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Jealous of the Sun (prod. Onra)

from by Chris Orrick

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Lyrics and vocals by Chris Orrick
Produced by Onra

lyrics

No one to tell us where to run
The day the people of earth got jealous of the run
Looked up in the sky, filled the air with gas
Lit a match...

So how the fuck I'm supposed to write a rhyme
While we're living in the darkest times we'll probably ever see?
And I don't mean that as hyperbole
You look around and it's unnerving, it's disturbing
While the earth is burning to a third degree
Deadly water on the rise because of burning seas
But no emergency, just the emergence of the anti-science
Magnify it while the ants die frying
And we can't die trying, the rich control the wars
With tomcats high flying
Bombs blast, crying moms ask why kids keep dying
Might just take one for the team and throat slit these tyrants
I mean, these the people supposed to give me guidance?
Hiding billions of dollars in Caribbean islands
Telling us that we should better ourselves
Stand for the flag where veterans fell
And sit there silent, come on...

Fuck that, they want war, give 'em war, where the guns at?
They want more, give 'em more, where the funds at?
They got the power, we got the numbers
You live by it, then you die by the sword

No one to tell us where to run
The day the people of earth got jealous of the run
Looked up in the sky, filled the air with gas
Lit a match...

He's busy watching all his morning shows
Twitter storming in a shortened prose
Orange fingers, stubby orange toes
Performing for adoring droves
Of baskets of deplorables
To whom accordingly our story goes
History's just rewarding those
For the whom the bells of victory tolls
So therefore as history shows
Recorded and reported so
As alternative truth, undistorted oath
Backwards the pages of history goes
Send a warning to our foreign foes
Those torn by war and born by deported homes
They're marching forward with their morbid poem
And pledge allegiance to that orange throne
Red Pill should have taken the blue
Make no mistake where Chris Orrick's home

Fuck that, they want war, give 'em war, where the guns at?
They want more, give 'em more, where the funds at?
They got the power, we got the numbers
You live by it, then you die by the sword

No one to tell us where to run
The day the people of earth got jealous of the run
Looked up in the sky, filled the air with gas
Lit a match...
Said "We are not to be outdone!"
And every smile turned to char
Every rapist, every killer, every child was a star
No one could tell us where to run
The day the people of earth got jealous of the sun

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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