One Eye Open

by Defcee

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about

Recorded in 2007 when I was 17.

credits

released June 12, 2007

All songs mixed and mastered by Lamar "Jus Love" Smith and Nate "Illuminate Mics" Marshall at Whitney Young High School, Chicago, IL, USA, except for:

"Diego Rivera (Artistic Vision)" and "Relationships," mixed by Antonio Lara at Antonio's Old Crib, Oak Park, IL,

"Hatin' Is Overrated," mixed by Simeon Viltz at Street Level Youth Media, Chicago, IL,

and "The Cipher," mixed by Idris Goodwin at Idris's Office, Chicago, IL.

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Defcee Illinois

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Track Name: Be the Raw (Intro)
Kick in the door be the raw cocaine complexion.
Emcees in the oven. Click knobs to convection.
Professor Def teaching truant students prudent lessons.
Shoot the gift in the past. Erase your presence in the present.

Whiteboy snatched Big Blak Africa's medallion.
Tear at G-Unit fabrics with vicious rap talons.
We the dopest: puttin' souls on ropes
and hangin' cats with they own essence.

Touch more heads than priests in preteen confessions.
Ritalin to ADD mindstates, LEARN to pay attention!
Don't even know who these whack cats wanna test.
They should regress. Couldn't bounce an Enron check.

So whose neck you breakin'? Whose style you fakin'?
Check your statements. You couldn't live the life you takin'.
I swing swords through chests and bulletproof vests.
Labels fight to invest. Check execs I impress.

Move easily while other rhymers get props east of me.
Catch more second looks than Arabs in Jewish eateries.
Feasting on beats. Have a rapper sleeping on streets.
Might defeat is as imminent as peace in the Middle East.

I stay blastin' cats that sound whack to me
with a Master's degree in couplet catastrophe.
Amass sixteens in spirals filled with viral verbiage.
Vocab that'll turn and flip caps with this wordiness.

Y'all are GI Joe soldiers. I'm King Cobra.
Slappin' rappers out the box and knockin' the ring over.
Y'all are pushin' too fast, catch whiplash, and fall.
When I die, I'm writin' rhymes on the casket walls.

I've listened to your trash lines for the last time.
Forget cloudin' thoughts. I'm leavin' YO' ass with an overcast mind.
Kids run when I walk up the street.
That's why the Pope called my handwriting the mark of the beast.

It's Defcee!
Track Name: The Cipher (featuring Kevin Coval and Idris Goodwin)
[Kevin Coval]
No, I do, though. I hate all emcees.They just...they all...I mean, they all...suck, basically. I mean, ALL of them.

[Verse 1: Kevin Coval]
Yo...way too many trying hard to, uh, get fame.
Trying hard to BE hard, but, uh, can't maintain.
You got special E-D. Your moms is horsefaced.
The only place you could see me is on the TV...but you're too cheap for premium cable.

Thinkin' Comcast is a Buddhist with a broken wrist. Sign up for my class.
Buy my book on Amazon. I got a resume a quarter-inch longer than God's in talkin' smack.
Some call it the dozens.
Ask your auntie. I'm responsible for every single one of your cousins.

I mean, I teach 'em to read, and then I teach 'em to write.
In the streets we could fight, but I'm white so blue lights will end up reading your rights.
I'd rather slapbox with my wordstock. Beat-you-down vocabulary.
Get off my dictionary. You a word jock. MURRRRRDA

they'll be yellin' on the West Coast. 187 like, "Damn, Kevin.
Why'd you have to go and get so serious?"
Raw like ODB, Kane, Ed Murphy: delirious.
Hear this: I'm loud, spittin' to all directions.

Punk emcees is kneelin' to Jesus, I'm listening to Resurrection.
Hip-Hop's infected the planet from Singapore to suburbia.
Word to the kids who scribble rhymebooks with the urgency.
Forget askin'. Type "Kevin Coval" in your search engine,
and then you'll see
that the whole fuckin' world has heard of me.

[Verse 2: Idris Goodwin]
Now watch the beat hit granite fist. Peep how accurate
the nappy-headed rap-ologist start to slammin' his
knuckles to the pavement, and his head against the drywall.
No need for Midol. Medicate in Army sessions and dive spots. I treat 'em like live spots,

like blocks on July 4. I'm a cyborg with a tight jaw
and the pen move faster than most
and peace to my folks
in circles movin' words around like bicycle spokes.

This that triple threat, trifecta triangle typhoon.
Ain't a thug. Ain't a dog. Ain't no ape or no baboon.
Or no cat you read about on the halls of the bathrooms
or one of them whack dudes who hit the stage with an entourage of whack dudes.

Sick with the lingo. King's English get extinguished,
get ground into dust. Put back into lungs.
Spit past the tongue to the old, down to the young.
You yellin', "Son, the lyric revival's begun." Say a prayer like Reverend Run.

Where you steppin', son? Go back and learn your lessons.
You ain't studied up on Tribe Called Quest or Organized when they was stressin'
Ain't seen Big Daddy Kane in the chair with the fan, and
you ain't seen KRS on the cover like X Uzi inside his hand, and

you ain't got no personality. So ill it's absurd.
Teach for my livin'. Live for my life.
Fuck it...fucked my line up...

[Verse 3: Defcee]
Check it...yo...yo...yo...

I'll wreck your record collection. Leave you grabbin' for Excedrin.
Style settles in and y'all fade quicker than albino melanin.
Who's better than I? Rhyme and divide your cadence and verse.
Delivery more scientific than an alien's birth.

Stay impalin' you herbs like vegetarian shish kabobs.
Have you quittin' quicker than a Muslim workin' in liquor shops.
Gettin' props even from cats that can't dissect the bars.
Lyrics stick in the pit of your stomach like c-section scars.

I'm wettin' y'all. Grab a towel and glower
cuz I'm more gifted than a female fiancee at a wedding shower.
Check the power like ComEd. I'll split a wordsmith.
Build more perilously than contractors without zoning permits.

"Ill is Defcee." Please repeat it backwards.
Couldn't hold a candle to me taking aromatherapy classes.
You bastards give me space or I'll off you spitters.
Have a rapper haulin' ass quicker than rapid donkey shipments.

I'll impregnate any female your songs is dedicated to.
Stay wrong like Hindu children given they first taste of brew.
My crew's getting spastic. You alone on your lame tapes
cuz cats would be hard-pressed to hold you down in prison gang rapes.