Intro:
It’s just like, fuckin, it’s fuckin’ paradise, you know? It’s like bein’ on vacation all year ‘round. It’s a party. It’s a party life. Yeah.
V1:
Hey! We all flew here just to celebrate/
drinkin’ in condos, choppin’ it up, let’s innovate/
white tux, bright sun, white shoes/
white smiles, white skin, it’s all cool/
what up, bro? I see you wearin’ your button down/
and that baseball cap backwards, Congress at sundown/
and we goin’ down, you know we goin’ up/
to south side of town, real estate’s blowin’ up/
it was a struggle at first but hey we pulled together/
that ATX lifestyle and that good weather/
that Whole Foods health life got me feelin’ fly/
I’m by Dorito’s Jacked Stage here at SX/
Weird City, we’re so weird, we’re so fuckin’ weird/
You really do feel a buzz off that craft beer/
What up, Matt? What up, Todd? What up, Bart?/
Real crackers makin’ money from the fuckin’ start.
Chorus:
All these tears I cried/
Lord, I almost died/
‘til I learnt this city gentrified (no way)/
all these tears I cried/
swear I almost died/
‘fore I learnt this city gentrified (no way).
V2:
Coffee houses, 6th street like (what up, bro?)/
white chic next to me like (fuck yeah)/
Hook ‘em with the Longhorns like (what up, bro?)/
look at everyone else like (fuck ya)/
believe me I’m on that new kinda level/
rowin’ Lady Bird Lake, I swear that this could last forever/
hipsters and the film parties, rock bands and the college kids/
god damn, it’s like I’m a colonist/
now who the ballin’est, I made the game simple/
moved out the southside ‘cause it’s still a lil ghetto/
kinda ratchet and other code words/
but that’s depressing, let’s have a toast for/
the new life we made, we really came up/
it’s only natural that they should blame us/
for raising cost and living situation/
aww fuck it man, I got a test to make up.
Chorus
V3:
Leave me alone when I’m walkin’ down the boulevard/
I ain’t got no change, just a Chase credit card/
and actually I feel you homie ‘cause I got it hard/
you know how it is (pshh) with college (you know what I'm talkin' 'bout)/
I’m part of the bigger problem now that I live here/
wish there was a way I could make you all aware/
of impunity and special immunity/
where there’s a market, there’s a way to uproot communities.
Chorus
|
||||
12. |
||||
13. |
||||
14. |
Mom's Spaghetti
03:39
|
|||
15. |
||||
16. |
Alcoholic
04:14
|
|||
17. |
Elvis Minstrel
03:16
|
|||
18. |
||||
19. |
||||
20. |
Empire of Illusion
04:22
|
|||
21. |
Amerikkkan Sniper
08:51
|
|||
22. |
Scan Reason Austin, Texas
Originally from Fort Wayne, Indiana; Scan Reason moved to Austin, Texas in 2012. He is an MC and Producer for HiFly Records.
hiflyrecords.bandcamp.com
Streaming and Download help
If you like Scan Reason, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp