SICKSTEENS

by Malkovich Music

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about

CIRCULATING ON THE UNDERGROUND SCENE FOR THE PAST SEVERAL MONTHS, NOW RELEASED TO THE PRESS TO SET THE STAGE FOR THE FORTHCOMING SOPHOMORE PROJECT SLATED FOR SPRING 2009, MALKOVICH MUSIC IS PROUD TO PRESENT SICKSTEENS, A COLLAGE OF OLD SCHOOL RAP BEATS, THE FUNK AND SOUL OLDIES THAT WERE SAMPLED TO CREATE THEM, AND NON-STOP, OFF-THE-CUFF VERSES FROM SOME OF THE MOST UNDERRATED LYRICISTS OF OUR TIME.

SICKSTEENS IS LOOSELY BASED ON A WISHLIST MALKOVICH PUT TOGETHER OF BEATS BOTH CLASSIC AND FORGOTTEN THAT HE WANTED TO RAP OVER FOR A MIXTAPE. FROM THIS FOUNDATION, WEST LA-BASED DJ AND MUSIC ARCHIVIST BURNIE NOWAX WENT TO WORK, LOOPING AND EXTENDING INTERLUDES, BOOKENDING RAP TRACKS WITH THEIR DUSTY ORIGINALS AND COMPLETELY RECREATING CERTAIN BEATS FROM SCRATCH TO CREATE A SOUNDSCAPE STRONG ENOUGH TO SUPPORT LYRICS FROM END TO END. HOLDING UP HIS END OF THE BARGAIN, MALKOVICH SENT HIS ENTIRE RHYME FAMILY – THE TRIFECTA OF THE BLX, VJC AND HALIFAX ALL-STAR CREWS, AND AN ASSORTMENT OF EMCEES FROM CALIFORNIA TO NEW YORK – INTO THIE MIC BOOTH, WITH ORDERS TO COME UP WITH AS MANY VERSES AS POSSIBLE. THE RESULT UNITES THREE GENERATIONS OF FUNK ON A MIXTAPE THAT IS SO MUCH MORE: THE MUSICAL BUSINESS CARD OF A COLLECTIVE, A NON-STOP PARTY ON A DISC, AND A CELEBRATION OF THE ART OF HIP-HOP – SAMPLES, LYRICS AND MAD, MAD CREW.

JAZZ GREAT LOU DONALDSON’S “IT’S YOUR THING” IS CHOPPED AND LOOPED A LA BRAND NUBIAN’S “PUNKS JUMP UP TO GET BEAT DOWN” JUST IN TIME FOR CELEBRATED FEMALE EMCEE VOICE TO SHIMMY ALL OVER IT WITH SACH OF BELOVED WEST COAST DUO THE NONCE, WHO RETURNS WITH MAZZI OF NEW JERSEY’S S.O.U.L. PURPOSE TO BLESS “IMPROMPTU”, WHICH RE-SAMPLES THE EMOTIONS’ “BLIND ALLEY” TO ECHO BOTH LL COOL J AND BIG DADDY KANE’S INTERPRETATIONS OF THE R&B NUGGET. FAZE-O’S “RIDING HIGH”, THE SOURCE RECORD FOR EPMD’S “PLEASE LISTEN TO MY DEMO”, PLAYS HOST TO BLACK SILVER OF THE ANALOG BROTHERS AND OMNI OF BLX, WHO ALSO APPEARS WITH INFAMOUS LA BATTLE KING OTHERWIZE ON “TOP RAMEN”, A REWORKING OF “FRIED CHICKEN”, AN INTERLUDE ON FELLOW ANALOG BROTHER ICE-T’S ORIGINAL GANGSTER ALBUM. FROM JAMES BROWN, KOOL & THE GANG, ISAAC HAYES AND BILLY STEWART TO N.W.A., OUTKAST, NAS AND SLICK RICK, BURNIE BRINGS THEM ALL TOGETHER ON SICKSTEENS. AND MALKOVICH, EXERCISING HIS PEN FOR HIS OFFICIAL FOLLOW-UP TO HIS 2006 SOLO DEBUT SKELETONS, GRACES ALL 20 TRACKS.

OLD SOUL RARE GROOVE MEETS OLD SCHOOL HIP-HOP MEETS NEW SCHOOL RHYME RUMBLE
20 SONGS. 21 EMCEES
THIS IS SICKSTEENS

credits

released 01 July 2006

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Malkovich Music Los Angeles, California

URB MAGAZINE GAVE MALKOVICH'S FIRST ALBUM 1 OUT OF 5. A KID IN NORTH HOLLYWOOD HAS LYRICS FROM THAT ALBUM TATTOOED ON HIS CHEST.

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Track Name: Like A Glove (f. P.U.D.G.E., Ali Baba Abnormal)
Goons stand up, hands up, get amped up
if your man's drunk, stand your man up
if you're in handcuffs stand up
come on yall, give it up for some damn nuts
Malkovich shit, Los Angeles shit
talking that and this but can't hang with this shit
so simple, high-hats, cymbals
and shining high in the sky, the GBLX symbol
I dribble syllables, a serial skiller, top biller, Godzilla
prime minister of this shit here, another hit for the too legit
throw a fit, who you rollin with, this is it
no fear, we're in control here, in this whole sphere, we got no fear
whether rolling on 20s, or rolling on empty, just recognize some real emcees.

Everyone say LA style (LA style) say LA style (LA style)
say NY city (NY city) and all of the above
we do it for the love, the shit fit like a glove.
Track Name: Fulltimers (f. Chris Clarke, P.U.D.G.E., J Thorn)
Here we are, big bad W
West Coast, and we came here to fuck with you
Death Row to Project Blowed, SFO to Fresno to Mexico
it's BLX, set to blow like Texaco, flow Testaro, watch the engine go
nothing less than BLXceptional, so when the bomb drops on the dancefloor, back up
when the bomb drop on the back row, back up
we study like doctors, train like boxers
to be the number one mic rocker, rhyme opera
running with a rapping schematic and everybody in the spot aware we're here to do damage
I'm the man that'll manage, my mindstate is manic
the science is static, and the music is magic
Crag Malkovich, fully automatic rap shit.
Track Name: Boom Bap (f. Chris Clarke, P.U.D.G.E.)
Moving in like Peyton with the penetration
heads rotating like twenty-inch Daytons
they say Malkovich, his style is so amazing
them GBLX boys, they ain't playing
the escapist, I break out of steel cages
all they say was swinging doors and metal shavings
I radiate wind, send planes in a tailspin
got it raining limbs and people's life savings
lets separate mature from amateur
raw from manicured, big scores from liquor stores
yall Stans get a plan, I just got the call from MOLMan in Japan, our shit's on program
solid, hypnotic, yeah the kid got it
so throw my new CD on and skip college
rap's a gamble and we're the pit bosses so raise your gin tonics for the Gershwin Symphonic.
Track Name: The Ruck (f. Felix, Sum)
ring bell, inhale, the flag pops out the toy gun, it's Merry Melodies
Roger's quiet, with a name like a World War 1 figher pilot
Victorian wigs and extra-long cigs, at the bar taking big swigs
Porky Pig, looking like a side of ribs
thought bubble, if he starts trouble. double back
watch him double back in them huddled stacks of open mousetraps
four rooms, go ahead, name your tune
water in my ear since I was six years old
when I walk, I hear Romeo & Juliet by Peter Nero
soundtrack to the life of a down mack with about that much tolerance for the obvious
nice work, shook 'em with the Burt Reynolds sideburns
squeezing outta automatic CD players, nobody dirty up a rug like me.

Back to work early, like 7:30
crazed look and some red jelly on my jersey
urgency emergency, nursery to gurney to surgery to eternity
thirty-three thirty-three thirty-free leaves one, and there gotta be a reason
ease up, blood vessels in my temples seized up
for a U.S. visa I'll thumb-wrestle Jesus
caught 'em with the three-second rule... freedom!
a Godzilla truck flying flying over speedbumps
yall cats dissing me did OK... C+
calm down, hold your microphone right, breathe some
you got a new CD? I'll give you three bucks
off the deep end, this is how we spend our weekend
the three-men ESPN off the weed blend
attack like violent monkeys swinging from trees
Crag and the Vinyl Junkies.
Track Name: Shanks (f. Sum, Milx, Otherwize)
Blowing out the back, coat flapping like a cloak
Trouble Man from Iran, bringing action in bulk
hard-ass stance like I'm backing down the Hulk
line 'em between the eyes, smash 'em down to pulp
don't sulk, be an adult
Charles Schultz drawing these kids up like Peanuts or pre-nups
sound hand with the fountain pen, beat's like the shoulder lane, I weave out and in
ask around, I'm the Bout It Man, if I say it's gonna happen, don't doubt it
my outfit shrouded in shadows, sharpening arrows, jumping out manholes with that Rambo handflow
spot like Hoboken, NJ on body day, one got away, it's ok, you got a day
posted up, working on my next million
Malkovich shit, leave the chain on your chest jingling.
Track Name: Shot One (f. Reverb)
Crag got the M.I.C., the M.I.C.
take out the I, it's M.C. (and that's me)

Call the ambulance, we got a dead man in a headband
Rambo, suspect seen careening south in a black Astro
hat low, stalking the outback, alien plateau
steel trees, lampposts, crazy bums, jackals
are we hit? damn close... no time to catch your breath
all hands on deck, we're battleships, the Los Angeles map's the grid
F1 left my car torched, C4 crippled the power source
aye aye captain, come on man.. hard to starboard

This is the sound of my soul down in a hole, loud, kinda low
leaving my mouth as a flow, and that sound in the background is my fuse about to blow
count slow (4, 3, too late) blackout, thoughts erupting like water rushing
caught, stuck in the flooding up in my mind, hype rhymes
high time that you learned I never play the back burner, you got the wrong guy
Crag crack heads till they see tie-dye and shit worms
some hi-fi sci-fi fly shit, class of '96

It's the Incubus, incubated from eight minutes to age six in a frankly pathetic attempt to death this medical miracle
videotaped interviews from Stanford to Syracuse
professionals adjust their spectacles while Crag just sits amused
wanted like the Pikachu, only answers to women in the nude
and subsists on a strict diet of curry vindaloo
we bring the news, hot off the press, who rocks the best
there ain't no need to proceed, we got it hemmed
now drop and give me ten.
Track Name: The Mile High Club (f. Black Silver, Omni, J Thorn)
Nimble-tongue M.D., ruckus emcee
hitting tracks like a ten-speed bumping through Belize
Jet Li on a jetski, skip on the water
kick off the wall, flip and land on a quarter
JP ladies with the neon on, and the Hawaii dimepieces looking beyond bomb
used to give me the frion arm, now I go get a drink and they say "don't be gone long"
but we long gone, on the next train, man
mad turbulence but we all calm, maintain
it's a damn shame, cats letting me on songs, I just aim then blow 'em out the frame (bang bang)
ass out on tracks then pass out the wax, you get pat down for gats, we're passed out in the back
got it down pat, guess who's wearing the clown hat
back down cuz we're back now, out the background, like that.
Track Name: Four Dope Boyz (f. Sum, Clan Destined)
Another tale to tell, I stay on the bail
sipping grain on the train, I skate the rails
blow smoke on a boat, I sail the swells
came to make Gs, I am not taking Ls
yall breaking nails, meanwhile Sum, Dex and DT on Peachtree, Adidased up, raising hell
on some Run-DMC, or the Treacherous Three plus me in a Skeletons tee
black high tops, I run rhymes like livestock
it's my life that I'm giving you man, it's all that I got
it's my shot, so I go at it white hot
morning shift through to night watch and why not
grab your shinebox, put your back into it
one time we all had to do it
representing for the worldwide travelers, curbside anglers
third rock, third world, Los Angeles.
Track Name: Top Ramen (f. Omni, Otherwize, Pity Patrone)
Working on the mixtape, late night
time to cut another track, it's gotta be right
got a Black 'n Mild in hand, freshly chiefed
anybody taking a hit, just be brief
Burnie got the funky beat, a stupid dope loop
but it got words on it (what we gonna do, troop?)
we gotta chop it up, digital mixer
tried the reverb, even the filter
but no matter what we do the voices won't soften
fuck it... pass me some of that top ramen.

Hole in my throat, rock with two mics
Malk man go with the flow, it's BLX
too hype for you beaucou types
this is a warning, scrawled in big red letters
caution when caught in the blade propellers
bounce to the sounds of the BLX click, bounce to the sounds of the next shit
we at the exit before breakfast, you in line at the entrance, stuck off my first sentence
word benching, hundred-ton arm-curl extensions
I down a cup of that power up, out the cut in a buttoned-down tux on some now what
hit the club with love, shared a bitter jug, did the jitterbug then I bit her in the jugs
that's hilarious, word to Larry S., BassLine Xcursionists be the Cali-est
Track Name: Somethin Like That (f. BLVME)
Back from Iran with a big ol' gut and a Persian chick with a big ol' butt
West LA's in the house keeping shit legit like fat cats rocking moneyclips
so we slid on home so I could hit it
smiling all the way, knew she'd get the didick
but that's all a part of showbiz.. homeboy, tell 'em what your name is...

Crag, the time zone hopper, full off pasta, so come gimme my propers
raps I can throw 'em back with the best one
no test run, who want it? come and get some
slow motion, how I remember it all
yes yes yall, high school halls, banging the walls
now I'm just going for mine
checked my tires, ate my Wheaties and got all of my lifelines
unlike a lotta suckers who claim they're getting busy
knowing damn well they work for the city
you need to stop running off the mouth, sit your ass down
and figure out how to get your music out
it's not difficult, in fact it's kind of simple to get your name known without looking pitiful
you need to stay on your J.O.B., rhyme hard, keep your nose clean, and don't fuck with me.

This is portable, something to clean out your ears
B. and Crag will appear when the coast is clear
to fuck it up like we always do and that's the trick
saying some shit to make the ladies wanna have our kids
but it's an everyday thing, communicating to yall with the LA slang
Pudge mic'ing shit lovely in the apartment and B. with beers fresh from the corner market
showtime, so keep the rhymes tight, you can drink all night, just no fucking up, aiiight
I got a brew in my hand with a hell of a grip, a grown man and you can't tell me shit
bad chick in a black Denali with two friends, a perfect time to bring the show to an end
cuz if you're a fly lady then I'ma hang with ya, and if you're with your man then I'm ten bucks richer
Two B. and Malkovich emcee, BLX, Halifax and the VJC
Track Name: Three Gentlemen & A Lady (f. Chris Clarke, Voice, Sach of The Nonce)
Falling off the brink, note on the fridge
"I flew the Pinto to hell and dinner's thawing in the sink"
gelatin monsters take over planet Earth
front page update, right underneath the recipe for a broccoli souffle (touche)
I stabbed the mad Frenchman and his henchmen
left him yelling like Venkman on the seventh floor, yelling like he just saw Skeletor
yelling like he slammed his hands in four foot metal doors
I drop metaphors and females feel 'em like menopause, life-changing
quite strange and at the same time it's lovely
it's like game but it ain't game, it's just me
much steez so bust these, hit the club musty
with a plus three, just me and my trustees.
Track Name: Whose Booda (f. Sum, Chris Clarke, Ali Baba Abnormal)
OK, without a doubt, the man known to turn it out
I go from Hammertime to Millertime
from a long line of smalltimers that grind till we aught fire
real shit, we selling low, buy up.
get 'em hooked then bump the shit right up
missed the call, was with babydoll, kinda tied up
yin-yang off this rapping thing, one-man orchestra
orchestrate the big bang, I'm on my shit man
I crash a flow like Feds crashing through the window
creep like thieves, tiptoeing slow
black plimsoles like it's Gitmo, Guantanamo
we wanna git mo' so we trot the globe
Jack Kerouac, on the road for that pot of gold
for a chance to advance I do the impossible
Dr. No on tracks and it's like that
millennium emcees, the empire strikes back.
Track Name: Slippin In The Car (f. Fat Hed, P.U.D.G.E.)
So where were you when Miles Davis made hits
floating in my daddy's balls, just waiting to be created
straight missed ancient Rome, the Great Wall
showed up along with payphones and a-bombs
last month I was a toddler, rocking a Tonka
Willy Wonka and breaking outta my walker
four days later I was a fourth-grader
wide-eyed, still bugging off of elevator rides
on the 16th floor, and now I'm 16, trying to figure out what shit means
and it seems this life thing is more than a one-night fling
from 19 jumped five six years in an eyeblink
mid-twenties and yeah the shit's heavy
time's flying and it's more than a little bit scary.
Track Name: Failsafe (f. Black Silver, J Thorn, DJ Midas)
This is failsafe, on some West Coast shit
with a hella flow spit and an extra-pro click
I lay waste to a paleface, catch me on the railways chilling like the sleeper
seat 303, Cinema Paradiso
boy from the old world sticks on his promise, vaunts modern economics
foreign policies to become the next Hollis, Queens success story except the West bore me
Travolta ponytails, get shorty, check shorty all in the sarong, she hella saucy
approach genuine, like a gentleman, tell her in this time of life I'm a player, I'm leveling
they call me Bugsy, I don't respect money
if you're not from the heart, not a word you get from me
rep lovely on the track, Sicksteens quarterback
the millennium dream team, now who wanna rap...
Track Name: The Ugly (f. Chris Clarke, BLVME, J Thorn)
Well it's the bruiser, bully on the block, track abuser
put me off lock, point me at a crowd and watch me move 'em
I flew in, superhuman, boosters in my shoes
shooting off slugs the size of Cubans out mics
cats scottching in car seats and peeling out, wheels screaming loud
homeboys, we give 'em pound, fly girls we dick 'em down, man
don't try to twist shit around, we been with it clown
whipping through your town, drowning your surroundings in sound
lounging behind enemy grounds
dousing the spot in gasoline, flicking a match and bouncing
my style is a cold mountain, an old house with owls in the attic and wolves in the yard howling
I came up scrounging, kept my money in a brown tin
pennies turned to hundreds, hundreds turned to thousands
it's either live kneeling or die standing so I live crouching, waiting for my time to pounce
introducing my crowning achievement, my joint takes you through the whole spectrum, we're oiling your joints
lyric and business, this is the boiling point
on some Luke Skywalker, I drink firewater and chase flying saucers
get your mind altered, sly talker out the wine orchard, horrify
straight ruck when I erupt, Molokai.
Track Name: Stranded In West Los (f. Chris Clarke, Ali Baba Abnormal, BLVME)
People all applaud and swiping all awards, it's ya man Malkovich and I brought catalog
Black 'n Mild, half weed half tobacco style, I blow Os, crack a No-Doz, sit back and smile
at a plan gone perfect, ya man gon' work it, I bust and yall hang on to every word spit
rookies on the floor, yall don't wanna go to war, we by the door, hoodied up, sharpening our swords
black bags round my eyes, backpack on my back
carry my life on shoulderstraps, no holding back
stagedive off the planet, fuck Earth you can have it, shit's much worse than we ever imagined
beasts, we upsurge and burst through the granite
beasts, we buck first then survey the damage
the mission is religion, so sing if you with it
ring finger across my heart, we married to this shit.
Track Name: Impromptu (f. Mazzi, Sach of The Nonce)
Saturday, Phillie Dutch, bumpin Wille Hutch
Richard Pryor died, what's really up
words fail me so I use them carefully
clarity is a rarity, we only see what we care to see
and all I see is me - I'm one man G, self-centered and I should be
actually, it's policy you gotta be when hanging in the Los City
and comedy's just honesty so I get over with a buncha bearhugs and a couple cold shoulders
above all I love yall don't forget it but, above yall I love all, that's the lessson
kids get moved off the shit that I bring through it's visual, you understand it, it's visceral
speaking the language, sneak in the slang shit
rhymes rough enough to leave you leaking out a bandage
handprints in the sand, a bad wind
if John Lennon was still alive, imagine.
dreamers dream on, cuz we're gonna be the first ones beyond
just keep your G strong
keep calm, this is just recon
relax your shoulders, soldier, breathe long
Track Name: The Move Unit (f. P.U.D.G.E., Sum, Ali Baba Abnormal)
Sharpen my teeth on the side of the street
lean over, leave bite marks in some white meat
like peace I’m slightly out of your reach
Ivy League psyche with a Ph.D in fly speech
and you might queef at the sight of my fleet
Sumkid, Big Pudge, Ali Baba, the elite
the move unit, making mood music for your smoke sessions
all day, 24-7, no question
coyote, do my work all on my lonely
a cold wind, I broke in the houses of the holy
throwing Stoli bottles, moving on to the gin
it’s like Ho Chi Minh, all hoes and heroin
a block away I spot my prey and zero in
just settle in boy, and take your medicine
this is severance pay, your day of reckoning
so call your relatives and inform your next of kin.
Track Name: Nicarawgua (f. Chris Clarke, Ali Baba Abnormal, P.U.D.G.E.)
The dark prince, throwing sharp hints in a nard’s rib
your face screw up, looking Quaalude up
hot coffee, you can take two lumps
big gaps in my raps, rhyming like I gave two fucks
Crag Malkovich make you change crews up
not to be on no empty rap rhetoric
but we know emcees and they be mad delicate
take a seat bro, don’t be no hero
stay tuned, cuz we’re about to have a breakthrough
I fly like the H2, oh, you ain’t know?
If you say so, get out the way though
no time to waste, throw a fist up for Kaydoe
sixteen-bar all-star, trademark to Omni
rolling palm trees, vibing off that Don Conti
Gandhi car keys, Milx takes the sill cake
Malky mixtape infiltrate your milkcrate
Track Name: The Finish Line (f. Ali Baba Abnormal, Chris Clarke, Montage One)
With a hardcore mic rock I bust the hip-hop
big Crag Malkovich got shit locked
Hithcock with a rhyme, kickboxer, spit lava
graduated school of hard knocks with honors
Inshallah, the job came dangerous
we move like park rangers on mile-high blazes
playing with razors, I bite down when the pain hits
a pinch then one sly eyebrow raises
sneaker sole on the cold concrete, I'm running for the gold, live nerve on my shoulder
understand, I ain't better I'm just bolder
we stand up, visual, we beat the rap like criminals
and when cats show love, we act reciprocal
Malk managerial, we work miracles
in a six-by-two, working on a room with a view.