Get all 11 Samfl3 releases available on Bandcamp and save 45%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of szamiin, the kamara method, bl!nds+curt4!ns, atuu, fam., a drum for mrs fleisher-djoleto, caracal sneakers, I Gotta Hump, Lynx Don't, i had no keyboard, so i made raps, and 3 more.
1. |
tac-/eht-/eciton
02:52
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Not as well read as I should be
So Surely the early warning signs are all maroon
Don't assume since soon you're with Danny Pino
Covered in blood and his B.O., bumping 5-0
Fish out the coins, the phone might get pulled out
of the river, flopping, eyes a quiver
That I pick up, slot on my bow and string up my arrow
Hollow and pinpricked with holes that penetrate the spout
The tea kettle broke, the se settles the shattered pieces
Underneath the waves, life teems and seeths
The seeds to the beginning of life light the way
As Rolly crushes them, apologetic as he runs in
The door to progress
Forget living off the land, you're living on the ocean
So go ahead and break the press
Their success will leave you outdated without concession
Close your eyes to the crimes they commit in the light
Stop writing, let your keys go silent
Close your eyes and don't listen to the screams - Wait!
Was that a raccoon, opossum or cat crossing the street (2x)
Last of this endangered species as capitals swallow trees
Flee before the rest have let it die
Place another mind in the vat, stats crumble into signs
we of the discarded monarcy can no longer read
Sometimes you have to slam shut your trapdoor
For tracks stored, the ego can't handle being lesser
But you need to listen, you'll either pick up an item
or pick a successor at random
Pace piking parlor platitudes to pressure passionate practices
Into apathy, just another foreigner to heave over the shoulder
Empowered with emnity, fueled by cursing plankton in high prices
Bulding up to the top of Babel where we'll die together
All that we touch withers, I know, Iknow I know
That we placed our progeny in danger alongside out folded souls
In the service of power where abusers hold death grips on the ride
when i die no one will see my body
Close your eyes to the crimes they commit in the light
Stop writing, let your keys go silent
Close your eyes and don't listen to the screams - Wait!
Was that a raccoon, opossum or cat crossing the street (2x)
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2. |
road-/house
02:50
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I'm chewin on plantain chips, all dry and salty
Staring out the window at the trees behind the airport
Thinking about tasting their lil grape-like green fruit
Reality taps on the glass, I look at the index blankly
I've moved through many of these homes
Apartments, group houses, dormitories, safe zones
Nutcrackin in the backyard, living room and porch
Even when I was old enough for boogers and closed pores
Sometimes I'd be in other people's houses
Sitting on the porch with their parents
In the living room with my siblings or in the backyard
Reading, mumbling, fumbling with my Hewlett-Packard
Taking my seat, I lean against the window
Watching TV or listening to convo or listening to radio
when I get my own, y'all can get one
ride to the maximum distance my house can go on
Gas fumes, hollow rubber, tiny bladders
Circling the H, strugglin to go faster
This is how it is, when you're riding out
In the Road House (2x)
We built road houses since our houses were too still
Slept in them when we couldn't catch them on the till
Will sapped by the apathy you gain at home eating out
Folx see you in your home, tell you to plant or pull parkas and pout
Built road houses after running through
caves, huts, pyramids, ziggurauts, adobes and lean-tos
Sleds, boats, horses, carriages, bicycles
Then we had to clear out the streeets of Jays and chained Nasirs
Mounted, assembled, multiplied after one after one died
The road houses were mansions to all of us on the side
Packed in group homes, renting apartments
Anything to not be trudging in our tight strings
Suddenly road houses were as common as Eichlers
Except for folx who losin money and time and bothers
To us, they still look like mansions, except when we in one
And it all breaks down on us
Gas fumes, hollow rubber, tiny bladders
Circling the H, strugglin to go faster
This is how it is, when you're riding out
In the Road House (2x)
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3. |
Samfl3
04:35
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Well done, not dry, burnt or overcooked
Now are you chewy or should I spit you out
You Hubba Bubba, Mentos Gum or just PK
You Thiago Silva, John Mensah or gerald Pique
I am Samfl3, transparent on any day
Even when the sun shines off me making it hard to see
Even when the moon reflects sunlight off me your way
I remain so even when you can't look out me clearly
You made me to stay dry inside
I used to be a hole resembling a dot eye
Then you burnt squares of sand and that became me
A rectangle, square, quarter of paper sheets
I'm whatever you need me to be
No need for any redundant, similar type since it's likely
I exist in any type of house
A skull, brain and painted clouds
Peek thru, lift me up, push thru
Remaining transparent in every face
Look thru, push me down, throw thru
Clear full and protecting you in space (2x)
I asked Uncle Michael an offensive question
Which he refused to answer or listen
to, so I asked what was the Ga word for window
He warily answered so I listened and wrote
I'd been flipping through pseudonyms for years
Some from Tyler, some from Rakim
Didn't know which would fit under constant wear
So I picked one and cut each at the stem
The one that stuck in my mind was no direction
Which just meant I had no yoked definition
To a genre, a belief, a wisdom, a dream
Thus, I could adapt and mutate according to me
But on that Multikids bus headed to Labone Coffee Shop
As the kids giggled and slept and jumped off at their stops
I thought about the word Uncle Michael had told me
As I leaned on the glass that made life but a dream
Peek thru, lift me up, push thru
Remaining transparent in every face
Look thru, push me down, throw thru
Clear full and protecting you in space (2x)
Samfla reflects campires at high noon
High five
fingers splinter the lumber, blubber becomes limber
return to sender, Ludo bagging mad men and Michael Mann live
Akwa's still trying to get the drop on Portugal
Frozen within my frescoes along with the broken Dell
My brother played Backyard Basketball on
While I would lose to him and play will's money muggin
I'm buggin
got lost in the glass prints I made durin my short stint
Still short, still gowing and learninh
Not as skinny, still eating and respecting my splits
In the mirror
I feel briefly bothered
Look at the shattered glass and powdered sugar
Shake my head, pass over
Peek thru, lift me up, push thru
Remaining transparent in every face
Look thru, push me down, throw thru
Clear full and protecting you in space (2x)
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4. |
sentry
02:52
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5. |
too-/late
02:41
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6. |
are-/you-/there,-/accra
01:29
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7. |
wadda
05:36
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8. |
run-/tail-/split
02:41
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9. |
step-/step-/step-/step
04:02
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10. |
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11. |
notice-/the-/cat
04:44
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12. |
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13. |
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Samfl3 Accra, Ghana
the random black guy in that sitcom you watch during the late nights at work and you think "oh that guys ok, maybe he'll be interesting one day" and then he comes into your work and he turns out to be the worst
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