by Ursa Major

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I am dropping bombs like the blitzkrieg.
Before I tip the axis, let me practice
I guarantee you'll Nazi (not see)
Me coming! Never fronting, only really say what I'm becoming, loving nothing, i'm a "something" self-confronting.
Tryna build my self up to be a better man
but all these women on my skin make me question if I can.
Offers and temptations from the devil,
swallowing a bottle till its hollow's not helpful.
My life is a movie played out in advance.
Its getting harder to keep my posture standing in my stance.
Two left feet in this dance and I might just bow out the next time I get the chance.
I can think like that! I keep pushing. Persistence and determination I keep gushing.
The heat is filling up the kitchen, I keep cooking,
skin tougher than ever yet still softer than pudding.
So I try to make these bars sound harder than they really are.
I keep 'em locked up away and pickled in a jar until they are ready to be ingested by the public.
Till then I'm still publishing this rubbish to fill a budget.

So I go to my chapel of dreams and make some prayers....
"Dear God, let me keep my ability of being a rhyme sayer.
Don't let paper become the mayor no matter how bad I wanna be inside your CD player."

The more I stress this out, the harder that it gets.
People banking on me failing, prollly placing major bets.
Why do I have this passion? What is satisfaction?
Constantly upset, the more I let it heal, the deeper it infects.
I get steaming heated sheering my hair out till its a mohawk.
I'm freaking over the reason i got steam I need to blow off.
Peeps be creeping on my steelo feeding me to show off
while I'm reaching for the dream, the only thing I even know of!

I'll take every single word, work and reword it
till I'm finished with a project worthy, make it picture perfect.
Looking berserk with my smirk, waiting for my turn to hit that bourbon
with rhymes so sharp these metaphors will leave you hurting,
Its curtains like hamlet how I'm handing blood and thunder.
I hand cannon blast 'em like I'm Mega Man's brother.
It ain't random how you're standing, financially you're covered.
We don't gamble for our fans, we're charging bare minimum covers.
It ain't about the fame, no, its about the fans.
You can't rush greatness, I'm counting grains of sand.
You gotta have patience, we give you what we can.
Our songs are like a callus, our future's in your hands.

My pen game exceeds expectations!
Corporate success breeds on false sensations.
I want ya'll to see through the translation
that contaminant cooperation is bad communication!
I can feel it! Can you hear it? On the verge of mass success.
Don't fear it if you're near it, no need to cause you stress.
We're engaged to this life, we're married more or less.
You're invited to the wedding baby, wear your favorite dress!


released February 22, 2015
Recorded @ Shock City Studios
Recording & Mixing by Scott Pinkston
Mastered by Sean Pierce
Cover Art by Jacob Shaw



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