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Anywhere Instead (prod. L'Orange)

from by Chris Orrick

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lyrics

I take my coffee with three sugars and some cream
Killing myself softly with a puff of nicotine
My hearts a motor and I'm clogging the machine
Getting up hung over that's just part of the routine
Went to doctor, he said "Your liver's full of fat,
You better quit the booze," I said, "Well Doc, how dull is that?"
My doctor does the Iron Man, I put the bacon in the frying pan
DM me recommended diet plans
Was gonna kill myself by using exhaust fumes
Turns out the regulations made that shit too clean
So thanks Obama for the disappointment, now I just avoid it
Only time I ever die is in my dreams

Most days I can't get out of bed before it's noon
Don't wanna leave my room, looking at my phone
Knocking on the door, pretend nobodies home
Laying in my bed, wishing I was dead

Anywhere Instead

So baby let's go sell my car and get away
Hop on the interstate to any different place
'Cuz next time that you see me, I might not be awake
Take what we need and give the rest of this shit away

So take me to the universe where Chris is happy
So I can kill him out of spite, get a taste of what it feels like
Delete my hard drive, reinsert in the Matrix
I've had enough of this condition we call real life
'Cuz in this rap shit, people treat me like Chip Baskets
But Louie had to jack it, so now I just skip past it
And speaking of sad masturbation
Losers on computers gave me a bad reputation
After consideration, my isn't Red Pill, I had to change it
I'm going by my born name
And if you got the time to waste to @ me about it
Please hang your head in your shame


Most days I can't get out of bed before it's noon
Don't wanna leave my room, looking at my phone
Knocking on the door, pretend nobodies home
Laying in my bed, wishing I was dead

Anywhere Instead

So baby let's go sell my car and get away
Hop on the interstate to any different place
'Cuz next time that you see me, I might not be awake
Take what we need and give the rest of this shit away

credits

from Portraits, released May 4, 2018

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all rights reserved

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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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