Sold Ya

Story Behind The Song

After visiting a freestyle rap battle page, I set up my own venue. Unprepaired for the sophisticated hostility of ghetto wanna be's (who likely have more brains than guns), I found myself hurting people "in jest" and being unable to politely back down. The words to this song were an attempt to make peace with one particular lady after having glorified in my own efforts to conquer her lyrically. The music fits (in my mind); though, the irony of this composition seems to be lost on most people.

Song Description

Rap on a universal level pokes fun at everyone and everything but especially involves the rapper within an ironic "Catch 22" from which he cannot extricate himself except through humor. Character voices capture this irony in the guise of one rapper who ensnares himself in his efforts to show off, sets himself up as a teacher, and then finds himself to be his own best student (and class clown).

Song Length 2:11 Genre Rap - General, Blues - Traditional
Tempo Medium Slow (91 - 110) Lead Vocal Male Vocal
Mood Troubled, Amiable Subject Evolution, Arrogance
Similar Artists Nirvana, Yo-Yo Ma Language English
Era 2000 and later

Lyrics

Soldja, toldja. Stole ya. More Folgers. Manila folders. Broader shoulders. Just scolding you. Holding and upholding you... and yours.

Your stores restore scores of poor. Evil doers lure you to the moor. Bruise you, abuse you, screw you... look through you. The truth? I'm uncouth, a brute -- fake. A fruitcake. Cut loose. Break:

Executioner's elocutioner allocates a vacation. No vocation. Your location's ok. Shun oration. Novocain? Sure. Cocaine's lure: No censure. Adventure. Centurion touring onto renown. Turn around.

Drown it. Unwind it: Unwound it. Un-wound it. Not wounded? You tuned it. True earned it. Return trip. Try prune dip. I ruined it. It's raining. In training. Train derailed. Derailleurs. My hell. Phew. Pure Wellers.

The fellers are swell. Might as well fill this well. We'll feel well. Feeling's swell. Feel it swelter. Ice water. Flies gather. Flyswatter. Guys scatter. Why bother? Go figure. I shudder. Eye's shut? Sure, I mutter...

...Blink. Think: Nah... ah ha.... Ha ha, haha; Ha (Tada)! "Crash boom bah". Ouch!? "Oh! The couch? 'What a slouch'! (Ass out.)". "Passed right out"! Past!. Right.! On...! Path??? Right on!!! Back?!? (Right on track [light on]). [Passed] (Tissue)<-Pastiche^ {You're passe /\/\Renoir/\/\} mnm

Leprechaun's stash : Charion's trash : /|/|e | Eminem.

Lyrics Brett Robertson Music Mancini
Performance Sir

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