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lyrics
Ape with a synthesizer, beast with a drum machine, knuckle-drag master of electric wind, rebel monkey with a rap technique. Uncaged freaks.
He learned to circle the moon in 4 minutes, his secret weapon was his opposable digits. The apes feared and revered the solitary shaman, with his spoken spells and potent intelligence. As he circled the fire, the smoke darkened and curled. The whole world drew black and we played harder than RAP, artists in fact. The psychedelic side effect wasn't even part of the act, the paradox of sharing thoughts with the utterly abstract, not your average cuddly manjack. Primordial primate oozing thru your stupid illusions, disproving the conclusions of the clueless and the futile truths of puppets beyond proof, sucking their long tooth, bluffing their long spoof, nothing but wrong moves.
Ape with a synthesizer, beast with a drum machine, knuckle-drag master of electric wind, rebel monkey with a rap technique. Uncaged freaks. Free the beast!
Vague galaxy, centered on a superfluous reality, in and out of existence, your seconds and minutes scale couldn't capture the distance. The distinct ability to transcend tranquility, I'm like a samurai sword in cloud form, kill without hostility. My tea ceremony completely buries phonies. My zen stance can entrance, dance the blade. Comp(etition) looks past me so as not to chance the grave. With a glance I slay, master crane style, while monks chant my brain child. Sunyata. I am air. I am all. When I fall, Shakyamuni's wind will haul my bones to the land of no thrones, the symphony of empty sky, empty as an open palm, substance like shadow, rhyme for my alms. Time won't slow my flow. Heaven's gate is simple levitation. Xenat-Ra staring at ya dome.
Ape with a synthesizer, beast with a drum machine, knuckle-drag master of electric wind, rebel monkey with a rap technique. Uncaged freaks. Free the beast!
Confusing, amusing mountains of music, leading the future and all possible futures. The standard stepper, I pepper drum breaks with letters and watch the dumb fakes whisper goodbye to their naive takes on forever. Steady are the repetitive pedalings of the petty, and many and more the misfortunate mutterings of the poor. Rhetorical order, go free the mind, but not really. Keep the case concealed but transcend. The same reason shell toes are still relevant, same reason I still stay fresh and not hot. I'm eloquent and I don't sellout or smooth out or lose. I simply show and prove just for the hell of it, compelling elements. I met a mountain, chopped it down with the edge of my hand. I met a man, made him understand with the mic in my hand.
Ape with a synthesizer, beast with a drum machine, knuckle-drag master of electric wind, rebel monkey with a rap technique. Uncaged freaks. Free the beast!
credits
from Science For The Soundman,
released October 6, 2012
Monk Metz: words
Matt Calkins: tenor sax, FX
Mark France: guitars
Joel Hirsch: congas
Dave Trenkel: Hammond organ, Rhodes piano, synth drum
JD Monroe: drums, samples
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