The wonderful cover art by Melon James printed on 5"x7" archival matte paper (measures 8"x10" with matting).
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lyrics
[Verse 1: Sans]
it’s S-A-N-S, that’s four letters I’m more better
no wait let me start that over
It’s too aggressive
Needs to be more conceptual
cobblestones line the streets in Paris
it’s midnight, and a car pulls up, I mean a carriage
I get in, off to a party with Hemingway and Picasso
nostalgia in my blood, these other rappers are not dope
I veer between Paul Revere and Illmaculate
midnight ride, saving the people or else I’m smacking em
sick of rappers thinking that triplets are impressive
your pen game is anemic, your style manic depressive
your colored hair is cookie cutter defiant
search party for a spark back empty handed, couldn’t find it
I’m rhyming, but rhyme is just a vessel for the substance of critique
I wouldn’t scuff my shoes up pulling you babies from out a creek
elitist, yes, pretentious, yes, but they can’t say I’m not the best
I studied greats, the crates, the tapes, and paved the way to make the next
I suffer from anxiety of influence
cause my comparison group isn’t alive, but who’s this
yapping bout “Sans, your songs don’t even play on radio”
true indeed, and Buddha didn’t go to university
I wonder if these critics really think that they are hurting me
my main concern is caring for the earth in me, listen
it’s S-A-N-S, that’s four letters I’m more better
ah, dammit
[Verse 2: Punahele]
I am the voice of the streets, ascending through the fog
A product of the slums, Young, Brown and pissed off
The cops arrest Hawaiians to serve private corporations
I am here to protect the ghetto from their gentrification
My people don’t want much We just want self determination
Don't join the military learn kalo cultivation
I use my words as weapons against Native dispossession
Iʻll gladly go to Hell if there’s no Hawaiians in Heaven
Never said that I was perfect, but recognize that I ain’t fake
I survived situations that made other people break
Kill em with Aloha, I don’t spread hate
Hoʻihoʻi ʻĀina is the way to Make Hawaiʻi great
End systemic oppression, no surrender no retreat
They killed Kollin Elderts and he could've been me
My people fill the prisons, so I don’t like the police
Arrest Kupuna on the Mauna while rapists run free
So it’s FTP, ACAB
40, 93, or I Ride route C
Not like these other rappers, they be lying on beats
The warden of the West, is who I happen to be
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