Blow the Fuck Up But Stay Humble

by More Or Les

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Cuppa 03:31
VERSE ONE: Hard tracks with no n-word or gun talk? You're not Black or just censor the fun parts. Do not laugh - I'm a mensch worth a hun spot times ten k. Sense 8 - I feel your thoughts: “rappers should get on, get wreck, get gone” - instead it's Orphan Black in TO - just some prissy clones. Informal stats reveal y'schtick of "rich" be wrong. Hurry up and get on that Kick Starter kick to get your bones right like chiro'. Money won't decide yo' worth, but I work, so what the fuck do I know? Tryin' to make a jam that'll shake up your spinal, instead I write a rap about comic books and phyllo pastry. Hate me? That's a world that I don't really know 'cause I don't go on YouTube to find your Racist comments to read. Check your chi, Chuck E Cheese. I'm not a player, I just eat. Don't like the flavour of mesquite, then why you grillin'? Rappers play the villain - like children, use anger to hide their feelings. Unwilling to let the skill speak for itself, ditch the homophobia. Obia from Guyana raise the shit up like Sokovia! CHORUS: Use words for nerds, and herbs suffer, along wit' my career But clear, I'm no sucka. If you appreciate my pain, "whattup!" 'Cause I know what I say is not everyone's cuppa. It's plain my lane is not what the kids would call "gangsta". Thanks to my mother. But if you like my shit, then I love ya', 'cause I know what I make is not everyone's cuppa VERSE TWO: I'm different. Yeah, I'm different - I don't jock trends or do coke. The inference: Rap's a marathon, a bunch a y'all just wind sprint. On tracks - you running hard, but I don't spot the shin splints - Just fables. No cradles - I don't rock for infants. Can't this be fun and not be simplistic? It's complicated. Like GPS, rappers plot the safest root to get loot, the truth's that they're not Bill Gates wit' this rap shit. Just plastic. My Voltron's die cast metal with the missiles spring loaded that fly fast. Settled on a weapon: this vocal. Dissed locals - oops! I mean, I used to get dissed by locals who tried rap for three years, then quit. Guess they got their dick wet enough to give up. Live up to my own expectations is this set of mind. Like poopin' Mickie Dees, yo, my shit gets refined. Job title is “emcee” - hustlas just don’t apply! CHORUS
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Fake Accent 02:06
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credits

released November 25, 2016

All song lyrics written by More Or Les except where otherwise noted.
© ℗ 2016 Leslie Seaforth. (SOCAN)

All song credits can be found listed with each song.

Mixed by Ted "Measuring Man” Onyszczak
Mastered by Andy Krehm for Silverbirch Productions
Executive Producer: More Or Les
Associate Producer: Ted "Measuring Man” Onyszczak

Cover Art by Kagan McLeod - http://www.kaganmcleod.com
Art Design & Layout by Ghettosocks
Photos by Peter Project

@BruchOrLes
@HandSoloRecords

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Hand'Solo Records Toronto

Operating out of Toronto, Canada since 1996, Hand'Solo Records is devoted to releasing quality hip hop that is creative, clever and often experimental. Early releases, now out of print, include Buck 65, Sixtoo, Moka Only, and others. Currently home to Ultra Magnus & DJ SLAM!, The Mighty Rhino, The Dirty Sample, Touch, Tachichi, Primordial Emcee, royceBIRTH, 51nine02, More Or Les and Backburner. ... more

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