Back To The Grain

by Chill Bump

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03:25
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01:59
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03:12
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03:12

about

Bankal (Beats) + Miscellaneous (Voice)
EP #2 : Back To The Grain
Enjoy ! Lots more to come...

credits

released 28 March 2012
All songs produced, written and recorded
by Chill Bump at "The Eighth Lab" in Tours
Illustration by Rebecca Fezard
All rights reserved

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about

Chill Bump Tours

Chill Bump is an English-speaking, French-made, rap duo from Tours. The band was formed in 2011.
Bankal, the DJ/ Beatmaker and Miscellaneous, the Emcee, have already released four EPs (downloadable for free).
They are currently touring around France whilst working on their first album, dropping this Fall.
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Track Name: Matter of Choice (Intro)
It ain’t nothing but truth; Every song, every loop
was put together with love and didn’t cost any loot.
This EP is a strong « F You »
to every label trying to make dough off any group.
We don’t give a shit who this may offend :
More freedom for us, more dismay for them !
None of y’all mother fuckers can dictate my pen,
influence us when we dig crates for gems.
Never stopping, never slowing for nobody else.
We won’t pay attention to petty robots that yell.
Never ever listen to what our foes got to tell.
Blow cock in hell ! Go rot as well !
Go Watch waka flocka, forget we exist.
We don’t want a fucking pea-brain to relate to this.
All my independant creators please raise your fist,
Emcees, Beatmakers and Deejays, Resist !
Track Name: No Pressure
Light the haze ’til my brain is firey,
pour me fourty fourties 'cause I hate sobriety,
gimme a mic, wage, the right stage and I’ll be
rhyming for nine days entirely.
This white page inspires me… I’m a quite strange variety
of mighty MC that just might change society.
I came to change hip-hop to put new,
rules to replace the proposterous few.
Fuck the obstacles blocking the top, it’s just you !
Drop your truth, break the locks and push through !
With one idea, lots of kush too,
I’ll have my pen leaking ink like an octopus do.
I got to pursue my goal : fill the page, sit and write, kill the stage,
spittin‘ rage ‘til the mic feeling scaved.
I’m feeling stable, I get paid to slay a beat,
I killed my label and escaped from slavery,
I’m free…

« Pure rap music ain’t made Under Pressure. »

If you make music and choose to sell it,
you should dread a label trying to use ya record.
Fools inherit or get credit from what you invented.
Next you left with a few pennies while they scooping up a huge percentage.
It’s… too pathetic, shoot a record exec’,
Dude should get it : Grab a noose to pressure his neck.
Stupid ferret ! I’m so stable,
no label able to stop me from laying dough on my own table.
No way ! I say what I like, I’m different,
stay laughing at the hate and the minor dissing,
scraping my mind, persisting, making shit rhyme and risking
wasting my life ‘cause no one’s taking they time to listen.
Problem is everybody got an opinion
and wanna defend it. But why be bothered to hear it?
You ain’t gotta nod ya head if you not in the spirit.
You ain’t gotta comment and wish death after an anonymous visit.
Once again… I couldn’t be bothered, I put in a lot of
work, pussies do not deserve to hear so go put on Rihanna.
Follow me if you wanna, or run your mouth.
but MY opinion is the only fucking one that counts,
I’m free…
Track Name: Watch Me Score Points
Life’s absurd ! Life is senseless !
Why make sense when I write a sentence ?
Gimme a word, like pretentious,
I’ll give you a rhyme, like contentious.
On the mic I’m offensive,
MDMA plays with my mind and my senses.
I am a Wise little chemist
designing scary drugs for the guys in the trenches.
cock like coke : white and expensive,
Cop my blow : why you relentless?
I drom my load : I give riding lessons
and your wife’s an apprentice…
Gotta get up in that dirty orifice…
Gotta work with confidence…
murder with verbal prominence,
smash spots like a dermatologist.
I’m a mother fucking nerdy college kid,
that talks shit like absurd economists.
I can serve the dominance,
make a jerk see red like a blurry communist…
I be ripping up little ass rappers,
tearing up their four joints.
I spit a pinball rhyme, Mcs are the target,
watch me score points !

Suck my Kick
We don’t snare
Lick these Cuts…
(I Play Pinball)

Man I got a mad apetite for this shit,
and I rap like a mad night on a binge,
That mic is my addiciton like smack,
like a crack pipe or seringe.
I grasp my hands tight and defend it,
right to the end : scrap, fight and impinge,
scratch, strike, attack, bite and offend,
til you back off, act frightened and cringe.
Mcs stay bluffing, he stay fronting,
Acting all Tough in his Pjs, strutting.
But he’s sweet like a cheesecake, muffin,
He a cheap skate with a weak chain, fuck him !
This beat dumb like a pea-brain buzzing.
We don’t give a fuck if we say nothing.
We make you wanna rape that replay button,
make you wanna rape that replay button !

Life’s a bitch, a big boobed fairy,
that look real cute, but she a bit too scary.
Don’t fuck wit her, she’ll get you burried,
and write your name on the obituary.
Your broad’s a naughty dumb twat,
dogs « cum in » like a door that’s unlocked.
I got a four kilometre cock
that only fucks up when whores are on top.
Rappers entertain the way a clown do,
so I’ma do the same and play around too,
I make crews flip, I make the crowd drool
when I say bullshit but make it sound cool.
I be ripping up little ass rappers,
tearing up their four joints.
I spit a pinball rhyme, Mcs are the target,
watch me score points…
Track Name: Leakin'
Got Blood, Got Sweat…
Leakin’ out of the Pen (X2)

Hip-Hop is in a hospital room and out of breath,
Now the youth has got a pillow in hand and we truly powerless,
Who these stupid lousy wrecks?
These foolish clowns, these net nerds and losers can’t use the alphabet !
D’you know how the music found it steps?
About the movement, ‘bout the sweat? the James Brown loops booming out the decks?
‘bout the Boogie down BX?
Fools are now obsessed with jewels around they necks, and put they music out for sex,
It’s full of movie sound effects… It’s all an attraction.
Swallowing data, they follow the fashion.
They all want a reaction…
But what goes on today, tomorrow, will be already has been.
There’s a dominant fraction,
a small amount causing embargos, blocking off the knowledge you lacking.
Fuck these lethal, powerful men,
the elite of cowards that tend to keep you down while you sleeping, following trend.
Rip these leeches out of your skin…
They preach about misleading the people, while they teach you how to pretend.
I’m leaking litres out my pen,
my speech is leaping out of it’s den, to lead a crowd of at least a thousand and ten now… I won’t frown !
I teach the youth to raise a fist and put they I-phone down.
And if you mock me then fuck you !
Famine was invented by the rich visionnaries you look up to.
It’s all just dishonest :
The media swear it’s raining as the government piss on us.
All I can do is write about it,
but one day you’ll say I was right about it, we’ll get together and we’ll fight about it !

Got Blood, Got Sweat…
Leakin’ out of the Pen (X2)
Track Name: Occupy (99%)
Eyo check this, I don’t got no lexus, no rocks, no necklace,
I don’t rock rolexes, role with big-shot, Guap collecters,
I’m not so reckless, not so macho, I’m not so sexist
hip-hop professors judge me, but I never stopped fo’ lectures.
I never popped no teck cause I'm not an old G, I’m not connected,
never cocked no weapon to kill some rat that the cops protected.
So why scream « watch yo step kid? » I won’t play roles.
My phoney foes brag about the dough they own, with okay flows.
They probably boycott colgate yo, when they spit kids hold they nose.
I know they won’t change, no, these no brainers got no huevos !
Time to occupy hip-hop too, so much is going wrong !
How can y’all relate to a Lil Wayne song with what is going on?
You’ve babbled that barbarian-battle-bar a billion times now.
A little bit of this bitter reality should fit in your rhymes pall.
Bling blinging is dead, we didn’t listen to shit that you said.
You spitting generic ass lyrics while everyone killing so they’re innocent children get fed !

Occupy… Hip-Hop…
Squash the leaders…
They’re gonna Watch us…
As the game crumbles…
If we fail…
Try to guide your pen…
We mighty my friends…
We the 99 percent, yeah !

Kiddo that’s right, give us that mic, ‘cause you gotta listen to what we spit.
We preachin’ the truth, we teaching the youth, ain’t no gimmicks to con these kids.
We just wanna kill a silly cliché, show you what lyrical content is,
We just wanna help a motherfucker feel free, start lifting his consciousness.
If we get a couple kids to understand that, well it’s an accomplishment.
If I make a little guy wanna sit and write, it’s the biggest of compliments.
All he gotta do is not follow the trend and keep building his confidence.
If tradition gets followed, when he gets older, children will follow him !
But the one percent keep climbing, shining, get a bigger cheque, better life, get greedier.
Better not stay bitter, better boycott the bullshit hype, better fight the media.
Fuck the shite they feeding ya, even though following might be easier.
Learn a bit of wisdom from the old school rappers like an encyclopedia.
Get them vocodeurs off your albums, think before you talk about guns,
Don’t say shit you shouldn’t have said, better watch your mouth, there’s always outcomes.
It’s not about swag, not about broads, not about fashion, not about cars,
not about autographs, corny rap stars… It’s all about knowledge, all about bars !

Occupy… Hip-Hop…
Squash the leaders…
They’re gonna Watch us…
As the game crumbles…
If we fail…
Try to guide your pen…
We mighty my friends…
We the 99 percent, yeah !
Occupy… Modify… Hip-Hop… Gotta try
Squash the leaders… Solid lies
They’re gonna Watch us… Horrified
As the game crumbles… Before their eyes
If we fail… Try again
Try to guide your pen… and fight the trend
We mighty my friends… We the ninety nine percent, yeah !
Track Name: It's Alive !
Here we go now, quit recking my stereo-sound,
Spitting rhymes like a merry go round,
Talking ‘bout your heavy fo’ pound,
your barretta, your cheddar, your megalo style,
Fella, quit messing around,
Measure yo message yo, merit yo crown.
Many clowns making money, many men wanna rap,
every dummy wanna spit it but how many profound?
Mcs are an army of clones,
talking ‘bout their revolvers n' clothes,
baccardi n' hoes, with garbagy flows,
is a beat really that hard to compose?
Hip-hop comes from the heart n' the bones,
you can feel it when I'm rockin' my shows.
I'm a lyricist, I'ma spit about every bit of it,
I’m living it : a real MC already knows !
I keep rockin' til I need oxygen,
peace to all the beat boxers n'
beat makers, the DJs, the street breakers
n' those that keep watching 'em.
Graph writers that paint the city,
they spray the walls, they make 'em gritty,
displaying stories that talk to me,
in a way that's witty.
Individual vultures are killing the culture,
with no heart in the music,
you should move if you don't wanna unify hip-hop
n' be a part of the movement, stupid !
yeah… You heard what I said.
Fuck the rumours this lot spread
I'ma tell every motherfucker listenin’

(Hip-hop is not dead!)
Stop the fuss dog, what's the problem?
Trust me y'all, the culture ain't dead it's just evolvin'
(Hip-Hop is not dead !)
Like Latin, a language dies when it does not move.
So let it live, let it mix, let it choose.
(Hip-Hop is not dead!)
Suckers debate over who’s so dope n’ who’s so not,
Hip-hop police suck my you know what!
(Hip-Hop is not dead!)
Don’t be Nostalgic about something that you can keep breathing
That’s a good enough reason…
(It’s Alive… ! )