Land of Hypocrisy

QuadroonQuadroon 

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Quadroon

In the slave societies of the Americas, a quadroon or quarteron was a person with one quarter African and three quarters European ancestry (or in Australia, one quarter aboriginal ancestry). Similar classifications were octoroon for one-eighth black (Latin root octo-, means "eight") and hexadecaroon for one-sixteenth black. Governments of the time sometimes incorporated the terms in law, defining rights and restrictions. The use of such terminology is a characteristic of hypodescent, which is the practice within a society of assigning children of mixed unions to the ethnic group which the dominant group perceives as being subordinate. The racial designations refer specifically to the number of full-blooded African ancestors or equivalent, emphasizing the quan… more »

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My flow so butter it bring the earth balance
I'll turn a rapper into a hurt bladder, no challenge
I'm serving rappers verse platters full of serf laughter
With words worse than the smurfs that we burnt after

You want more, Say it like murs backwards with a slur
I'm sure your an actor, playing puppet in the murder capitol
That's like everyone, these days, for peets sake
Can't anyone catch a wee break, besides these pee brain-cheap fucks

Claiming they own like freeways, holding sweepstakes
They even got a factory for cheesecakes
I guess I just got a pet peeve for bullshit
Emerged from the predetermined predicament with a purpose that my soul sent

(They like where he at)

I'll prolly be counting mala beads of a molly please (Like a swami-g)
Don't blow my high
Inhaled through my tongue, blew smoke out my eyes
Fresh flow in the sky, while you choke on your pride

I wanna be like olly olly oxen free
In the land of, all of these hypocrisies
We gotta stand up for our property
It's possibly, the plausibility that blows our mind

Blessed for the sun to set
Steps drum along summers dress
Patience, some'll stress, wonderous, watching subtleness
I've popped bubble chests, with my sharp tongue
So I don't have to watch while the elders scarf young

An average day for a pure (K)night's worst thought
Who could turn, your very verse into a corn pop
These are dying times, blind our trying eye
Inhaling cyanide, while my rhymes curve off in a spiral fashion

Cut the crap, lets get the vinyl scratching
I'm not a tidal rapper more like a vital vibrant fractal
Out the light I arise n tackle on the challenge of
Becoming what I've set to be before the fire's final crackle
Living inside a fractal, admire the hustle I buss fire without a hassle

Acting like these sand castles were built for me
Scribble scrabble, ram shackles, baffled by the brittle symphony
Known as, impermanent existence
Often challenged by exuberant resistance

Intuitive we listen, to the myths and omens which open
Before our vision like smoke when I blow through the
Window and it glistens in the light peaking through
Rolling like thunder, no wonder we winning
No wonder we winning, no wonder we winning

(They like where be at)

I'll prolly be counting mala beads of a molly please (Like a swami-g)
Don't blow my high
Inhaled through my tongue, blew smoke out my eyes
Fresh flow in the sky, while you choke on your pride

I wanna be like olly olly oxen free
In the land of, all of these hypocrisies
We gotta stand up for our property
It's possibly, the plausibility that blows our mind

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