It’s a 12-song tribute to the father who passed away when the Chicago-born and raised rapper was just three years old—the rare shout into the existential abyss that actually receives answers echoing back.
It’s a coming-of-age story rooted in life, death, and legacy. It reminds us how the dearly departed can leave behind an indelible light.
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horoscope says aloof,
nice for stupid,
stupid couldnt cut it so a kid relied on Cupid,
reliance on emotion made my adolescence fluid,
see as fluid as a stone hat flew from David to Galuith,
kinda Buddith,
but still waiting on the karma,
like rain waits on the farmer,
to sow the seeds and practicing the dhamma,
conduct a dharma on the front doors of death,
demand the reasons why she seizes with the right or the left,
or why she taketh many innocent breath,
in retrospect,
that be the only thing us beings respect,
aside from prophets that all siphon all the sin from your set,
assignment a Met to Yank the champs in the top of the steps,
it’ll take a couple anos for fate to connect,
every drop in blood and sweat that this body has wept,
swept the trust that I had under a colorless shroud,
found a new little home just alone in the clouds
as I sit alone in the clouds
pops am I making you proud
I am I making you proud
Pop's am I making you proud am
I making you proud
went to college for the trollops which was stupid,
tried out film school with no real which was foolish,
infidelity was sellin me something ruthless,
as if my pride it hit it big
& went and copped a roofless
and drove it off a cliff with my psyche tied up in the back,
and some tape recorded words over an Eminem track,
bask masking where the miracles at,
while cutting ties with the clerical act,
cuz no God brings the dead ones back,
guess I learned over the past years it never gets old,
the only demons that are numbed are by the crease in the fold,
of full wallets that go open and close,
on their enemies, collateral, & friends of the foe,
little homie watch ya whoodie say the rap game,
facts man,
must be in the s*** for money or the plaques man,
no sir I reply,
there's a void up in my soul that don't cease when I'm high
as I sit alone in the clouds
pops and I making you proud
I am I making you proud
I wondered out loud
pops and my making you proud
oh oh oh oh
credits
from For Mark, Your Son,
released August 12, 2016
produced by Jetlag
mixed by Phen
mastered by Eric Morgeson @ Studio A
As soon as I heard the song Like Really I just had to buy the album. Then I finished listening to all the songs, and knew I made a good choice. Oddisee is one of the best hip hop artists on bandcamp. Devin Anderson
Hella Personal, regardless of your experience, there are a multitude of tracks that speaks both generally and specifically to the human experience.
Writ large, it's a post-modern microcosm of being human.
Writ small, it's a vibe tmomonet