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Refinery

by Reuben Walton

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1.
Desperado, why don't you come to your senses? You been out ridin' fences for so long now Oh, you're a hard one, I know that you got your reasons, These things that are pleasin' you can hurt you somehow Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy She'll beat you if she's able, You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet Now it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table But you only want the ones that you can't get Desperado, oh you ain't gettin' no younger, Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home And freedom, oh, freedom, well that's just some people talkin' Your prison is walkin' through this world all alone Don't your feet get cold in the wintertime? The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine It's hard to tell the night time from the day You're losin' all your highs and lows Ain't it funny how the feelin' goes away Desperado, why don't you come to your senses Come down from your fences, open the gate and it may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you You better let somebody love you, You better let somebody love you, You better let somebody love you before it's too late
2.
Plus, she had surprised me by pouring a candlelit bottle of wine/don’t you like studying this and putting it into practice in all of your lines?/no. just let me go through a few reasons why you might’ve been a little harder to find/bravely listening to this podcast? is you outta your mind?/maybe this is a fear of failure so you would like to know how to throw them ‘bows when you properly fried/how do you approach women when you’re not really exactly that fly?/trusting to an adult fault fame yeen got weak ass butterflies at the bus stop gettin’ distracted by rides/weak ass butterflies at the bus stop gettin’ distracted by rides/trusting to a fault some hip cat that did act like he ain’t really that wick-wack/he ain't really that wick-wack, in fact, he’s just at his own prime/so we sit and laugh and talk pleasantly, while meanwhile we dyin’ inside/so to do so when most niggas they 8 times out of 10 just wanna fuck it and call it a night/we mash up the place back up in your face wanna start somethin’ mane, never you mind/Español I can speak it so if you ever lackin’ a niche in that market, got a joint and you schemin’ to spark it, then gon’ and drop me a line/cause the black time/brains all you needa know ‘bout eyes/cuz we got a genuine pimp slit/all of a sudden this pimp split, cuz he was fed up with the so-called misfits/ so we lyin’ on the beach just lyin’ on the beach just lyin’ to the beat just lyin’ on the beach we lyin’ on the beach finna dope y’all lipstick/we hardly get dressed when we talk to suitors ain’t no spottin’ snoopers when they just wanna get they dicks licked/with they hurr outta control/spun outta control weed overflowin’ out of the bowl/say what you want but I ain’t no quitter my hyle's style is hittin’ hard after a couple sips of that liquor/whatever it is you niggas think you can’t be, can't do better than this/while you wishin’ the slow witta inside of me would just come alive and start some violent monopoly/but fuck it, i just wanna be that kid who when they criticize you I’ll be there right before the cops’ll be/can tell my opinion by the look in my eyes that I'ma die hard try hard try hard to get that fire/name of course. I’m also looking for food, yes I said that right/I am not just a tongue for love but also, I'm not even above the drugs/what you want for peanuts? va a ser responsibil, responsible/zits on my forehead like Melissa Morehead/ain’t a real reason but gon’ 'head and get the door, Jed/last name Mehegan, fast thangs be beatin’ outside his office of South shore relationships relief fund/staunch republicans eyein’ me like I’m just a stoner and don’t work hard/Shit, I’m bustin’ my balls back here and shit’s wetter than Hurricane Katrina/Trish Stratus ain’t here to go ham with Vita/straight from Murder, Inc. and she heard the stink/Catherine Zeta-Jones better switch me chairs or it’s burglary/Bonzai trees in the corner ekin’ out a living in the nursery/purposely I told you it was worth it, G/Neck failure finna make me say ain’t sayin’ hola/Tell you it was worth it, G/Nola ví a la playa para stoppa the fire/that’s a possibility you say no it is not but it is/die animal woah, Derrick from Sum-41 teaching parakeets to blow a spliff/this is a foul act he’s done and he knows this shit/this is an eyeglasses case on the floor like I done told you bitch/it’s nearly as good as recording shit in da .wav format and then reloading it/recording in .mp3 we might have to really know some tricks/not the kind in the streets but the file kind that I gotta pick one apart/ultimately this way is better than Napolean Bonaparte/well anyway, it is better than a heavyweight golden arch/that’s just unhealthy man like holdin’ farts/what's the real question for you the final unhealthy man lookin' like result has to be a dot/mp3 file, don’t care/well everything's wild, out here/anyway, don't care what you told the loan shark/so it would be better for you to record directly to .mp3 and not tarnish my golden heart/or is it better to record in .wav format and stay a human doormat ‘till you the oldest fart?/and then convert a fuckin' stye human mattress/this teacher stuck the mp3 in a metal box that better not break ‘cuz if it does it tears my whole world apart/it depends on the quality of your .mp3 recorder, ‘cause by this time you oughta be gettin’ things in order/it was really in a no-test fousting session that I was able to get that asshole to bounce his ass for a quarter/bounce it up and down then take one last gulp of water and make a pass at his daughter/bounce that asshole to stay hydrated and fix with a UMass Lowell casserole/bounce it and get yo ass to the floor and then stack the trolls/listen, shake your rump while you’re at it/get your ass to the floor and act like a crack addict/just kidding I ain’t even wit it man, everybody know me/and I got hoes, G/and I’m legally leavin’ the ghetto with a couple hoes me/yeah, take off that hosiery/P-Town, nigga. WoHo, Dubtown, yeah, I’m out
3.
The smell of the laundry room reminds me of your house leads me to romanticize what feels like so long ago relaxing in those cozy midcape towns in the fading twilight (oh! oh! oh! oh!) Driving home from North Falmouth, I can really say from Senior Job Shadow Day, that you almost knew me that day that you almost knew me that day that day so long ago, way long in the past, I think back, "Why didn't it last?" and then I remember I never fit in at all until now for very long, ironically right now my hair can't stop blowing into the hairstyle that I wanted three years ago, in the streets of Hyannis.
4.
Waking up to see the morning when I can't get out of bed you're in the kitchen cooking eggs and bacon and it's a brand new day I'm not gonna say that you're mean 'cause it's not true at all but in retrospect, I agree with my mind and my perception that you were a total asshole all the time you were an asshole every day and every night I couldn't do anything to please you without the dirtiest look in the world coming my way that's the trouble with older guys, I guess, but I never thought it would be so bad. Why am I attracted to that?-- All the same, it was a learning experience for me. Woke up the next day, eyes covered with sand from the tears from the night before the couch was comfy, but the mood was awful but I was already over it, as I left, we smoked a bowl and then I got on the train and never saw you again ever again, and you won't even add me back. 'cause you're an asshole, I should've known better, but for the umpteenth time I gave into what my body wanted me to do and not what my mind needed me to do that day.
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Amber Scanlan: And the men gotta close their legs/um, they're make--they're makin' a pen/they're makin' a len/now they're--they're ending the zen/there's too many kids, they're gonna kill the third/gonna kill the birds?/they're killin' the kids/no they're not, because there's way too many populated in that fuckin' state/that fuckin' place, the Chinese place/chinks, chink faces, yellow faces all over the place/they're so overpopulated/try to go to Tokyo, it's never stoppin' pated/it's three o'clock A.M. they're still walkin' hated/ Chorus A: There's too many kids, they're gonna kill the third/gonna kill the birds? There's too many kids, they're gonna kill the third/gonna kill the birds? There's too many kids, they're gonna kill the third/gonna kill the birds? There's too many kids, they're gonna kill the third/gonna kill the birds? AS: hated/walkin' haters/they're so tired, but they keep walkin', baby/because you can't walk in the daytime, way too many people/fuck New York, that looks like a country compared to Tokyo/look at all these hoes, tryna get more kids/guys can't keep their legs shut, they keep on drinkin' more gin/they keep on drinkin' more things/and look over in America, these kids keep--keep on thinkin' more things/so you better--you better stop havin' these kids, 'cause look at the--/ Chorus A: There's too many kids, they're gonna kill the third/gonna kill the birds? There's too many kids, they're gonna kill the third/gonna kill the birds? There's too many kids, they're gonna kill the third/gonna kill the birds? There's too many kids, they're gonna kill the third/gonna kill the birds? AS: Look at the world! There's already six billion mothafuckas in this bitch/already six billion mothafuckas, I'm not gonna pop out a ball of fat/a ball of rats, so the rats can feed on it?/look at all these dead babies getting popped in the dumpster now!/look at all these dead babies getting popped in the dumpster, pow!/and--and they're like, "plop! bow! plow!"/they're fallin' in the dumpster, dead baby, Mexican women, Latino women/they keep on gettin' knocked up, swimmin' in pink linen/they're not even swimmin' in pink linen/What? Reuben Walton: Window/look in the window/look at the pimp hoes/look in the window, I said look at the window/no, he's not lookin' out, he's just cleaning somethin'/but it's really funny, you gotta put weed in the bumpkin/I'm a country bumpkin, and I'm thumpin'/frumpin'/and I'm lookin' like a bumpkin/ AS: Oh my god, you scared the fuck out--(laughs) why don't you record it anyway even though it-- RW: I am! AS: Okay good. I would/a-kill you, I would sear the living hell outta any baby that tried to go in my stomach, I'ma kill them with rabies/go in my stomach, I'ma kill you with anthrax/kill you with an axe/kill you with a 'llac/I'm chillin' in the 'llac/chillin' in the back/with a coupla bitches, a coupla hoes/I've been called a bitch, but never called a hoe/Um, I said that to Gabe the other day, he said "Get out the do'!"/I said--and then I said, "I fuck with everybody, fuck the haters, whoa, whoa/my rat, and I said/no, that's what I said/oh my god, you have to listen to the new--oh my god, you have--have you heard the new CD that I have? RW: No. AS: No you haven't! That's right, that's right/I'm gonna fuck with you tonight/that's right, I'm gonna fuck with you tonight/I'm gonna fuck your toes tonight/I'm gonna stick your toe all up my anus/I'm gonna put the blut--butt plug in banus/bam, muh!/am Chorus B: Put a little bam, put a little kief, put a little chiefa put a little/ Put a little bam, put a little kief, put a little chiefa put a little/ Put a little bam, put a little kief, put a little chiefa put a little/ Put a little bam, put a little kief, put a little chiefa put a little/ Reva in it/okay, listen/cruisin' down the street, Mike Jones/what do you think?/cruisin' down my street/sick, sick, sick, sick N9ne/sixty-nine, on the bed now/you think you're gifted now?/fuckin' dead now/you're fuckin' dead now/D-E-A-D/you think you niggas wanna play me?/people lookin' up/birds wanna fuck/birds wanna fuck, fuck an owl nut/fuck a foul nut/fuck a towel nut? fuck a colon nut/bowlin' nut? hola nut/I'll show you hole, I'll show you a/I'll show you a whore, in a slut/I'll show you a whore in a fuckin' slut/I'll show you a whore when I get the instrumental/get the temple, a Shirley Temple/with those chinks, and, what is it called and?/what it is, ballin'?/I think I'm gonna be the tallest muthafucka in this place, 'cause all these yellow faces are lingerin', um, about a half-head below me/yellow people, shawty, shawty, shawty/shawty, gonna make some pokin'?/Cody Magone, Cody Kiefa/Cody Reefa, he's chiefin' on the reefa/sippin' on the pimp, bird/bird RW: (indistinguishable)
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10.
I should just hug you goodbye But I just can't walk away from paradise So I guess I'll sing you that sweet lullaby And we can revisit us one more time Yes, I'll come home with you tonight Hey boy, what's going on Thanks, I'm doing okay Don't believe rumours- hey How's your family Please say hello for me Guess we've both grown up a bit But I have to admit It really still feels good Here by your side Sitting right next to you Just like I used to do You know we can't deny No one else in our lives Holds a candle to you and I Should just hug you goodbye But I just can't walk away from paradise So I guess I'll sing you that sweet lullaby And we can revisit us one more time Yes, I'll come home with you tonight I should just hug you goodbye But I just can't walk away from paradise So I guess I'll sing you that sweet lullaby And we can revisit us one more time Yes, I'll come home with you tonight So here we are again All by ourselves So familiar you know That it actually almost feels like deja vu Of that night on the roof We kissed under the sky amid city lights A sudden flashback to so long ago In the dark all alone With our bodies this close Guess some things never change 'Cause I still melt away When you touch me And say my name Should just hug you goodbye (baby) But I just can't walk away from paradise (so I guess) So I guess I'll sing you that sweet lullaby (I'll come and love you to sleep) And we can revisit us one more time (revisit paradise for a while) Yes, I'll come home with you tonight (by your side) (lullaby) I should just hug you goodbye (see I know I should but boy) But I just can't walk away from paradise (you just look so good) So I guess I'll sing you that sweet lullaby (so I'll sing that song) And we can revisit us one more time (you like to hear me sing as we revisit us) Yes, I'll come home with you tonight (It feels, feels good) I should just hug you goodbye (I can't walk away But I just can't walk away from paradise From paradise so I'll take you home and sing to you baby) So I guess I'll sing you that sweet lullaby And we can revisit us one more time Yes, I'll come home with you tonight (though I know that I should just) I should just hug you goodbye (oh I can't, ...cause you) But I just can't walk away from paradise So I guess I'll sing you that sweet lullaby (you and I both know) And we can revisit us one more time (nobody else in our lives holds a candle to you and I) Yes, I'll come home with you tonight I should just hug you goodbye shhh! (so hush pretty baby) But I just can't walk away from paradise (mmm,it's just me and you yeah, as we relive the splendor of you and I) So I guess I'll sing you that sweet lullaby And we can revisit us one more time Yes, I'll come home with you tonight (I'm gonna sing our sweet lullaby)
11.
12.
I see trees of green, red roses too I see them bloom for me and you And I think to myself, what a wonderful world I see skies of blue and clouds of white The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night And I think to myself, what a wonderful world The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky Are also on the faces of people going by I see friends shakin' hands, sayin' "How do you do?" They're really saying "I love you" I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow They'll learn much more than I'll ever know And I think to myself, what a wonderful world Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world
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14.
Verse 1: Reuben Walton: Damn, damn, damn, there’s so much bass on the track, it might explode/might explode like a dick, and I’m really not even high, I’m just so fuckin’ bored up in this room/bored up in the croom, bored up in thy room, bored up in thy coom, board up ya house, board up lights s—fuck it/wait, wait, wait, there’s the high-pitched sound goin’ higher and higher/higher like a kite in the sky, higher like a bite in the rye/biting the rye like Madonna, smokin’ marijuana like Shawnna/it—the rapper, the rapper stab her/stab her in the back like a rapper/stab her in the capper/stab her cap her and cap her/scra—(pause) gotta get to the beat and I don’t care, even if it is cliché I will rap the muthafuckin’ way that I want/in the car, hauntin’ the house/hauntin’ the mrouse/lookin’ like a mouse out straight out the house straight out the South/even though I’m not from the South well technically I’m from South Falmouth/but they don’t call it that they call it WoHo/or Woods Hole as the old-timers like to say, P-Dub done shut the track down/so get the fuck up how you gonna act now?/wait, wait there’s another space/comin’ up in the back of the place/but wait, I can still rap even when I don’t hear the beat so fucka please/I’m like, w-whatever that girl’s name was, the one who showed Amber that CD/Ain’t No Other Crystal, Crystal, Crystal, Crystal Meth, Crystal Crystal Merry Crystal Methmas/smokin’ Crystal Meth at night/smokin’ Crystal Meth in the dark at night/with the mart on the dark smokin’ creeks in the dark/lookin’ like Princess Superstar/I’m such a superstar, I’m such a superstar/got hooters har, where are the hooters are?/they’re on your chest, silly, where the fuck did you think they were?/Think they were in the bird? Lookin’ like a bird at night with a turd/eatin’ a turd like a muthafuckin’ jit chink and eatin’ all the words/eatin’ all the words straight out of your mouth/(pause) gotta take a drink, gotta take a tink, gotta think, gotta think wait/hope my roommates don’t come in the room ageen/and I really just mispronounced that so I could make it rhyme, make it time, make it high, make it fly/make it flyer than a nigga err straight out the South, straight out the wouth, wait I just said that, what am I talkin’ about?/and the hook goes… Chorus: Pre-made instrumentals, yeah that’s how it goes/oh my God there’s thumping, I really hope nobody comes home/ Verse 2: Yeah, I’m a bad ass mutha wit a big fat rag/got these niggas…while I toss it up/wait I stole that from DSD the band from the South, the ones that are even cornier than Khia on the mic/higher liah riah higher than a kite/higher than a kite, higher than a white guy at a rite/kinda morning wreallih cleanin’ the pipes/cleanin’ the rithe, cleanin’ the fipes, cleanin’ like the height/cleanin’ the Heights in Falmouth Heights with the rights/the right, Johnny kite, Johnny Cash/Johnny Cash can lick my ass and lick my fasten crap/craf and crap, craf and rats/Eighty-Six can do that too, they suck cock more than a fuckin’ grew/grew and grew, grew the shit, been to been through, what you know about blue, nigga?/Eiffel CC five in the rye/covered with Eiffel 65 like it’s 2000 all over again/in the back of the hen, back of the ren, back of the cleb/back of the cren, back of the quen and you know what when? When?/Gwen Stefani is so hotty and the chronny in the body, dot a little little lotty/and I already said that in one of my other songs, B/but I really don’t care and really don’t care if you try to mention me/cut his head, cut it right off and put it on a stick/parade it around the house ‘cause she’s takin’ a shit/really actin’ in the club, lookin’ magic in the bub/every rap nigga hub, and I’m walkin’ around in hella hub/in the bore hub, in the whore bub/mmm, (catches breath) yeah I didn’t say anything, didn’t say anything to the brats/didn’t say anything to the cat but I really don’t talk to cats/even when I’m high I don’t really talk to cats I just chill smoke and roll through the hood/roll through the hood and a roll through the bood, rollin’ the good and read a good book/read a bood book, like Girl with the Pearl Earring/can’t hear me? Can’t hear let me turn it up/turn it up like a muthafucka from a cut/straight out the back, straight out the gate, straight out the wait, straight out the hate/straight, don’t hate, don’t hate/I keep goin’ back to the grindy voice like Marilyn Manson/prancin’ around in a hats, pranny rounds in my ass, trannies around in the back, harrassin’ the back, crashin’ the rat, prance in a rat, prance in a hat/and the hook goes…(cut short) Chorus: Pre-made instrumentals, yeah that’s how it goes/oh my God there’s thumping, I really hope nobody comes home/ Verse 3: Oh wait, I should be rappin’ still/Pre-made Instrumental 2/two two two two two three/don’t you really really wanna try me, try me for a drink/don’t leave me there when I’m drunk, though, ‘cause I’ll make you meet me/yeah, now that’s some real shit for ya
15.
Reuben Walton: That's what opposite tracks/and my hometown Indiana stuck with all the soprano penitentiary payin' no attention to nellapanella of the model/climb on stage and stereo/be on point like "Where he go?"/and when I'm fallin' first thing on stage is the last one standing like the Empire State/get a queen so she could get that sidewalk fixed baby pemped in the beer so he could get knocked out of there/suddenly she swooped and moved to kiss me/and I said damn what kind of situation could this be/I think about her all week/ladies and gentlemen may I have your attention please/I'd like to welcome all o' y'all to the un--first underground award show this album for the underground queens/I'm your host Steve/a loved by few hated by many/super free/rollin dub whites spinnin' got pressas on my team/need to let off some steam/drop seaweed for the Mississippi/come for the swan swamp muthafucka this is exactly Ellen DeGeneres: Mariah Carey? No! Suddenly it's like you're playing The $10,000 Pyramid. "Things that taste like chicken! Things a monkey would wear! Ah, that's right, we were talking about tiny hats."
16.
Reuben Walton: Wait that metronome right here off yes it is off/sounds horrible, too. sounds like a horrible loo/drinkin' Caribou Lou on the couch/playas don't know how to route/so anyway..I'm afraid to talk real loud because I'm in my room/and if you wanna come in here and make me not talk so quietly/make me talk so loud so roud so round like a pow in the row/make a cow milk/make a cow covered with silk covered with silk like a spider/and you can't even hide her/because she's so big like Rosie O'Donnell, ROFL, ROFL in Roswell waddle waddle wow wow--I'm just makin' up words at this point/cuz I'm so bored so whored so roared so lord at night lord of the kite lord of the white hands, alright?/so white, so bright, so nice, so white/wait I already said that, but I don't care/and if I already said that then I'll be right there/but I didn't already say that but I really did/so now I'm lyin' to you, what you gonna believe on Ebay, biddin' up for this shit/biddin' for like whips/beatin' for the clips/beatin' for the bips/beatin' for the fips yeah, you know how it go/wait, I think my roommate's comin' in the back door even though there's only one door to the room/and if there was only one door to the room, why the fuck did I say that there was a back door?/Why would I say that there was a muthafuckin' backdoor/to the room, when there's only one muthafuckin' door?/One muthafuckin' door at night with a big fat whore in the kite/flyin' a kite on the hill/flyin' like poppin' the pills/poppin' the pills lookin' at the stars/lookin' at the park eatin' candy bars/eatin' candy fars/eatin' Zanzibar and Randy Far/Randy Jackson better sit the fuck down, I didn't know that nigga was in the band Journey Journey/wait, there's only one "Journey" in the name, not two/not two, if there were two of them, we'd have to repeat/every every word word that that we we say say and that would be bad/because it would take twice as long to say everything/and we would never be able to give feeling to whatever we saying at the time in the rhyme and for some reason, I'm thinkin' of Nick Cummings/Nick Cummings that's somethin'/like a hoe/hay/burnin' the fway/smokin' mad hay/ RW: Marcel, can I use your internet? Marcel: What? RW: Can I use your internet? M: I don't have the internet cord. RW: Oh, where did you put it? M: (Sounding annoyed) Someone else has it. RW: Oh, okay.
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Guitar Noise 06:31
18.
Bay bay bay right now? Paradox. Oh. Lemon ice cream. Symbol. Beats for prayer. Hope. Dining table. CD Case. Lemon ice cream. Notebook. Shoe. Robo artwork. Process. Omnipotent. Through our mind. Two miles on my trine. Going through my mind.
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Intro: Reuben Walton: Yo…hoe, fuck you, hoe. Just kidding, hoe. Mike K3: (laughs) RW: I’d never even call you a hoe. Chhh! But you look like a clit (laughs). Alright, hold on. Verse 1: RW: So go on and bend on over to the front and touch the tip o’ ya toes/and I might even let ya get a hit o’ this ‘dro/uh huh I like it like that and a Philly got you fittin’ to choke/with the dehydration with them rims be spinnin’ with spokes/ah, every two weeks, so I don’t have to put my windows off, trying to get rid of the smoke/lookin’ that at that bouncin’-ass rabbit crossin’ the intersection of Gardner Road/all up in the WoHo, now you wonderin’ where’d your partner go?/That kid skipped town ‘cause he loves artichokes/can’t bash it like that plus he ain’t hardly broke/David came from down from the heavens and made out with a weapon and he asked “Where’d the stars go, yo?”/ways to die, I’ma teach you all six million/Then you won’t have no one to split the billion bills with/and sorry, red-faced fat fuck 37-year-old, ‘bout lackin’ in my skillset/I know you think you’re heavenly bold but I didn’t take my pills yet/but I’m gonna be bouncin’ off the walls in a mothafuckin’ millisec, nigga/ Chorus: Ain’t no mothafucka really hatin’ on you You just gotta do what the fuck you do, bitch p— Ain’t no mothafucka really hatin’ on you You just gotta do what the fuck you do, bitch p— Ain’t no mothafucka really hatin’ on you You just gotta do what the fuck you do, bitch p— Ain’t no mothafucka really hatin’ on you You just gotta do what the fuck you do, bitch p— Verse 2: MK: Givin’ me the playa, always be the hater/this shit’s been go crazy, with my mothafuckin’ nigga on the side/he made me crawl, made me hate/I never wanna see that mothafucka hate, hate/always wanna Nate/oh shit, baby, get on the floor/whip my dick out and make it all grown/shit with the helicopter movin’ around/this bitch she’s gon’ go crazy when I stick it in down/in the butt, in the what, I say in the butt it smells like what in the butt/don’t you speak, don’t you hear these fathafuckin’ pussy niggas want to take it here/don’t fuckin’ know, don’t fuckin’ say/don’t you be no mothafuckin’ leeway/this bitch right here wants to be a playa/but she ain’t no shit to be a later/oh baby just to never wanna end this/ Chorus: Ain’t no mothafucka really hatin’ on you You just gotta do what the fuck you do, bitch p— Ain’t no mothafucka really hatin’ on you You just gotta do what the fuck you do, bitch p— Ain’t no mothafucka really hatin’ on you You just gotta do what the fuck you do, bitch p— Ain’t no mothafucka really hatin’ on you You just gotta do what the fuck you do, bitch p—

about

The title is obviously indicative of and symbolic of the ongoing process of improving and as an artist/song-interpreter and refining my abilities as a producer. I've been making some originals, a few covers, and a lot more instrumentals/backing tracks that I am interested in either pitching to up-and-coming artists in the pop/hip-hop/r&b/dance genres, or eventually using for my own work. The artwork was a weird, grotesque printed-out drawing that I found I think in Durgin Hall, South Campus, UMass Lowell, 35 Wilder Street, Lowell, MA 01854, United States. I think it's like a rotting zombie or corpse head coming to life or something. I then wrote my name and the album title on it in black Sharpie®. The visible creases on the paper are from me folding it up as small as I could for easier transport to my scanner.

credits

released September 10, 2011

Vocals by Reuben Walton, except where noted otherwise
Vocal production by Reuben Walton, except where noted otherwise
Lyrics by Reuben Walton, except where noted otherwise
Composed by Reuben Walton, except where noted otherwise
Programming by Reuben Walton, except where noted otherwise
Produced by Reuben Walton, except where noted otherwise
Recorded by Reuben Walton, except where noted otherwise
Mixed by Reuben Walton, except where noted otherwise
Edited by Reuben Walton, except where noted otherwise
Artwork by Unknown and Reuben Walton

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Reuben Walton Falmouth, Massachusetts

Reuben Walton is a singer/songwriter and music producer based in Falmouth, MA. He is a graduate of Musicians Institute in Hollywood's Independent Artist program and their Electronic Music Production program, as well as UMass Lowell’s Music Business undergraduate program.
In 2019 he put out a self-titled EP working with producer AVLI Music and is now regularly releasing new music.
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