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ProtoStar

from Ditch Effort by CASTLE

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lyrics

Welcome to the rabbit hole, Alice.
You might Frank there, devising his escape plan.
Standing his ground 'till the soles of his feet callous.
With hopes to turn his drab little castle into a palace.
So he brings them cans of Whoop Ass! by the pallets.
And uses the skulls of emcees as a chalice.
Rappers better take their style home and polish it.
I do more than paint pictures, I'm a graphic novelist.
Frank Miller with it. Matter of fact, I'm Alan Moore with it.
But it doesn't guarantee me more spinach.
Yeah, the flow is Mel Gibson, and gets me good with critics.
And yeah, the beats bring the ruckus like a noisy tenant.
And yeah, I leave the mike smokin' any time I'm finished.
But I can't find a way to pay my bills with it.
My brother told me that this music stuff was kind of rough.
And that it was for the birds, and frankly, I ain't fly enough.
Who am I, Icarus? My flight is limitless.
From the flow, to the rhymes, to the penmanship.
My tongue is the brush Picasso painted pictures with.
Bob Marley used my rhyme book to roll his spliffies with.
My mama raised a fool.
I wish I had this confidence when I was still in school
I could've been graduated. Got myself a little job.
Kept my little girlfriend, and things would have been cool.
So now every Thanksgiving I got people talking to me like,
“Frank, about your life, what you gonna do?”
Well, I'm a stay grindin' like a WoW player.
'cause there's opportunities for me out thayur.
If I limit myself to music, it damned foolish.
I ain't just after fans, I'm tryin' to start a movement.
I know it's typical to say my skill outer space.
But to feel me, you'll probably need you some outer taste.
Frank the Planet Eater. You think you're hurtin' this?
Somebody probably got your ass gassed like Uranus.
Rappers are Gas Giants.
And their entourage hang like satellites tellin' them that they're the flyest.
But the crowd got their pajamas on.
You're John Travolta in Grease, I'm John Travolta in Phenomenon.
Can't eat until Son is down like Ramadan.
People hate without knowing me, Holy Qur'an.
Luck is a cruel mistress.
But I'm still determined to find her and give 'er the business.
She'll be thinkin' I invented sex when I'm finished.
I get 'er to my place?
It's gonna get uglier Trey Songz's singin' face.
Smash like your girl is mad, throwin' dinner plates.
To roll in my shoes, you gonna need some bigger skates.
To run with my crew, you gonna need a quicker pace.
To do what I do, you're gonna need some bigger space.
Homie, I'm a G.
And I'm a pump crack until the masses O.D.
I know my haters hearin' this is thinkin', “Oh, please!”
But I keep it cooler than the suit on Mr. Freeze.

credits

from Ditch Effort, released May 19, 2011

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CASTLE Greensboro, North Carolina

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