Been a Long Year

by Wombaticus Rex

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02:32

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released April 1, 2013

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Wombaticus Rex Vermont

Northeast Kingdom. We rap.

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Track Name: Been a Long Year
It's the head scratching, nose pickin' red dragon flows kickin' ass
I twist the facts until belief systems crack, switch it back
and leave the physics lab like nothing happened
that cocky dude walking through the rubble laughing
cuz I been burned enough to learn to trust my gut reactions
...so if my brain is just connections and arrangements of electric
interfaces and reflections with entanglements and resonance
and changes in the messages updated every second with
the latest in intelligence, then basically your measurements ain't shit....
....shazam, I just made your claims irrelevant
I'm the walking, talking illustrated guide to killing space and time
and how to train your mind to recognize the danger signs
so watch and listen, I'm broadcast live in vodka vision
and change my job description 'till I got no competition, dig it
I'm talking simple shit: just eating a sandwich
falling asleep in a hammock and not even needing pajamas
that's the discipline, thinking faster than the average citizen
I got a guilty conscience but I mastered acting innocent
I vomit comic books, bloody noses, blowing ritalin
with people on the street and screaming at Jehovah's witnesses
so oblivious that I've been known to quote Leviticus
outside your local liqour store, holding stolen Guinnesses
prone to wickedness, but still keep my flow ridiculous
and stoners dig this shit because I spit with coded images
every working day is just a perfect waste of precious life
bleeding out your dreams beneath these weak flourescent lights
I trained this little chimp....now he's been elected twice
sacred language, if you get this mic, bless it right

sometimes there's no explaining all this weight in my chest
pen to paper like a razor to flesh, mistakes and regrets
it's all about safety, respect and breakable necks
as real as breathing and as sacred as sex
cipher complete, wordsound slicing the beat
cuz the archetypes change but the cycle repeats
noble born, dreaming of a world with open doors
the resurrected Wombat King with broken horns
lock with the beat, watch your chains drop to my feet
it's the sideways escape plan that shocked the police
criminal scams, the psylocybin ritual dance
with invisible hands tickling my pineal glands
crazy intense....information re-arranged in my head
remembering the taste of her flesh, naked in bed
I wrote this shit after I left for a month, she gets in the blood
genetics and molecular love
after all the opening scence and awkward circumstances
from the nervous glances to the first advances
I tried doing love songs, the lesson I learned
is that you can't do it justics when you dress it it words
so change channels and watch as young lovers become
their own father and daugher <chhhk> mother and son
cipher complete, the wordsound slicing the beat
cuz the archetypes change but the cycle repeats
Track Name: The Deal
I will not provide a pre-packaged product for you
I'm quality food, so mouth shut, shallow and chew
speaking in tongues. I came to shower people with love
like, you're not breathing enough, and that's the reason you suck
some cats can't follow me past the first line
too deep that ant colony cattle herd mind
I laugh it up, no matter what's happening, I'm fine
just glad to be alive and looking fabulously fly
rode home on a bike, flat broke every night
focused, precise, and in total control of my life
and you're a chump to me, just company property rap
I'm watching my back, burn bridges at the drop of a hat
ripping mics and living like Jesus for now
so if you see me in town, let me sleep on your couch, really
am-bivalent about the thought of fans listening
and watching my hands scribbling contraband images
yes, you are now in tune with the sound of poverty
album quality, straight to underground economy
you heard about the thirtyseven but you never witnessed it
human television with depth and vivid images
what's the gameplan? watch my ego do a faceplant
a changed man, used to have a basic cable brainpan
what you got, dude? nothing but a rhyme and a hot loop
and a promise you can stop it the second it's not true

now you rappers make it hard to believe in your music
I hear what you're saying, the problem is I see what you're doing
now if I bless the beat, best believe I spoke it honestly
because I know you're watching me like the flow was stolen property
so from all the love and respect to all the stuff I regret
when it's five o clock in the morning and nothing is left
no lies and no secrets to hide from those demons
cuz we live like dogs and we die for no reason
so strip the language away, the games that we play,
be creative and brave and go get naked today,
with single moms living on some government checks
who struggle with debt facing a future that's nothing but stress
see, I choose to speak to those who truly need the food and heat
losing sleep while their favorite rapper shops for jewlery
kids who learned firsthand the truth is useless
going to school with bruises and a thousand smooth excuses
broken down for those who doubt the pain behind the music
like, let's rewind the tape so I can find the frame to prove it
yes, you are now in tune with the sound of poverty
album quality, straight to underground economy
you heard about the thirtyseven but you never witnessed it
human television with depth and vivid images
what you got, dude? nothing but a rhyme and a hot loop
and a promise you can stop it the second it's not true
Track Name: Thirtyseven
been having dark nights lately, and serious doubts
feeling like I drove another year in the ground
pacing round the kitchen with a beer in my mouth
but thirtyseven is a name that you'll be hearing about

chyo --- I went from therapists to anger management
I fucking hate myself and I'm still insanely arrogant
Inhumane is back, so kiss my famous ass
I'm still blazing tracks and drinking outta paper bags
I figure rhythm is basically math
buck naked and smashed drunk, taking a bath, UH
I say "fuck" because it hits you like an uppercut sucker punch
driving out the demons that you suffer from
talk business, drop physics long distance
and scare the shit outta fake Babylon Christians
you know the type...who can't take their own advice
stop passing judgement like they know they're right
spit focused light, hick poltergiest rips open mics
with some bloody lips cuz I hit broken pipes
Moon Wookies --- shouts to the fam
catch me out in the van with half an ounce in my hand
like "you see these trees? I got some PCP
and I'm about to black out for at least three weeks"
the edible, the smokable, the liquid, the lines
putting back acid ten-strips at a time
my ego is bulletproff, metal and glass
so I'll never react to your pathetic attacks
know the facts, keep it 360 zodiac
and make it heavy like a Kodiak with a broken back

(chorus)

it's the rap Rasputin mutant, scattering words
and patterns emerge with a parabola curve
I aim for eye contact, tried to connect
and get your nerve clusters up inside of my head
I'm nothing special....a dude with a plan
two hundred grand, and removable hands
a diseased mind....and I still bleed rhymes
building pyramids with one mic and three eyes
keep my brain active with strange tactics:
change habits, fuck demons and slay dragons
producing some beats, handing out my music for free
and having all the usual dreams of losing my teeth
wake up, floss and brush, take lots of drugs
get my brain going with that coffee rush
and yes...my hot production cost me nothing
"who's your DJ?"
That's a long discussion, plus he only talks in russian, fuck it

(chorus)

Wombat's wasted....hilarious, right?
my mouth is a burial site for stereotypes
people drive home with their mind blown
whenever I throw live shows in your local time zone
eyes closed....pineal spits, divine flow
cuz rocking spots properly provides dough
but keep it calm, cuz all your phantom enemies
and random memories are just a dance of energy
it's thirtyseven with the emptiness inside of the form
I work with perfect circles from the eye of the storm
I got a face you can trust...but haven't shaved it in months
and I'm just not famous enough to blame it on drugs
Friday night, Crystal Lake property
and I been ripping fakes in tripping states constantly
I think about selling out...but never done it
I got an empty stomach and I paid for every penny of it
but don't laugh, cuz it could happen to you
I mean...are you riding the beat, or just trapped in the groove?
Track Name: Tense ft. Chris Dizzy
After all the sheets and the beats I mastered
police harassment, quick victories and complete disasters
after all the time I dropped the ball, forgot to call
got wasted, bet the farm and lost it all
after I lost the script, started talking shit
sixteen years later and I'm still a cocky prick
after the broken nose, the PCP overdose
after learning everything I'm not supposed to know
after I learned to survive. convert it to rhymes
and get it all out before it burns me alive
after the flood, packing and unpacking my stuff
and trips to the bathroom to flush the last of the drugs
after I adapted to the rappers life at home
long nights alone, making out with microphones
and after everything we had got lost and burned
baby, we still got each other so I am not concerned
Track Name: No Clue
keep my face low, palestinian space ghost
rappers take notes when I fabricate flows
you play video games, I assassinate popes
payment in pesos, pornos and straight coke
from suburban activists to southern baptist kids
even my dad gets pissed when I do a track like this
got cats putting bets on what's happening next
as a hick rapper in debt becomes a national threat
I tickle nipples, then spit a triple axel
do prozac, then paxil, and freestyle some fractals
I'm sick of breast jokes and cigarette smoke
and I think the West Coast is an internet hoax
I give a fraction of a fuck if some rapper thinks I suck
the only time I do this crap is when I'm drunk
athiests are pussies, i'm such a crazy hick
I refuse to believe that time and space exist



don't be mad at my clique cuz we can battle like this
fact is, we grew up without a sattelite dish
raised with lame toys, like wooden Game Boys
so I just kinda crossed my eyes and made noise
now check this, the epileptic etch-a-sketch kid
gets arrested for possession of herbal weapons
got lots of fresh purple pot from Feds
plus roxicets from undercover cops with dreads
blaze a bowl of asian grown in the danger zone
I'll be safe at home until they trace the phone
switch to channel six, fix some decent food
and start to read the clues beneath the news
cuz CNN tells me that Mohammed's wrong
and Osama's mom got raped by Satan on Ramadan
and on an on....but I can make the connections
flick the sound off and watch their facial expressions
a couple steps beyond your monkey lexicon
you connect with rappers, I connect with God
you impressed your girlfriend, I impressed your Mom
you write verses, I freestyle perfected songs
and I promise to stop mocking religion
just as soon as they admit they put the Goddess in prison
I freestyle drunk, cuz in Vermont it's religion
half conscious and spitting out monsters and visions
thirtyseven never forgetting my fellow tripping kids
sick of this ridiculous culture full of wickedness
personal philosophies, recipes to rock the beat
preaching, prophecy, poetry, pornography
fucking with fundamental parts of the government
and smuggling my drugs inside the ark of the covenenant
I summon demons and stuff, deep in the drums
it's like I need to get drunk and start speaking in tongues
they found me in a drunk tank up in Pakistan
with cotton mouth and cumstains on my khaki pants


bring condoms and vodka, but keep the rifles warm
cuz if we can't party, what the fuck are we fighting for?
wombat's back, and still lethal to fascists
I got Will to Power and libido to match it, touch me
I keep a policy of open aggression
living in the shadow of two stolen elections
and I'm still not political, fuck your opinions
go start a militia or a smuggling business
I got friends who went from harmless potheads
to being monitored by a lot of the top Feds
job promotions, I'm open minded and claustrophobic
so I keep my mouth cocked and loaded
the vision statement, rituals in prison basements
triple agents with sixty different faces
not even worth it, spit the sloppiest verses
in the hospital flirting with Chzeckoslovakian nurses.
Track Name: 23
(and it depresses me at night how people never see the light
when they're getting resurrected every second of their life)

saving the planet? done deal, I take it for granted
man, we'll all be getting laid and eating grapes in a hammock
Sol Harvest Live, this how we make a living
and escape the system of Satan's prisons and fake religion
it's thirtyseven getting in hilarious predicaments
and living in the space between arrogance and ignorance
it's hard to just accept that there's really nothing left
so I do this for the love, respect and monthly checks
so after the writers block, after the fights with God
after all the ciphers, spots and mics I've rocked
even getting drunk I never once regretted the fact
I been to Heaven and back cuz I just couldn't settle for that
sick of flipping the script, nowadays I read it backwards
cuz I've always seen it happen in the same repeating patterns
so there's no hidden message at the end of the day
except for the way she blushes when you mention my name

it's been 23 years of pain, music and dreams
where the Universe is horny and the food is for free
which usually means, that even all the talent, respect
and love in the world, can't save you from reality checks
I'm still the same asshole, pathological as usual
I just try to make my lies really obvious and beautiful
so in a sick world with nothing sacred left
thirtysevens starting to learn the basic steps

I keep it crazy visual with gangs of criminals
freebasing at Freemason initiation rituals
threesixty panoramic with the random camera tricks and
tan hispanic chicks eating salamander sandwiches
I spit lucid dreams onto mental movie screens
and move between everything you think my music means
I try to explain, but people can not understand it
like I was talking in spanish or dropping quantum mechanics
but check it out, there's not a lot I get upset about
the stupid kids that used to piss me off, I don't sweat em now
mellowed out with a hands on approach to physics
busted pencils, bloody noses, broken dishes
burning calories trying to drown my personality
and open up my mind enough to just observe reality
so between me and you, it's kinda hard to separate
you get left with fake equations that echo in empty space

it's been 23 years of pain, music and dreams
where the Universe is horny and the food is for free
which usually means, that even all the talent, respect
and love in the world, can't save you from reality checks
yeah, I'm still the same asshole, pathological as usual
I just try to make my lies really obvious and beautiful
so in a sick world with nothing sacred left
thirtysevens starting to learn the basic steps