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Big Ups From Carbondale

from by Louis Mackey & Thirtyseven

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lyrics

(Thirtyseven)
we keep it too loud to fucking pretend
there’s any way to safely fake a conversation with your dumb as shit friends
watch it and weep...yeah, babe, philosophy’s deep
it’s a deep dish of cheez whip and cheap nachos to ME
thanks for snack, I love the way your faces react
like nope, that was not joke he ain’t taking it back
fuck this crowd, that’s right, you love me now
so jump around get drunk and loud let’s shut shit down

(Louis Mackey)
the times I watched from afar with the shame
of how I let this clown who rhymes out-market my name
Now I’m dumpin’ shots down the pipe at the bar in my brain
punished by the sound of a white tard barking it’s name
these excuses running back that can be made in the stead
of the cold fucking fact that I just laid in my bed, yes
from the night before, surprised my brain isn’t dead
roll over, stone sober, face to face the ex

(Thirtyseven)
I’ve seen a lot of ladies throw drinks in his face
she said something something, strode quickly away
came back an hour later, wrote her digits and name
give it a day, and she’s going Code Pink at his place

(Louis Mackey)
Not exactly politically correct when I consider what is said
I aim for the hearts and Thirtyseven hits em in their head
writtens in the flesh, next up is the slick magician’s set
and isn’t a success unless we’re getting in her bed

(Thirtyseven)
everybody wants a Matt Damon moment with Lou
when you stare at him with that face, I know that it’s true
you just wanna argue backstage, the show is a ruse
for a closet homophobe to make his opening moves

(Louis Mackey)
think that it’s strange how I shut off when you bitch and complain?
Like dude that’s cool but I’ve got no interest today
another rap tool, who asks you if his mixes were straight
I’m like, “Fuck it, just quit”... simple and plain
the kid was so stricken with rage i got hit in the face
the shit i’d pay to never suffer another shitty refrain
sloppy and wack, and then they tactically fail
like they’re not a copy of an act on a national scale

(Thirtyseven)
photocopies...clones with stoner hobbies
short bus rappers, future frozen bodies
you know the type, grade school graduate overbite
and anywhere you go tonight there’s two at every open mic
don’t know how to hold a mic, rapping since the 80s, though
you’re dumb and lazy, bro, it’s a shame that you get paid for shows
….the fact you got fans is a problem to me
cuz chances are, those random tards probably breed
(seven three thirty thirty dirty birdy word up)
y’all are turd polishers, you aim for the charts
you’re not artist, you’re a target and replaceable part
yeah, welcome to the industry, kid, something vicious
jungle fitness, don’t hustle gimmicks, struggle different

credits

from No Humans Allowed, released May 5, 2011

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