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Learning To Punch (EP)

by Chris Orrick

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Verse 1 If Eric Garner looked like me, he would've never been killed Never be a grand jury sorting evidence till A prosecutor swaying minds busy pressing his will Upon the biased minds of racists who remember that deal Back when plantation owners gave fake ownership to white folks And human nature's ugliness got balanced on that tight rope Set up a system for instilling the hate The consequences of a hatred we're still feeling today That little bit of privilege given set us up for preconditioned Notions of humanity that only cold insanity Could ever seek to justify, a sick and deep disgusting lie That keeps us all from seeing what would happen if we undermined This fucking system that we live in, pushing us in subdivisions Keep all directions pointed inward, not at those appointed At those who exploit us How much longer can they avoid it? Chorus All of us got to love and all of us got to bleed It isn't what's up above, in that mirror what do you see? All of us want to live and all of us want to breath All of us want to grow. So where the fuck do we go? I hope your fire burns bright enough. I hope those hands can reach high enough. Verse 2 Cops killing children, murderers making millions How dare us feeling that Darren Wilson's a villain? They made a villain of Michael Brown and he died for it Wilson killed an unarmed kid and he wasn't tried for it I gotta ask, what if it happened to you? What if that was your son what do you imagine you'd do? I think the sickest shit about it is White people see a Black mother crying and it doesn't make them think about their kids All people want in life is to be allowed to live America just told Black people that their lives' amount to shit And I'm sick of hearing people trying to justify it Shut your fucking mouth, the cops and prosecutor lying. This system was designed for drawing lines Black and white, cops and robbers, rich and poor, you can't see it then you're blind Being silent is complicit, violence is a sickness Put yourself in someone else's fucking shoes just for a minute Chorus All of us got to love and all of us got to bleed It isn't what's up above, in that mirror what do you see? All of us want to live and all of us want to breath All of us want to grow. So where the fuck do we go? I hope your fire burns bright enough. I hope those hands can reach high enough.
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about

Red Pill, having just signed a multi-album deal with MMG, decided to let Mello fans know that he has put in his 10,000 hours and is ready for the solo artist limelight.

His opening track is produced by new-teammate Oddisee, who back in 2011 after watching Red Pill preform at SXSW spoke to Apollo Brown suggesting he produce something with him. "Red Pill was thoroughly impressive on the mic and in front of the crowd," says Oddisee about the experience. Apollo then went on to form the group Ugly Heroes with Red Pill & Verbal Kent in 2012 before releasing their first group record in early 2013. Interestingly Red Pill had purchased production for Oddisee about 5 years before and sat on it, waiting until he felt ready enough to do it justice. Cut to five years later and Red Pill has signed a deal as Oddisee's teammate and is working alongside him. Appropriately, this forms the first track of the "Learning To Punch EP" and is titled "Smile."

The second song on the album is the heartfelt journalism of "All Of Us" - an emotional and well thought out response to the violence and brutality recently shoved into the forefront of American communities. Finally west coast producer Duke Westlake brings an introspective soundscape over which Red Pill unleashes the angst of being hungry and the focus of turning "one day" into today. "Learning To Punch" is a concise power punch combination from the newest Mello emcee, and an indication of the musicality to come.

credits

released January 20, 2015

vocals: Red Pill
mixed: Charlie Beans
mastered: Eric Morgeson @ Studio A Detroit
artwork: Trappist Monk

executive produced: Michael Tolle

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about

Chris Orrick Detroit, Michigan

Chris Orrick is the patron saint of a poisoned world. The blue-collar MC writes spiteful chants for the permanently scarred, death letters for the forgotten, surly hymns for charcoal lungs. Think Bukowski on an eloquent bender, swapping wine for whiskey, a notepad for a glowing LED screen, the race track for the recording booth. These are anthems for the irate, over-educated and under-valued. ... more

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