by Abaci

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A collection of covers I recorded


released March 23, 2013




Abaci Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island

Abaci is one guy from Charlottetown, PEI, Canada who makes music.
Daniel Arsenault
•Rock•Metal •Hip-Hop•

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Track Name: "Beast Wars theme song"
Track Name: "Manhattan Project"
I won't stop paintin' 'til the world looks the way it should
I'm on a mission to make heaven look like my neighborhood

Fuck creepin' a yard, storm the gates 100-deep.
Who knew these cans of true blue was heedin' thunder speech?
Old Chicago, role models was avacadoes and olives,
Throwups without hangovers, names older than God's is.
Where bombing's not a hobby it's a habit, where addict rappers
Brag about tags and don't know dick about this graff shit.
Attack the metro track with fat caps for fading
Gray-greens, can't wait to see Page versus Daley.
It's on like lucky hoodies, what could he teach me?
While you were sleepin', I'm teaching these kids through graffiti.
I have to argue, I been rhymin' and this shit ain't hard to do.
But technical advertisements on Jarvis and Harbor;
Blue outlined in summer squash, I don't rock my dark attire,
Mine's wrecked from running from cops and hoppin' barbed wire
while you dream of bein' me between clean sheets,
Play the role, personality splittin' like Meanstreaks.
No room for bling-blingin' thugs and wack crooks;
I'm tryin'a king the line, bring your drugs, gear and blackbooks.
I'm in your face in the tunnels and at the crew spots,
I'm on your train, insane to hit paddy-wagons and rooftops.
You heard of me, in burgundy and outlines like murder scenes,
German thin 2's and flat whites for blurring greens.
Fog over your heads, man I'm climbin' pylons.
Tobacco brown Montanas and banana Krylons.
Hit the red line, headline's "Fuck The Buff", yo.
For those who must know it's banner-fresh-blue like Rusto.

I remember graff before more beef then Hindu sacrilege.
Eh, you write? Fuck you! Rack your fat caps from lids.
Braggin' on tracks how you snap away in the day?
Masturbate to lies, I'm too busy shakin' paint;
Rain, sleet or snow, out to rock when missions call.
Laugh at graffiti blasters, piss on permission walls.
Wrong side of the graff track with acid,
3D glasses blast this shit backwards and graffiti blast the classes.
After smashin', vandal squad's askin' "What happened?"
I'm done rappin', colder than Aspen to get your tags flipped.
Beef without slabs of meat saggin' your jeans,
Graff fiends scream for Grif dip sticks, even your tag is weak.
This is for you who choose to rock lines,
And toys with red Pilots rockin' stop signs, stop lyin'.
Find your niche, mine's a bitch-to-kick bad habit.
Language visualize, content phat mad graphic
Pass the flat black as this cat snaps,
And laughs at fashion-fag writers with a fill-in.
Qwel villian feels like writin', keep killin'.
Resurrectin' heaven's buildings and bulidin' heaven's children.

You ain't seen a freight train straight-aim with paint stains,
Or parked trucks framed in stardust brushed with fame flames.
Three cans of silver Krylon and I'm goin' to spray trucks
Names dribble down the yard, we hit the lay-ups.
Dispelling devils from eye-levels like it's a done job,
Couldn't mimic Mister Straight-lines on an Etch-A-Sketch with one knob.
Shy ills, killin' villians with fill-ins, illest noise rocks.
Toys scratch-bomb their way out of this pine toy-box.
Tag your backpack straps, it's past your bedtime.
Heads find dead-or-alive this time to hit the redlines.
The autograph, slaughtercraft artists laugh at man's design
Collapse on society signed like pantomimes.
Buff the blackboard and attack it with true blue,
No matter how you see it, you lose like flippin' Zulu.
I used to paint my name on trains to get my thrill on,
Much love to all you crazy motherfuckers who still bomb.

I won't stop painting 'till the world looks the way it should
I'm on a mission to make heaven look like your neighborhood