Ink From Rust

by Sankofa

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    10 flavorful Sankofa raps over John Stone beats.
    Philosophical forays brought to you by Kashal-Tee.

     $7 USD  or more

     

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03:18
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03:48
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04:33
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about

This project was fueled by Middle Waves

credits

released March 18, 2017

Produced by John Stone, mixed and arranged by Ross Johnstone and Cody Morales at Soundproof Multimedia.

John Stone appears courtesy of Shadow Creek Entertainment (all Rights reserved).

Thoughts of Kash appear c/o Kashal-Tee in conjunction with Bice Corve Entertainment.

Artwork by Greg W. Locke.

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Sankofa Fort Wayne

Rapper
Fort Wayne

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Track Name: Ras Kass
I was the clumsy kid studying the naturally gifted
Imagination let me think that I actually lived it
Jumping rope like I had cinderblocks for shoes
They laughed at me. Back then I didn’t have a clue
Ignorance is great, mom haircuts 'til 8th grade
Now I’m 42 and bald haircuts with a razorblade
Thanks for saying my set at the Rail made your day
Something to think on those nights that I lay awake
Can’t seem to fall back asleep, but why
My life has pretty much anything a wish could provide
The folks I rocked with in the local scene have moved on
So now it’s a back to the booth, truth and nuance
John Stone from the Prime Eights in Detroit went and gave me this beat
Goodness gracious gravy, craziness sweet
The day is complete
I write to it, the doctor is in 5 cent type psychiatrist
In my heart, 9 lions sit
I admit that my mind can drift, but it needs to
A lot more than these feet of mine will need shoes
Apologies to the friends I never speak to
I know how to reach you, yet I don’t. No excuses
When we catch up, it’s like the time between didn’t exist
Inside jokes, shared experiences grins at frivolousness
Life is busy, but then again, whose isn’t?
& every wrinkle in my life builds a new schism
The friends I made through rap I consider some of the closest
Kashal-Tee, JON?DOE, ognihs and RhymeWise can note this
After Arthur was born, I stepped away, sold my mic
Closed the chapter, but the book called me back, there’s more to write
Ras Kass bootlegs, Chino on the Wake Up
Long before Riiiot gave us hope that we could raise up
Working graveyard in Mankato for the pay stub
Before China was a place that I remained once
Ras Kass bootlegs, Chino on the Wake Up
Long before Riiiot gave us hope that we could raise up
Working graveyard in Mankato for the pay stub
Before China was a place that I remained once
Money doesn’t grow on trees, but if it did
We’d chop it down to pennies before a dollar could grow
So go ahead and reap what you never sow
A giant’s shoulders make for the best stepping stone, let it go
Track Name: Deadstock
father son husband runner teacher shoe enthusiast
Political letter writer too busy to use an uzi clip
See, when my life becomes gloomiest
I give a tip of the hat to the mighty Funkdoobiest
We all have our cross to bear, check Leviticus
No crucifix tattoos permitted in
You’re a Christian and yet you shave your beard?
You’re going to burn in hell for that, it’s a sin and it’s weird
See he’s a heretic seeing his Sierra Mist sipping therapist
Take care, that path there is perilous
Here comes the crotch-grabbing Hostettler jersey rocking hotstepper
Sipping nothing but the finest Doc Pepper
I see protesters holding up Mercedes badges
Give piece of German engineering a chance
No dissing it, but I think they went and missed a bit
These cats are sleeping like me when I pop in Mister Lif

Odds are good I’ll hurt your feelings if we speak at length
You’ll know exactly where I stand complete with reasoning
Not down with the preach and cling, I was born to question things
Blind faith is a voluntary deafening

R Mike will tuck his shirt before I tuck a gun
Your tough talk is overdone, I see you sucking thumbs
You’re ding dong ditching it, I heard you cuss and run
Fearing the repercussions of what your insipid little tongue has done
Flying by the seat of your JNCOs, you need flows
Claiming beast mode, you're sipping tea in a bistro
Bad blood between us, call us Eazy E’s vein walls.
Or Charlie Sheen for the whippernsnapper age y’all
I cruise through the valley of death inside of a bulldozer
Ready to flatten any wool they try to pull over
Handcuffs freshly marinated in lamb’s blood
Your whole team is chicken, it’s no wonder that your klan clucks
Your ancestors came from the same place as everyones’
I’m handing you the simple truth over heavy drums
But you don’t want to hear it 'cause you need friends
Paranoid insecurity your chief blend

I’m losing the battle of consumeristic warfare
The names of shoes muttered under my breath, my Lord’s prayer
For sure rare like the animal print with horse hair
I call them scissor kicks, sharp, and I’m needing more pair
A cut above the ones I wanted when I couldn’t afford them
Even broke a promise to myself when I put on the Jordans
The retro 3 Cyber Mondays in all black
My sons play with the shoeboxes, making tall stacks
Anthony Mason endorsing Adidas Streetballs
One of the sickest handles, Pippen in a freefall
The nano annacondas I got for 50 off
The alligator waiting for a deal and then I grip and claw
I love it, but it’s not a shrine cause I don’t pray to it
Custom laced from the City Museum...Saint Louis
Hypebeasts chill, keep your corny Yeezy packs
They’ll be played out soon just like my CD racks
Track Name: 32 Kennebec
There was love inside your heart but it was a twisted virus
you build a fantasy world and we were forced to live inside it.
Mom with short hair, velour sweatshirt on my frame.
A picture perfect pose but the feeling was strained.
The longer you lived, the less of you that there was.
Forget about forgiveness, I'm not holding a grudge.
Let's a tip toe around the minefield of you.
And force ourselves to take one more bite of your stew
Lipstick as red as the blood that you drew.
Killing them with kindness, yep you bludgeoned them too.
A path through your house between boxes and bags.
Growing from the walls and it was sad
When you hit the hospital, mom and her brothers swooped by
Rented a dumpster and threw away half the junk you’d acquired
I only said I loved you, I never claimed to care
Mom saw that I was born with armor, I came prepared

Cause I’m a cold hearted soul chip off the old block type
Mercurochrome reddened knees, hydrogen peroxide
scattering your ashes on the beaches I once roamed
Now 32 Kennebec’s a happier home

Clipping coupons for the sake of saving bucks you’d never spend
A tub of junk overflowing to the desperate end
People’d think you ran an orphanage, well guess again
Each passing year you lived, you lived it less a friend
If I needed a toothbrush, I could always hit up Long Beach
God knows, you had about 200, c’mon geez
Remember the promise I’d get the '64 Falcon
Of course you didn’t, it’s disappearance was the outcome
Taking a bite of your Christmas chocolate and I tasted bleach
Must’ve stored it in your laundry for years, days, and weeks
A nasty nod to your habit of keeping everything
The great depression left you clutching onto any petty thing
You’d send clippings from stuff you thought that I’d like
It went from the mailbox straight to the dumpster that night
To be fair, you probably needed meds and intensive therapy
Instead you took it out on your fam and left them all scared to breathe

You played chess with family members your pawns
Pretty sure you had a pair of shoes of moms that were bronzed
The actress with an audience taught to listen and watch closely
Applauding every line you ever uttered with most grief
Granddad’s escape from you was his rose garden
That was his world that let him fold in every margin
You were the first person to teach me that a smile could lie
False sincerity, laid on thick and you piled it high
So I don’t sweat the passive aggressive, no way I do
I was trained by the best, ‘cause I was trained by you
You used the threat of skin cancer to steal granddad’s solace
No more growing roses, you trapped him, the plan flawless
He got to escape by being the first to die, resting in peace
I got to visit before all the stroke and the sleep
Basically, you were dead to me before you even passed
Life's too short to drink poison straight from the glass
Track Name: Crimson Feather (intro by Kashal-Tee)
I’m the resident cynic sitting atop of throne of acidic trash
Hatching a bitter batch of rap, so let the timid pass
Inspiration faded, return to the confines of the complacent
Pens full, the page blank, Declare my soul vacant
The ache of trying to be patient
Mightily waging war with a world that couldn’t care less
Stress builds and the ones I love become the targets
Blood pressure climbs
please don’t let me once again succumb to this darkness
The harbinger of heartless, I march to the cliff and pass it by
Swiftly charging in the abyss voiceless scream, glassy eyes
Just another human self-destruct button with lips tightly zipped shut
Not even the man of steel can resist rust
And heroic doesn’t even begin to describe the opposite path
Playing poker with sympathy cards, dad was lost in the past
Get over it, over and over and over again
Prone to pretend I lost hope in my lone moment of Zen
Do I know it’s pretend, or have faith and hold fast?
Steel jaw, iron lung, soul glass
downcast, 13th stone for the most loved
Figment or fragment, for real I swear the ghost was
I felt the chill but dare not turn around
Take the thoughts and burn them down in the fertile ground
I heard a sound

It never happened, never could have and never was
Settle for pretending with a level of etceteras
A pathway these feet of mine did never tread enough
A crimson feather for the heart that I had left to rust

My paper is Gus Fring’s profit margin, chickenscratch
Getting up to speed with a wicked batch of vivid rap
I feel like Dusty Neal in a world of verbal prison tats
Participants pretend to listen just to spit it back
They’re ruling our entire world based on minute math
Claiming mastery minus thought because they didn’t ask
I split in half with callous laughter after given trash
A vicious act, fly the black flag high on the mizzen mast
I grip the craft’s psyche tightly with a griffin’s grasp
So sick of sycophantic tandem banter, slick and fad
I don’t visit rap, I live with it and pick the scab
Watch it bleed profusely til the page becomes a crimson gash
A rhythmic path to follow, steps become a chisel’s tap
Chipping away until what remains betrays a simple task
A rhythmic path to follow, steps become a chisel’s tap
Chipping away until what remains betrays a simple task
Track Name: Rogues of Rhythm feat. John Stone
I was bumping DMC in the Walkman, replaying it hastily.
The fact is, none of this new rap was even made for me.
Is it wack to me? Absolutely, but why is it?
I spend time with this craft, inviolate rhyme scientist.
That drug-addled mumblecore rap that's dope to them.
I wish that style had choked within its own fallopians.
So when I listen for the music that the people listen to.
It's pretty difficult to find myself not in a dissing mood.
So I'm a gatekeeper to a damn near graveyard.
That headstone's got Big Daddy Kane's name carved.
He still kills live and I've got the same goals man.
You hold weight? I hold sand in these old hands.
Invoking the names of predecessors helps to keep me moving.
plus revisiting their classic tracks is deeply soothing
From P to Ewing with Aloysius inside of the middle
Every time I hear the latest, I feel my soul die a little.

MOP with G Rap On the guest spot.
Still helps to keep me going till that motor in my chest stops.
A delegate from a country long slipped away.
Let the death knell reverberate within a ricochet.
Forget a JPEG my EP had a J card.
Back in the days when real audio was on the radar.
Dig find listen sample chop and repeat.
John Stone and Sankofa stomp with confident speech.
Track Name: Finger Puppets feat. Kashal-Tee
Stop complaining that my rap is morbid.
We live in a world where they suck your blood and give you cash for it.
And soldiers in Vegas play with radio controlled planes.
Leaving countless amounts of innocent citizens maimed.
It's sick, a cyclical stain twisting the brain.
Long as it isn't you getting done, it isn't a shame.
But wait, what happens when it's your house on the monitor?
And the screen goes black they found your mom and now Obama's bombing her.
If it isn't on the news, it doesn't exist.
Plus that crotch grabbing habit having man and the myth.
That famous quarterback who doesn't stay in his place.
Border vigilantes making sure no aliens safe.
Open carry's cool. Well, as long as you're white.
Because black kids with toy guns are getting killed tonight.
We've got poverty and climbing crime rates, where they come from?
Slums are industries moved overseas for the lump sums.
Disposable workers who are schlepping just to rent a pit.
CEOs don't care, cause they got benefits and Severance.
So if they do a bad job, no prob, pay them off.
A golden parachute for that failure of a boss.

I can’t decide if I’m a cynic or an optimist
There’s a track I’m content with, but am I locked in it
What kind of difference can a single person make
How much is compromised to reach a powerful place

candidates the people feel are cut off at the knees.
By the same who claim to represent the people and their needs.
My sons have the best security blanket it's called white skin.
They don't have to be as frightened when they see those lights spin.
Far as girls, society's expectations are ridiculous.
standards made to strangle spirit and quicklydiminish it.
try fighting your whole life and never letting your guard down.
That stranger in the shadow making your heart pound
Easy targets, dressing for it, blame the victim season
One giant leap for mankind, but see the witch was scheming
If they drown, they’re innocent, let’s find the riverside
No more yoga pants wearing, get them timid, right
Religious freedom slogan, chanted by a bigot
The bill of rights is overrated, see the road is rigid
I’m on the highway to heaven with the blessing of god
And if you don’t believe me, then I’m spoiling the rod
Spare the child, watch the bathroom, set the diver free
Let the infighting commence, begin the rivalry
Keep track of the news’ shift to entertainment
See what happens when the viral videos are center staging
Track Name: Kid Gloves feat. Kashal-Tee
This little piggie's wrapped in a blanket of bills.
Anything to make marketing and banking a thrill
Makes his junk bond bigger and seem more impressive
Snout down in the trough, insert the pork for reference
Compassion's for the weak, see the predator arrive
Keep the klieg lights at bay, he looks better in the night
Nothing’s more attractive than a sow's offspring
Forbidden fruit from the loins of a loud lost king
We can count on those stubs to deliver us from evil, right?
Kardashian apprenticeship reality we deify
Powerful enough to destroy the toys the parties built
Princess and a pee soaked mattress from a Barbie spill
Thick headed with thin skin the combo
God’s favorite white headed son is Tonto
Who needs a platform, slap a slogan on a hat
Repeat the slogan to the loser people choking on the facts

Daddy got himself some Presidential kid gloves
Plus some gadget arms to help him when he zips up
10 Vienna sausages sending out tweets
Vibram five finger speech for the toddler peeps,

Got a sweet inheritance, let's see what he does
Now Obama plays his daddy and hands him the bucks
A sandbox with real live soldiers to get killed
Launch codes on standby, seeking the next thrill
A live audience lapping up on the news feed
Everybody likes a bit of blood in their milk, it's true glee
Being the boss is great, delegate power to his son in law
Keep in the family values, now you see he runs it all
Drain the swamp, sell the Brawndo to the thirstiest
Electrolytes are what plants crave to ease their nervousness
Cabinet members stay busy helping sell the urban myth
Watch for all the killers hiding with turbans and burkhas kid
Got a plan to Build a wall, kill them all, and get rich
It'll trickle down to you with a spritz of his spit
Can you taste the trace of champagne within the man's spray?
He'll sell you something made in China, bet you can't wait.

He's the Chester Cheeto golden calf, watch for how holds a map
Mad magazine back cover folded, scroll it back
Alfred E. Neuman the next guy for his cabinet
Testify to the wrath of a lie so elaborate
Calls his latest wife Rango see the modeling shots?
This moment brought to you by the enhancements she got
Trophy wife number 3 cause his daughter was spoken for
Let’s visit Taiwan, try to go provoke a war
Won the title, but the belt is inconvenient
And can’t understand comedy of comedians
Clearly, got an axe to grind with Mister Perfect here
Purse the lips, spray the hair, dye the skin and persevere
Adulterer appearing with church leaders for pics
Morality reigns supreme, indeed it’s seeming legit
Nevermind scope, we’ve got 140 characters
And a red hat to remind us why we decided to try this

Knock knock. Who's there?
Trump. Trump who?
Knock knock. Who's there?
Trump. Trump who?
Knock knock. Who's there?
Orange. Orange who?
Orange you glad I didn't say Trump?
Track Name: Lava Lungs feat. Kashal-Tee
Ready Set, here comes the Domineer
Ready to bomb your ears, embalm syllable stomp them going on for years
Appearing out of the cannon smoke, Pulitzer prize, no bullets to fly
Yet you understand that the man is dope
Hands explode trying to hold my pen and loose leaf
Better walk away, you’re Bruce Lee with two teeth
No chance to chew beef, pursue peace
Through these Fort Wayne avenues and streets I gather true speed
Breathing heavy like the burden of bringing it back is mine
No sermonizing I’m too busy doing to pose for shine
Either lead by example or shut your trap man
Leaving the wicked eclipsed, drop your baubles in an afghan
kicking the slickest of gifts, lickety split, this is it
Lindenwood’s got some great spots for you visit and bit
My city equipped with obsidian nights to run through
Just the same way I do with every wall I’ve come to

Digging ditches, since coffins had gotten bothersome
A head bopping son of supernova with lava lungs
Make you buy a Walkman, foam padded headphones
Walking through the dead of night, hoping to get home

This is the sound of all your dreams dying man
That pitiful wheezing noise coming straight out of your diaphragm
The frying pan into the fire of a flamethrower
Chase it down with a napalm shot, the game’s over
No blade toting my lethal weapon’s my mind
Flashing back to Ice-T before the Game had Survived
Rutger Hauer Gary Busey level rap craziness
Impact 80 of these cats in your wack radius
Activate the jet pack, blast off to the next stop
You’re best off leaving the planet, planning a test launch
A deft taunt tarantula tangent to navigate
I’ll raise the bar so high the blood in your veins will evaporate
And then I’ll fold you up and ship you with the Wack Stanleys
Except for the ones I set free because they have families
My siren’s call a simple hi hat with a cymbal crash
Cat of nine tails, 90 lashes slashing skin in half

Terrorist rapper? More like Meredith Baxter
Trade the Birney for Barney we’ve got your purple to party
You’re the Diane Keaton of Palestinian scarves
Posing like you’re hard and living within oblivion’s arc
I’m not buying it, man, your album or the image
The more time you spend away from the porch, the more that you’re diminished
A gravel gargling Gargamel trying to sound tough guy
Bring the clipper to your chins, time to let the fuzz fly
A true pugilist would never be a sucker puncher
Shout to all the kids you scare with your puckered thunder
hiding under covers protects you from his bullet raps
no Kevlar colostomy because he’s full of that
go ahead chant along to his nonsense
straight Code Red game fuel rap song blends
slouching at the stoop, see his pose, see the clothes
Working at the gas station between his European shows
Track Name: Lazily
When I’m on a roll, it feels I’m spilling with skill to spare
I’ll record a track to put inside of your kid’s build a bear
Don’t worry, most of my material is fairly appropropriate
Though you may find some reference to Soviet Mobius opiates
So be it, recorded a song with my man Kashal-Tee and Seron
They ask what planet I’m from, they may say he’s from Geelong
Holy Cross hospital, 1974 to be precise
Transformed Susan and Richard to mom and dad from a husband and wife
I used to call my dad Mommy Sue and he didn’t like it much
Way before I heard rap or even had a mic to clutch
They say times are tough, I watch multiplication tables
Just the way my mind works lazily making it graceful
I moved to California to work on rap stuff with a couple dudes
Spontaneous and JON?DOE, Double Helix was the group
DNA-lysis was the album they poured thousands of dollars into
And for nostalgia’s sake I’m going to give you the word Ginsu

I don’t need a freaking weapon
To sneak up on when you least expect it like the effects of a legal decongestant
You preach a message of greed, but you can have it
Pick my sons up when work is done and maneuver through the traffic

I hone a tactical rap until it chin checks an insect at forty clicks
Don’t know exactly what it means, sure sounds glorious
Needing more goriness? Peruse my earlier angrier works
Haranguing the earth with murderous slang in a hearse, serpent interpreter, a body jerks
Yep, that’s about it with a considerably harsher vocal tone
Nowadays, I scour Costco, trying to sample Toblerones
I’m from a time where Matchbox cars were made in Macau
I’m like the 13th angel, man I simply came to get down
I see what was and know what is and where I stand is in my shoes
And if you’re not feeling it, fine, it wasn’t for you
I'm not much for guzzling brew, the Doctor is my go to
I could roast most folks with a quote, but I’m trying to find my Roku
Remote dude, Walter must have taken it and hidden it
If only Arthur would have put out of reach, consider this
Soon enough his little brother will move his high chair to climb there
Sporting a 6 toothed grin to blind you with the glare

Practice makes perfect, but Allen Iverson was superdope
An easy tidbit for my hanging with Mister Cooper hooper folk
Two can play the game, but only one can win it, ask Stallone
If you wanted a mobile call, 20 pounds was half a phone
My road rage is intense, Joel Frieders seeing a pot hole
And I’m the type to dig cheese like that bad guy from the Boxtrolls
I’ll eat that wheel of brie that you’ve got on your shelf’
So uh…just let introduce myself
My name is…varied depending on where we first met
Rap, work, college, high school, and yep
I’ve got a different one for each, but it’s still pretty much the same guy
Though I tend to sweat more than usual when under the stage lights
It’s like calling Ron Dayne LeBron James, the wrong game
As for pie, I’ll take what you’ve got. You think pecan’s lame?
I declare it’s Bombay, son of the heat that showered Pompeii, but okay
That just means there's more for me, storming enormous eats
Track Name: Ink From Rust feat. Kashal-Tee
Thanks to all the people who have overseen my undertakings
The ones who listened to me even when my tongue was aching
My enthusiasm is an adrenaline
Hypodermic
and it’s not always a medicine
I get excited to the point of being meddlesome
I’ve got an ill design, can you help with me the rendering?
Got some songs planned but I never made beats
If you have some spares, would you please slide them to me?
I've got a plan for another awesome music video
But no camera, can you help me make the image grow?
Can't forget the people who made up all of the shows
Whether booking or call and response, man you made it so
It's true what they say, cause you can never go home
But I wasn't homesick when I started to roam.
Have you considered the plans of a man babbling?
Never stops talking, but you can’t quite fathom them
Me in a nutshell, overly excited
Cause when I find a rhyme, you know I’m going to write it
It’s all righteous and right with the world when the muse is here
And if I’m lucky, I leave an album for a souvenir
So Ink from Rust is the name of this one
Shout to all who made it possible, and now it is done

Sober Pete, EDS, Rolando Green, Jay Ehrmann, Mark Lahey, old5andDimeSignCompany, ADI, Matthew Plett, Bambi, Joel Faurote, Greg Locke, John Hartman, Jeremiah Miser, Luc Carter, ognihs, Manic Depressive, el Keter, Purify, Agent Orange, Adrien75, Tack Fu, FANGFACE, Almighty, Ear Max, Geno, DJ Erase, Judge, Artur Hawking, Cris Cardiak, John Stone, Moss, J Dankworth, the Moth, DJ Emm Are, Flyphonic, Dr. Rhinewhistler, DJ Large, Enoch Root, Orphan, Joe Harvey, actuel, Brenn Beck, Left Lane Cruiser, D. Gary, I Wombat, Scott Matelic, Ebro, Samix, JON?DOE, Kashal-Tee, AthenA, Spon, Noah23, CunninLynguists, Infinite Cycle, RhymeWise37, Seron, ADRU THE MISPHIT, Nick Sweepah, icon the Mic King, Ryan Officer, Styxxoplix, Agape, Jake and Jes Farris, Glide, Bo from Bravas, Jerrod Tobias, Jason Rowland, The Brass Rail, Hometown Hooligans, Dave Pagan, FWFAC, Jojo, Kate Wolfson, Nate Utesch, Kan-tis, King, Breon Warwick, TJ, Little Brother Radio, One Lucky Guitar, Middle Waves

Without all of you it’s just me
Without all of you it’s just me
Without all of you it’s just me

Thank you.

Society of NIMH!