A Dude Named Spose

(album: We Smoked It All - 2009)

Now let me tell you a little story 'bout a dude named Spose
Who spits the rap lyrics wearing Pac Sun clothes
A fan of that old school rap, he crafts flows
To be bumped from the trunks of Mainers and Massholes
Holed up in a maroon van
Secondhand smoke and some country jams
Zoom fast through the windshield to the back seat
Reading R.L. Stine, killing time that's me
The year's '93, almost nine finally
Discman in my hand, I'm bumping TLC
Not a care in the world just a Huffy in the back
That could change six-speeds in like no time flat
Jordan jersey? Jordache? Those were must-haves
Second grade I wasn't rad, I had a mustache
This one chick turned around and told me I was weird
And I was, but now I got you throwing up your beer, my name's

Spo-o-o-o-ose
Hands to the ceiling if you're catching the feeling, my name's
Spo-o-o-o-ose
Put your hands up, whores and the man-sluts
Spo-o-o-o-ose
To the rafters, bastards, it's the master, mister
Spo-o-o-o-ose
Wells, Maine in the motherfucking house

I know how cool kids feel
My first whip, Dick Tracy, big wheel, I was kind of a big deal
Got into an accident, I smashed my face
I must've missed pre-school for, like, 15 days
First cassette tape? New Kids on the Block
Also had Kriss Kross and alternative rock
So, who would've thought I would spit it like this
Just a little white kid with some British Knight kicks
What a riddle life is, so pass the lighter
Cause I'm still sick and tight as virgins with meningitis
It's hereditary that I fix up these lines
Cause I was born in '85, the son of a cable guy
I learned getting high was a wonderful way to fly
So, hi, hello, Nikes if you pan down
Bump it at your campground
I outta soak it up like a Sham-Wow, what's my name?

Spo-o-o-o-ose
Hands to the ceiling if you're catching the feeling, my name's
Spo-o-o-o-ose
Put your hands up, whores and the man-sluts
Spo-o-o-o-ose
To the rafters, bastards, it's the master, mister
Spo-o-o-o-ose
Wells, Maine in the motherfucking house

Lastly here's the story of how I became Spose
How it's Heineken over Veuve Cliquot
How I outshine a headliner when I open a show
And how I got the records they bump when they're smoking their bowls
I was fourteen into emceeing and shit
Started a group with Stiky-1, Zach B, and the Miff
It was at my mom's house, on the second floor
If you're from Wells, Maine then you know we called it F-4
Then I went solo like Beirut cups
Up in SoPo with Jim Brown, my producer
I found my steez, that is: just be me
Leaving peeps at the beach to put speech to beats
Peach blunts, used to puff each evening
Now people only come into Maine for three reasons:
Lobster rolls, Spizzy Spose, and ski season
I'm dope up in Maine, what's my motherfucking name!?

Spo-o-o-o-ose
Hands to the ceiling if you're catching the feeling, my name's
Spo-o-o-o-ose
Put your hands up, whores and the man-sluts
Spo-o-o-o-ose
To the rafters, bastards, it's the master, mister
Spo-o-o-o-ose
Wells, Maine in the motherfucking house