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Rhyme Circus Act One

by Marcus Carab & Fresh Serf

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  • Immediate download of 14-track album in your choice of high-quality MP3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.

    Bonus track & video included in download.

     

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01:35
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00:44
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02:12
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01:22
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01:58

credits

released 16 July 2013

Music by Fresh Serf (Linn Outhit), vocals by Marcus Carab (Leigh Beadon)

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Track Name: Circus
Meet the lion tamer,
The wire-walker, the fire-eater
The ring leader and cage cleaner,
That's the whole goddamn circus
Plus the inner workings of its purpose
As conveniently obscured by a marquee'd surface
Where there's bears on bikes
And the flawed part of the god particle
The raw starter of the of a whole new odd model
This is not a drill and not
your run-of-the-mill natural disaster
this the atom smasher, galaxy collapser
says the waxer intellectual,
rebuttals ineffectual,
I bet you all a pretty penny
this'll see you bitter enemies
one spitting seminars,
the other sitting sedentary
some'll skip the pleasantries
and go straight to the seminary
now I'm Burmese royalty
but Anglo-Saxon
And I line up my next shot
with the angled backspin
Yo, you heard 'bout those newfangled brain scans
that claim to tell an average jack from a rain man?
Oh, you have? Well then how do you explain that?
Yeah me neither, maybe it's time to wear a foil hat
Or maybe all of it's
just latter-day phrenologists
And my cortex glows red
gets defensive of its solipsism
And functional MRIs are reminiscent of Rorschach blots
And that's just a coincidence
but brings premonitions of more bad thoughts
Like my conviction's just convection
driven by a single little candle flame
The rest is just brownian motion
In a random game
Can I expand the frame?
Track Name: Long Damn Night Pt. 1
At the end of a long night
when ghosts walk with impunity
and there's no wrong or right
and there was no talk of immunity
when giants walk in fraternities
science talks to eternity
no, I am not lying,
I am on an emergency mission
I traditionally lip service the urgency
But this all first perfectly,
dripping with binge-perjury
the earth turned to me
and said in all sincerity
"I'm losing magic fast into the sky
the more you stare at me!"
Now I'm using magic and so I can fly
and my temerity
just mounts with every mountain flying by
so far down there beneath
my little airborne feet, aloft on thermals
I in turn will turn from foot soldier to colonel
With the foot-soles of a turtle
I see good souls glowing purple
Standing stones cloned in a circle
megalithic gods with terrific odds
writ in glyphic dots
and each positioned in specific spots
I anticipate that this will cause horrific rot
And if I am thinking straight
then this has got implicit truth
but if I am missing something
this is not a wise pursuit
I'm high as a flute
on bite-sized bison and lion soup
whatever I can shoot
as long as it's not too cute!
now this is the last average legend of a free quest
and this is the last man to genuinely be blessed
in the lineup for free sex, crying "me next! me next!"
we'll rip up the floor tiles and excavate the T-rex
Now that's a hell of an elephant in the bedroom
I can tell you're gonna dwell on some irrelevant says-who
'til my eleventh hour elevator to Neptune
has gone chapter eleven, relegated to rescue

And it's been a long night
of goblins chattering
The doggone caterwauling
Shoggoth splatter-causing
sawed-off scatter-shot
has gone off to greener pastures
and now we face a much meaner master
an impudent and inconsistent self to clean up after
So go flock to the rafters
don't talk to the strangers
rope off the corners
don't block the stairs
lock down the borders
send Tom to the Mayor
It's been fun for an evening
But this dawn is welcome
Daybreak before hell come
And leave us all well done
And this is the last average legend
that we tell sons
And daughters 'til the droppers
of the bombs hit where the bell hung
and I can smell some kind of freeze-dried no-one
and go all ogreish like "Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum!"
And spit the distance like a blowgun,
but that's no fun,
so come and split the difference
like a throw down with a shogun
Track Name: Long Damn Night Pt. 2
And it's been a long night
of unanswered rain dances
take insane chances in vain
and strike strange stances
so we await with achy limbs
and brain cancers
ask ourselves a question
and get back an inane answer
If I pray backwards,
can I eat the higher power?
I am now a liar,
I am now a plumber with a fire flower
pleading hard got me a leading part misleading art
so bleeding hearts are being artless
leaving marks upon their leading starts
and I'm never parking this detoxifying wagon
meaning this is the last average legend of a giant dragon
and I'm dragging this here train of thought
to coffin straight from bassinet
of mud millennia ago
that's where amino acids met
if that's not dust to dust
I guess I don't know what that adage meant
I'm restless, she's a keeper,
like a sleeper never had a bed
not a toy, shoot 'em dead
'attaboy, move ahead
do it to the end
like you're pursuing the elusive bread
better settle bets 'cause you're a goner in the fight
of all the little differences between your song and mine
if i'm sloppy in the morning, if I cough and yawn and bite
I just need coffee, after all, it's been a long damn night
Track Name: Mr. Synesthesia's Proud Affliction
Mr. Synesthesia
please I gotta seize ya
lean ya like a Piza
tomb ya like a Giza
loser screaming Bees! Ahh!
dude please ease up
gonna have a seizure
and i'm not fucking helping
ever seen a vid where a seagull ate a pelican?
hell no! well then, this'll be inelegant
relegate the emcee's soul back to hell again
tell him it's a felony if he's not a metalhead
but Synesthesia don't want candy
sometimes indulges in wine gums and brandy
and who needs acid i got rancid canned meat
plus I double-up when the airport scan me
i'm gonna be a fucking x-man any day now
eyes spraying rays out, mind flayer fake out
i'm the beta test for the omega man
popping in on keggers and, dropping in the beggar's can
hopping with a leg in hand, gonna need a peg to stand
tapped out for the night, chewing stegosaurus spikes
calling on the onslaught before the fort is fortified
got 'em saying syne's got a big voice for his height
more than i bargained for, darkened corners
bore forth dark barked orders
Synesthesia visions got him cutting through the door or
running from the blood wave pouring down the corridor

freebasing mace laced with pepto and ectoplasm
knew i'd get erect but really didn't expect orgasm

Syne' never get sick of media
went to check a name
and spent the day on wikipedia
couldn't move, it was Synesthesia-plegia
near catatonia, ether and ammonia
someday i'm'a flee to Patagonia, either that or Coney Island
i'm still deciding, but it won't be for a while in
any case, till then I'm eating at a steady pace
ready set stop like the heavyset cops
or the petty despot gonna get some heads chopped
and some letterhead stock, yeah printed on thick paper
and nice staplers legitimizing capers
dreamt of Mick Jagger with a mickey of Jaeger
drunk to a stagger and his dick shot lasers
he was fucking crazy had to hit him with a tazer
getting flipped-off by some pissed-off haters
Track Name: Sick Friend
man, this kid's tweaking
yo Serf, I think your synth's bleeding
arm in a splint, needing stitches
where its lip's leaking
ask the drums: what's up?
they said it happened so suddenly
but we put up a good fight
you should have seen the other beat
now the baseline's black and blue
needing face time with shellac and glue
I'm in space time, better let me get back to you
on that, cat's be hopping onto Serf tech all willy-nilly
you silly hillbillies, these tracks is for the terminally ill
like me and my sick friend Serf needing pills (kill me!)
bedridden, staring at the ceiling guts spilling
it's a proud affliction
the sound of friction
when my words spark the crowd addiction
like a matchstick in a powder kitchen
known to be bewitching villages with the dark arts
and mark hearts for cherub shots, Marcus Carab got
curare darts and a regimen of terracotta warriors
and four canopic jars - he's prepared to rot
Track Name: Deathbed
my lips are blue
parted just enough to whisper through
don't misconstrue this,
or kisses-kisses coochie-coo this
no don't be a necrophiliac
my skin's the pale green of verdigris and celeriac
i'm at perigee when you hear me snap
just carry me to the back
and bury me in a sack
(a potato sack)
yeah, i know they know that
and they know that I know they know
so they know it might go waco, pray it don't
like pandemic kids stand by each other's beds
and truth fucks beauty with her hands tied above her head
one cut the other bled
and now invention's forgetting everything his mother said
oh shit, that's another one dead
summer hung it's head and I succumbed to where the drummer led
just keep me dumb and fed and I will gladly come to bed
if i'm numb and all thumbs just feed me crumbs and rum instead
and bleed me till I'm running red
then leave me here to mumble as I crumble into nothingness
and i know every inch of this here ceiling
i missed this giddy restless kiddy christmas morning feeling
and I don't see the need for kneeling wearing mourning veils
cause as I'm turning pale hurting and frail
I find it more and more appealing
(i don't need your healing touch i'm feeling much much better every day)
it's embarrassing to see you pray
so I am leaving soon but not today
and maybe not tomorrow but it can't be far away
so trade your sorrow in for borrowed joy and patchwork satisfaction
mine's the winning faction and in fact I'm still missing in action
losing traction moving past the point of no return and oozing passion
i knew two before me one that burrowed one that burned
now one's spinning in his grave and one's a cyclone in his urn
i won't be resurrecting
won't be jesus christing, phoenix rising
me and mine is feeling fine it's you who's stuck and still alive
Track Name: The Autovoxaphile
nice shot - close but no stogie
bogey on six and he twist like a yogi
this little Mowgli was raised by cyborgs
in cyclopean cities that made my eye sore
IV drains the vein's divine ichor
zygote, bacilli and cilia i'd die for
divide by four, decant and knock it back
chase it with a lime and then if we can, we're walking back
now my mind races like car chases
or Scarfaces smashing rocks against hard places
that sure makes my choice easy
the god blood burps making my voice greasy
until i get wheezy all caught up in the Rhyme Circus
spitting till i'm dumb and then i still deliver mime verses
i spend breath like it's perversion until the climax is felt
it's my version of choking myself with a belt
noblesse oblige is hopeless
hoping and praying won't evoke dopeness
i do no less and no more than i have to
and maybe occasionally take a bath too
but every time i do i'm interrupted by eureka moments
never met another who was not a weak opponent
dontcha get it? Marcus see a moment and he live in it
fuck all of the ticking clocks who really think he give a shit
and i could sing a song of honour courage and persistence
but mostly I admit I take the path of least resistance
and i could sing a song of electricity and fingertips
but mostly i admit i only pick the chick with bigger hips
and lips and telltale rips in her satin slips
and makes frequent freudian ones, never annoyed by puns
i've been talking a lot, it's getting hot in here, you feel it, yeah?
or maybe it's just me and my autovoxaphilia

i just aint got no choice
I love the sound of my own voice
i love the sound of your voice too
let's drown out all those other fools
who's spitting nothing worth attention
shout 'em down without a mention
they so quiet we so loud
and I really love the sound

i just aint got no choice
I love the sound of my own voice
i love the sound of your voice too
let's drown out all those other fools
who's wasting breath on empty words
have you listened have you heard
even with all of this noise
I love the sound of my own voice

i hope my spine don't crack
'cause i'll be spitting till my eyes roll back
and i go blind as a bat and be fine with that
as long as i can still listen to my rhyme flow
and wonder where the time go
just put the mic in my hand or get me to the stand
slip a twenty to the band
tell 'em anything fucked up ought a do the trick
turn the kick drum up and make the bass line sick
it's the base by which I calibrate my pitch
and i take my pick though fate might bitch
in the circus, entering the centre ring
say hello to Marcus, better than just about everything
spitting on the jerryrigged Serf-tech rocket
asked him for a beat and he checked his pockets
full of witch doctor concoctions that'll make you ill
[blended only by experts with great skill]
Track Name: Mr. Synesthesia's Synaptic Potential
and you'll be sting sick quick
I'm'a split your perspective in two
a wrist-flick, twist you into pretzels
dissect you 'cause I'm the tick-tick-tick
before synaptic potential goes boom
this trick, finger on the trigger you figure
I flunked drama,
I can't fake-laugh or force tears
another day another dollar
make that Four More Years
or eight, sixteen, thirty-two
a dirty few in the trenches
two kicking on the benches
ten tangled in the tension
almost palpable
yeah you could cut it with a knife
or just butter it with life
hunk of the guttermuck on both sides
some run from storms
other pluck up courage
end up fucked up, buried
in a rubble bubble, huddled up
with the dumb luck, some duck
others jump into the stirrups
with a click-click rattle of spurs
and some hurry up and quick-pick
others with lucky numbers worry
Track Name: Besides Sky
my my, I'm beside sky, and space-adjacent
i'm'a sit here and critique the placement of the constellations
like: fuck you! that aint no lion
I aint buying it, now be quiet
i prefer count the stars in silence
one, two, three, four... fuck it - to hell with that
i'ma run up there and Pierce it like poor suckers stuck on helipads
that's quite the panoply for what is just a canopy
and this is like insanity for all intents and vanities
purposeless and more or less courseless
lost out where the dolphin gangs mug porpoises
of course this is what courses between choruses
you're lucky it's not corsets and deforested clitorises
tomorrow it's important to retain
some engorgement in the brain
and divorce it from the pain
it's sorta morbid, but it sticks
Drink Marcus Carab's Miracle Mind Enhancing Tonic
you dumb hicks!
they bought it with one click, that's some trick
i'm quicker than your risk factors and asterisks
and i don't care if he fumble the drumstick
i'm rhyming when it's nothing but one snare and one kick
and what if i hit it splitting ozones, i am MC CFC
they're gonna be livid when it's doomsday and I got the BFG
i'm gonna be sitting on a satellite at night and gravity
won't dare defy me no I'm rising 'til the sky's beside me
Track Name: All High On The Spice Rack
Mr. Synesthesia, come to grin and please ya
in a leisure suit to shoot the wind or breeze of indonesian
coffee bean, sloppy dream of sin to freeze your skin to knees-a
whoops sneezed-a, gezundheit or bless you
this one try to impress you
got all high on the spice rack
then switch that to serf tech
i'm not about to bite that
metalfingered hand that feeds
the flesh epiglott'
i'm spitting spices on the harvest
that the Serf is serving hot
because i can't stop myself getting
fatter on the crop
of Datura Stramonium harmoniously dropped
and slopped up on the plate
like oh so much Devil's Snare
dishevelled hair, well aware
like knows what level's fair
that's Mr. Synesthesia
sense fuser with ease-a
emcee who smell beats,
feel notes and taste keys-a
plus hear colour, feared culler of the duller swatches
watches too much TV but so media greedy
besides he see's it in 3D
and need his feed speedy
rich and switched twice weekly
with a bitch to buy him cheezies
and read up in the kitchen
look at pics of YM teenies
and keep up her depiction
why she do it? (yeah why)
she's bewitched by his steezies
so that much was easy
plus the condo's nice and breezy
and can't resist the kiss of lips
that's mescaline, peyote tips
and Psylocibe Baocystis
she call him Synesthesia Thistle-Tongue
wants a new little one
he tells her "you're too brittle hun!"
some Mr. Syn riddle fun:
what do you call a man
who scrawls and rants,
hears voices and appalls his fans?
you might guess brain schizophrenic
but then you don't get it
that's like Maine is to Venice
Archaic to Hellennic
plain infectious to carcinogenic
extra-absorbant surface,
purpose and heart of skeptic
a Synesthesia in your synapse
i teach y'all to fly
then clip your wings and watch the grin lapse
with more mishaps, than borne out of a thin gap
and more world tours than there's toxic spores in caps
I think that's a million or so, and feeling so rapt
he knows his own rap flow's wrapped up in a fat bow
but necktie's a four-in-hand
sword and a warring clan
and you's just a boring man
out whoring in a foreign land
so I'm shutting down the lines of communication
like this puny nation, well it's ripe for invasion
what you doing making screwfaces? be patient
and if you don't like what y'alls watching you can change the station
'cause this shits downright amazing
and if y'all feel complacent
but your mind's still all racing
well then that's just the pacing
of your veins making ways in
to rain out your brain
like the great lakes basin
and I'd make a great mason
or a decent Scientologist
'cause reason, rhyme and logic
isn't feeding my apologistic
following who swallow it
like i'm a gossip columnist
with hip-hop and Hyssop
that kicked off the solipsistic
wallowing that's taller than
the wall around the lot of it
i bet you wish you'd thought of it
and hopped on in the pot with it
the socket in my occiput is hooked up for the recharge
i look up and see far, Mr. Synesthesia
Track Name: Mr. Synesthesia's Necessary Necessity
switch to necessity, the mother of frugality
get downright miserly, wise up, the beat's too ballad-y
but still ill-fresh like a new malady
he don't win friends, nah, the meat's too salad-y
and broke his Benz, he's gonna need two salaries
then to street nude gallery to meet lewd Valerie
with a hope in his head that he's gonna squeeze two mammaries
and hold gold split-ends, then Synesthesia move calories
he breathed and grew taller, holler to his peeps, a crew of ballers
all of whom freaked and threw "my my, non, messieurs!"
the fine wine connoisseurs'll drink the brew scholars
under the table ...so I says to Mabel, I says
you unstable, label it done now
we'll unscramble this Babel Fish somehow
until then put the gun down, come now,
and I'll give y'all the rundown
the fun starts at sundown, I already got some ground
like a dollar in the couch crack when you're broke
and try to milk'er
bought a single loosie fifty cent shit smoke
and lit the filter
felt ill like a Tilt-A-Whirl
and got a lizard stuck in gizzard
wanna clip and suck it thicker
can't find the fucking scissors
sock to the kisser, miss a ho's lunch of cooties
dude, he's so hunched and moody, throwing mo' Punch than Judy
but neither too arty nor crass for a rising rhymer
don't be a smartypants, or a wisenheimer
the mean Pied Piper, like a keen-eyed sniper
viper green, clean as a whistle, make it seem simple
between dimples of a lean-cut scene slut
dreaming up free... what? she slip into a clean wimple
...and squeeze her pimples
hit a toughie with a sewing needle
knowing that her glow alone's enough to keep a hold on people
but knowing growing old and stuffy's gonna blow the sequel
drove her to the bluffy, and broke the mould as equals
wrestle with the inevitable, leave me a vegetable
a topiary man, fans'll grope with hairy hands
saying "oh he's very grand!" 'til he's broke and barely stands,
he and his dope & merry band'll put they hope in fairy land
where the eyes both glow but the wide grin's cold
told him: "sign each line and set the rhyme in bold!"
now that time won't flow 'cause the lie's been sold
like: "I don't know, but I been told!"
so don't make me say it twice, the diatribe's getting old
could you both maybe pay the price for eyes on my centrefold?
this aint a library, my ferry got a toll
the sly, scary monopole with ties on the honour roll
...yeah now he's on a roll
seven straight sevens off a chip that he stole
but he never say never to the chick on the pole
so eleven days later he's a bit in the hole
very very much like an itch in the soul
a witch and a troll under a bridge with a toll
a frigid hit of cold in the middle of the fold
and an itty-bitty smidgen of a vision so pigeonholed
so unoriginal, been there and done that
impaired and hunchbacked, in his spare sun hat
run back to mum, cats, he's developed recipe
for smothering the brothers and the mothers of necessity
Track Name: Up
up,
like up late, though...
gotta be up early
but, fuck it, let's do it up
with the hair up nice 'n curly
or head up north
soak up starlight on the front porch
hell I'm up for it
we leave at sunup straight upwards
i just picked up some shit i gotta grind up
nah fuck that man, i aint gonna line up just to sign up
like one of them dudes who sucked a line up and just lit up
and when to gym to hit up the girls that do situps
c'mon, perk up, cheer up, buck up slugger
though sure you done fucked up and mussed up your brothers
got your stuffed up mother all puffed up and flustered
waiting up for nine nights, like, straighten up and fly right
got up there was like
put up the tent, my oh my
but he came up bare
she upped and went, fine
don't get all uppity
i've had it up to here, it's bugging me
my inflamed upper knee's
done fucked up my day's routine
i wake up and scream
like: quick, bake up some green!
its tough enough makeup
keeping up this sheen
don't get wound up or all churned up
I found us a bud to burn up
so quick now round the herd up
some'll get lost, but they'll turn up
the upscale citizen
unfailing vitamins lifting him
who sped up n' fast tracked it,
to the upper tax bracket,
but getting up there
yeah, hair brushed up stunning & grey
like the pre-planned casket
for the up-up-and-away!