DearDeerView

Song: DearDeerView

Album: Breathing Without A Pulse

Artist: The Blend

Written by Toussaint Morrison

Released December 6, 2011

ref: http://theblendmusic.bandcamp.com/track/deardeerview

I tie the laces to my shoes the same as any afternoon

And set foot between the walls and your halls and deserted rooms

What’s up kids, I’m here to speak at your alternative school

Seems your luck don’ got you stuck in academic servitude

With less than words to use or choose, a lot more than nerves to lose

It’s cool to turn pissed when your teacher’s a stern prick

Skip class and hit more pipes than Bob Burnquist

Taught ya to accept the phrase that life isn’t a game

While the future warden’s blueprintin’ prisons in your name

He’s in the high school next door top’n the test scores

With nothin’ to stress for except the gas in daddy’s Escort

Born on third base and coulda swore he hit a triple

Workin’ with a full drumkit, while all ya got is a cymbal

Oh, you’d love to take it to’em for all that you been through

Between a rock and a principal’s office- Los in limbo

Tell me, was it your childhood dream to put on a mask

And give a lap or a tap dance for somebody else’s cash

Makes you wanna cut until you hit a vein

Makes you wanna stand up for the words sittin’ in your brain

But you can’t take the master’s house with tools from the master’s toolshed

You’ll have to paint without your whites, blues, or reds

Until the day you drop out or graduate

Enjoy the free sandwich out the b-b-b-b-b-b-bag

I don’t wanna see another genius defeated

‘Cos someboday taught’em lies as a f-f-f-f-f-f-fact

Life’s a freestyle, go on and make it up

Skateboardin’, smokin’ and breakin’ stuff

Skateboardin’, smokin’ and breakin stuff

Fresh out of 38^th st. with love

-

CHORUS

If the day’s a wage

And life is war

Then

What are you alive for

Now, ‘cos I stay where I’m from

Don’t mean that I ain’t gon’ come up

‘Cos I grow where I’m from

Planted where I stand- planted where I stand

-

If you’re from where I’m from then give it up

Where either your dad’s a drunk or your dad doesn’t give a-

Maybe he’s both like mine, only good for puttin’ forth

And great example of a father that I’d never like to be

Family’s turn to jail cells and even pickin’ locks can’t help

Nobody’s listenin’, so you have to fight to speak

Light a fire to make’em see, runaway to prove a point

Grab a blunt, a spray can and a black to steal some joy

We feel destroyed for nothin’ in a battle of decoys

In a lost culture, forgotten B-girls gave birth to B-boys

We leave a void in the presence of authority

The history they don’t teach is their way of avoidin’ it

Now, as the schoolhouse rocks steady with hegemony

It makes you wonder if unemployment has a pre-destiny

You rest your eyes upon anywhere else

And set your heart on everything outside yourself

Detention-daydreamin’ of pieces fittin’ the frame

Urban romances, slow dancin’, kissin’ in the rain

Lovely livin’ the day without riskin’ a thing

For someone to look you in the eye and listen to what you say

But you’re lost and forgot who you’re explainin’ yourself to

Alternative to what? And alternative to who?

(Yes, you’re now listenin’ to the undermined, blue collar, workin’-class sounds of The Blend. Ladies and gentlemen, b-boys and b-girls please unlearn while you can.)

CHORUS

Get free or get a degree

Or get both and hope to God you don’t end up like me

A twenty-somethin, good for nothin’, gum bumpin’, bar jumpin’

Non-student-loan-payment-makin’, coffeeshop-slumpin

Broken-home representative in the land of Longfellow

Survivalist or not? That depends on what you call ghetto

Workin’-class, blue collar, failure amongst scholars

Urban program, suspended, left behind condemned to follow

Had ya tracked since smokin’ packs at recess

Called up the summer school and they save your seat and desk

Now, if ya got it then get into it

They’d rather see ya high-strung out on depressants and stimulants

Than addicted and hooked-on Malcolm and Marx

It starts with a shout in the dark- they wonder why we yell

When they don’t listen, we stop listenin’ to ourselves

Wanderin’ hallways and monotonous class schedules

Left to speak through silence and reverse psychology

It’s like these teachers are getting’ hired and paid and praised to fuck with me

There’s no luckily, there’s no duck and weave

Advisors advise ya to chillax and just breathe

To kill your questions, to erase your anger

To unboil your heart, to sanitize your language

Upon these moments, do not dare be hesitant

For the beast will leave you in the realms of irrelevant

Ranked by class grades when already eminent

So all the school can do for you is insult your intelligence

College students hold discussion groups of what you’re goin’ through

But never wanna hold a discussion about their own shoes

Letter to the editor, professor and principal

Don’t fuck with a mind state that you haven’t been to

Don’t fuck with a culture that you don’t live through

Taking authority from a situation you don’t give to

These words and expectations run adjacent

Until you’re educatin’ how the rich stay rich

Dear, Deerview- please check the rearview

And keep an eye on where these snakes try and steer you

Well, it’s been a fine visit on this rhyme clinic

Enjoy your day in RedWing, it’s been a fine visit

And there’s no such thing as kings

It’s just a term invented by men to undermine queens

Have a nice day in class…