Dishonor

Song: Dishonor

Album: Last Piece Of A Broken Cause

Artist: The Blend

Written by Toussaint Morrison

Released June 4, 2006

ref: 

I’ve been runnin’ on a gram of sanity, and small portion of sorts since

the day they drew the line and started constructin’ the fortress.

Designed it to confine the seeds and styles of beats & rhymes to just a title,

and define what-not and what the art form is.

Settin’ the stage up for a live performance

of heated egos burnin’ down to mild and shortlived.

Of course kid, there’s gonna be collidin’ forces

when they’re supplyin’ unreliable sources,

sellin’ resistance as a hopeless fight,

pushin’ addictions to temporary shine beneath a broken light,

soaked in spite, assumin’ I oppose your tribe

while I’m dancing on the fence because I never chose a side.

Discontent in a city cold and dry,

where people offer peace treaties only with hopes to fight.

Sold on hype, like liquor at a thrift store

and forgot what they’re raisin’ their fists for.

Convinced a guest list is still an open door,

and opportunity means somebody has to get poor.

You’d sympathize, but it’s easier to ignore

and pretty your face while your heart deforms.

I’ve seen the beast play, seen it defeat change-

you try and play it cool, and it exhales a heatwave.

You bring the flames, and it’s breathin’ freezin’ rain-

it’ll have your heart skippin’ beats like old records on replay,

scuffed CDs & frustrated DJs.

So, you built walls to make sure your seeds keep safe,

and left the outside to feed the beast’s appetite.

I tell my brothers that we’re gonna have to see past the fight,

sacrifice and hope less is more,

unlearn the syllabus and burn the old test scores.

I row my boat through a sea of battleships to Minneapolis,

and storm the gates as soon as I hit shore.

-

Chorus

All the while,

the walls grow thick and get higher,

grass outside it sits dien,

everybody tells me that I’m waitin for a date that’s expired,

as I plan to set fire to the empire.

I got a one-way ticket goin’ into town,

a pen and a backpack to hold me down.

Mama said be careful how you hold the mic,

somebody’s gonna take ya life.

-

I can hear the bass boomin’ through the ceiling while I’m studyin’,

layin’ extra low on a apartment parties jumpin,

and I’m not quite sure if we’re all on the same tip,

I’d give one’a ya’ll an arrow, but I don’t know where you’d aim it.

I’d hate to go and waste’em on someone preachin’ and claimin’

“It’s all good and great man, what’s the reason for complainin’”.

Defendin’ the problem and disillusioned just to think

hip-hop is all inclusive and no alienatin’

a massive amount of people outside the outside

that don’t identify with anything but being undefined.

Standin on the side of a line undermined, undesigned

left to use all they have and shoot it blind.

A mess, run out of good gestures and first impressions

to paint the picture pleasant past the tension.

Backed into a corner, and then what’re ya left with?

A rebel with the means of resistance.

I’ve been sittin’ on a corner with an empty plate,

watchin’ my brothers run faster than the Drake Relays.

They want us livin in the dark until we can’t see straight,

meanwhile my eyes are fixed upon the walls each day.

I plot the plan until morning murders midnight,

keep to myself and watch the rhymes turn to fist fights.

For some, beyond themselves is something they can’t reach,

comatosed to deep sleep with brain bleach,

And I get tired of waking up to see the same side of

A divide that gets wider and denial for a quire.

Singin’ a sermon that only serves as a reminder,

the day you lose the fight, is the day you compromise it.

It’s grown so high it’s cast a shadow on the hillshire,

and it’s time to hit the grounds like my last name was Detwiller.

A crown of headtrips and castle made of fences

built around an exit without an entrance

-

Chorus