September 30, 2011

(Source: infiniteshadness, via secondillestvillian)

September 25, 2011
You should really follow ALL of these!

fuckyeahdoomtree:

babylon-street-urchin had asked if I could make a text post of the previous ask, so here it is. Please follow these fine peeps and share this with your followers.

simsdoomtree

fuckyeahrightpos

fuckyeahdessa

fuckyeahmikemictlan

wugazi

astronautalis

dtrip01

sevenstravels

handssteadilypurexed

zapataphoto

smartgoescrazy

September 25, 2011

fuckyeahmacklemore:

The highly anticipated song that everyone’s been asking about is finally here…

Get “Make The Money” on iTunes!

For the record this is my favorite Macklemore & Ryan Lewis song till date

(Source: lykomgitskate / DouglasFunny, via macklemore)

July 21, 2010
"Sneaking my hand across your shoulder blades
Won’t you fall into my arms and fall into the eaves?"

Astronautalis | Down and Out in the Bold New City of the South

4:51pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZGimTyoBwgB
  
Filed under: astronautalis hip hop 
June 29, 2010

Atmosphere | This Is How the Story Goes

I would settle for the title of co-pilot
‘cause I’m just trying to hold it all together like a hyphen.

June 7, 2010

I write to kill pain,
Suicidal cells in my brain.
Is he an asshole, a genius, or is he insane?
I mean, I guess it just depends on who’s asking
and whether mother nature’s in the mood for multitasking.
Hacking away at the same today,
they told me life was just a game
so I came to play.
It’s the survival of the fitful sleep,
I grit my teeth
Walking a straight line, I compromise beliefs.
I rise to meet the road,
it’s as open as a funnel is
filled with medicated masses tolerating tunnel vision.
“Isn’t it monotonous?”
She shrugged and said, “Whatever.”
From the same lips that told me that she’d love my ass forever.
It’ll never be the same as those playground games
that’s why some get moving and some get maimed.
Wings clipped when she sings with a tremble in her voice
Sink ships with her pink lips. Remembering the choice
I regret if I said it but it’s better this way:
If you love something than you better let it fly away.
I try to say what I meant, and I always meant well
for a hell-bent, cell-spent, inner-bent hell.
She said, “The words can never hurt me like the sticks and stones.”
From now on, I’m on a mission to prove that bitch wrong.
You’re wrong. So wrong.

I never really bought into that better off dead
But she looks so pretty with a gun to my head
She looks so pretty with a gun to my head
She looks so pretty with our petty little world bled dry
Standing in the ruins of today, with nothing much left to say.

I write to kill time. Trying to occupy my mind
Got a nine-to-five grind, so from five-to-nine
I’m tryin’ to find the rhyme.
It’s a lovely distraction
from the fakes of social graces and the bitter interactions.
Basking in bass lines ‘til the flows are soaking wet,
the music makes me high like my box of old cassettes.
Ain’t looked in it for a minute so I wipe it for dust,
throw it in the deck, and then I turn that shit up.
Drive slow so I won’t miss her when she gives me the eye
because life is just a bunch of wishful thinking than you die.
Why? Why am I here? And, oh yeah, why is the sky blue?
Why am I being lied to? Where do I go when I die?
Too many questions.
I’m addressin’ only those that I can answer.
Let those other motherfuckers find the cure for cancer
I’ma wax intellectual, over a box of instrumentals
‘til they scrapin’ all the steak and bacon grease out of my ventricles.
Don’t wanna be a vegetable
I’ll let you pull the plug
When I’m too old to rock and roll and get the sex and the drugs.
Let the others reminisce about the golden days
Write my own ending, ‘til then I stay.
Well, low you went high, our intersect
Cause your honey doesn’t love me for my intellect.
Yes, you’ve never seen an emcee quite this ill.
I write to fight. I write for life. I write to kill.

I never really bought into that better off dead
But she looks so pretty with a gun to my head
She looks so pretty with a gun to my head
She looks so pretty with our petty little world bled dry
Standing in the ruins of today, with nothing much left to say.

I write to annihilate the audience, murder the masses
of pretentious bastards. Slap dash cat
cocky enough to tell you I’m humble as fuck.
Another hard luck, awe-struck bum with a buck.
Writing for a living wage, just enough to feed the habit,
hold the hunger to my heart, every race needs the rabbit.
Tryin’ to catch my creator with a butterfly net
Suicide bomber saved by the autopilot.
Another drunken intellectual, sunk and ineffectual
vessel, with my inner child stuck in a correctional facility.
Servants to civility, we’re murdering survivors,
fertile minds converted to fertilizers.
My agnostic anthem, ego-trippin temper tantrum
freezing of phantoms, holding reason for ransom
keeping ‘em dancin’, in the same goddamned breath.
This goes to motherfuckers that’s wonderin’
what’s left.
What’s left?

it’s just
I never really bought into that better off dead
But she looks so pretty with a gun to my head
She looks so pretty with a gun to my head
She looks so pretty with our petty little world bled dry
Standing in the ruins of today, with nothing much left to say.


Cold Duck Complex | What’s Left

"The lyrics to that song are so fucking good it gives me chills." — ryanroseweaver

April 29, 2010
Interview: Astronautalis Honed His Wandering Hip-Hop Skills in Dallas, A City He Still Loves

“Inspiration junkie,” he politely corrects me, “I’m constantly inspired by little facts and tidbits. It’s a game of collect and store it. You research fighter pilots, war bonds and put it on a thumbtack board in your brain. Then you synthesize that into a greater thesis or a goal.”

9:36pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZGimTyXNGwP
  
Filed under: astronautalis hip hop 
April 27, 2010

Non Prophets | The Cure


faith is harder to swallow than pride. it turns our throats black

April 26, 2010
"i rap about history, whiskey, girls and applause
and all these things that I’ve had. and it fills the hole of loss
that tiny little hole and void we made inside our lives
because we don’t have real jobs, girlfriends, or health insurance or wives"

Astronautalis | Voicemail Freestyle: Mike Wiebe

April 26, 2010
"remix and revise
revamp and rewrite
walk through it a thousand times until it feels right
and still might make a last second change or two"

Blueprint | Mission Statement

1:59am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZGimTyWoUXr
  
Filed under: hip hop blueprint 
April 25, 2010
Astronautalis leaks another song.

DANCEHALLHORNSOUND!!! sees Astronautalis performing his songs over radio rap beats and features “Tegan & Sara, P.O.S [and his son Jake], Rookie Sensation Mike Wiebe [of the riverboat gamblers], Nobs [of Dez & Nobs], Andrre [from Canada!], and a guy who is not my buddy Gomez).”

AND IT’S COMING OUT TOMORROW. It will be a pay what you like deal and all the money just goes to offsetting the cost of his upcoming Australian tour.

8:42pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZGimTyWlto0
  
Filed under: hip hop astronautalis 
April 25, 2010

Common Grackle ft. Ceschi | The Great Depression

dumb shit spilling out of his stupid fucking mouth:
“i’m sorry mom and dad, but i had a bad year”