Welcome to Broakland

by Grip Grand

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"OK, class, let's settle down. Everybody take out your text books. Turn with me to page one..." ABCDEFG "The first lesson..." Grip Grand is the Letterman "Letters of the alphabet." Alphabetical like AZ, amazingly amusing 'em Arranging the acquisition of mics and then abusing 'em Broadcast in Broakland, boom boom Block-bully blacktop If I say it right to your face, it's not really back-talk Crush-the-comp crackpot that's Coo Coo like Cal is Corvallis to the Cow Palace, chow challenge Come close, but don't deny my dose is dangerously damaging Danglin', hangin' in there like a champ or barely managing Doped up, exceptional, excellent, eat my vegetables Ever singe eighty-something exhaling essential essences Eff it, I found it fitting the West is right where the freshness is Follow the leader and swallow all of his messages Or go get your own Grip Grand goes One for your man with a pipe in his hand like Commando The hard-bargain driver, half-ounce inhaler The houseguest who's still on your couch six months later I insist my intentions were innocent when I invented it Inspect the verse, I spit a full clip's worth instead of Just jaw-jostling suckers, Judo, Jujitsu Jack-knife rap that juts out your chest when it hits you Kinda the king of this kickin' it on a killer tune Ladies love lyrics lounge lab in my living room Or, Kind of the king of that kerrang on a killer beat Long lasting lyrics got legs like a millipede Meant to exceed the most massively mental MCs Went to MDs To minimize my mental disease Military music make men to Marines I don't get the green, nope Nice and fresh like a nectarine Nestling in a nook you might nearly not notice me But if you look close, though, I'm right where I'm s'posed to be O, it's no obstacle for obsolete raps to go hospital The bad operation's not optional I opt to go off 'cuz you suck like an Otter Pop popsicle Pop rap is cool? It's not possible Please quit with the quickness Or, quiet as kept, I'ma stick this porcupine quill right in my neck No question, that's quite quotable, on a quest for the quality I'm R-ravishing, like I won the lottery Relax the rivalry, robbery, really dog I'm on a roll like a chili dog Grip's Silly Symphony, sent to be the most superb specimen Super-herb rappers smacked down like pro wrestling That's a little too simple, but suffice it to say I spit a pretty stiff sentence to lift your toupee Touche, the tough talk is too trite, trifling, tragedy Travesty, like the Twin Towers toppling tragically Useful utility, unique yet ubiquitous Ugh, nice verse Burst a vein from the viciousness Victory, another win for me Winter wonderland to Summer Jam, Gab Wino works on his winning spree X-rated or G & G What marks the spot? I'm a xenophobe, I don't talk to strangers a lot Yes yes, y'all, not the Youngest in Charge, I guess It's Yours Don't Play With My Yo-Yo What's wrong, you forget yours? Zero in, zone coaster, get your trees Zips to the head, slip into bead, get some Z's...
Back again, broker than before "Kick down!" Four tracks? Repoed. "Took them shits!" We got two now "Peace!" Make do with it Broke... Broakland Broakland We put it all on the line like a free throw I traded in the bucket for a hundred bucks and a free tow It's sad when you can't afford a cab and You have to bring a bike lock along when you go out looking for action At the Safeway, I pay with coins, Club Card, and coupons. I never throw out the stale bread, I make croutons! Hey, soup's on Eat a MC 'cuz I'm hungry I had to pay taxes or liquidate my assets and flee the country Knuckle up, the beat's bumpy With my busted-out bank account, nobody wants me Foul flagrant, no laundry soap, smell like a vagrant "Fragrant!" My Speed Stick ran out and I can't afford to replace it Dirty-down basement, Broakland, I can't taste it Bank statement, I can't get a good credit rating Plus the insurance dropped my ass Because I like to drive fast, regardless if the cops stop my ass, so fuck Geico Plus I know a spot we could all go That's known for the empty bank vaults like Geraldo The B-R...O-A-K-Land is where we are It's the most, other places come close, but no cigar So gritty, my city doesn't need a street weeper Eat meagre, tell it to your folks like Pete seeger That it's either empty stomach or closed fist I admit that I'm starvin' and shit, so don't dis Kiss of death with bad breath, I never had less Than when I moved to Broakland, the most busted address Because Broakland wants you to know that it loves you Then vics your wristwatch when it hugs you...
(Super raps) I'm like a cross between Mighty Mouse and Underdog (Super raps) No need to wonder, dog Grip Grand Flyin' through the air (Winnin' competition with super raps) Superrapper, The Right Fist of Justice The Left Hand of gettin' you and your man's name on the VIP club list I'm faster than a blunt gets lit at a reggae show Capable of not being heard about on the radio I'm able to stop a speeding bullet by being shot I've got the power to run away, if a superthug won't put his gun away That's all the trade secrets I'm gonna say Or the union will take my pension away My lasso makes rappers act like they know Hit a sucker right below the belt with my dirty mind-melting psychic flow Toxic exposure caused the mic to glow brightly, My brain stem regenerates nightly (Hahaha, come fight me) But I battle blabbermouth bad guys and banshees Standin' upright like the Andes to land these uppercuts, sucker punchin' combos, and eye-jammies whle flyin' around in my jammies (super raps) It was Tuesday, I was flyin' through the outer limits Tryin' to find a way to get ahead in rap without a gimmick But I couldn't quite get it and so I quit 'n got a new bag And now it says "I'd rather be thugging" on my doo-rag My gold teeth were resistant to beef, but I got platinum ones Now my records in rotation like gattling guns I attacked Mr. Freeze just to get iced out I suck rocks with my five-mic mouth I got a homing chip stitched in my piece So when I'm trapped in the midst of the beast, my sidekick can quickly track me down and get me released, He just homes on the beeps, and brings tons o' guns That's the code of the streets But when they get here, I might melt 'em down with heat vision, 'Cuz I love bein' a rapper, but I'd rather keep livin' It's a decision I make, it might hurt my street cred when they find out I eat the tofu and wheat bread What? (Winnin' competition with super raps) Man, this is the stupidest song I've ever heard Straight SOS (Winnin' competition with super raps) Need to cut that shit off, it's too dumb (Winnin' competition with super raps) Too dumb (Winnin' competition with super raps) Retarded, Straight retarded
(Spotted at the corner of Superior and Venice I put sugar in the dosage so it's easier to finish...) Breezier than when it's hurricanes and Santa Ana Winds The quest remains, will you step up or get set up like mannequins? If I had a fin for every sucker we busted, I'd cash it in On def bracelets like Mr. Hood so that Grip could look masculine? Yo, eff that so much Even with my King Midas-ish solid-gold touch I would still insist on killin' the crowd as if I was Cold Crush Even my old stuff gets you in the end like it was coal dust You rhyme bogus 'Til they line us up and blindfold us G & G be tryin' to redefine the way you see a rhyme And the odds of it being mine if it's wack is "no chance" That's like playing Nation of Millions and trying to slow dance This ain't a romance But I love the mic, me and her like to hold hands Seein' her with another man, I can't begin to fathom So I grab 'em both, drag 'em back to the lab and split the atom Get the heck out of Dodge I don't grip the gatlin', but in case we Have to blast a lyric at the hats of cats who try to chase me? Here's the DJ... Are you feeling flooded? Overflowing, never knowing where the river's going If or when it's slowing down enough for you to get out? Found it's tough to pull your head out of the place you got it stuck in? Face the fuckin' music, suckers step a lot like double-dutchin' When the wind blows, you can feel it, fresh like open windows Airin' out the music that you care about Raring out the box to go Stickin' it like a popsicle's impossible when everyone's sick in it like a hospital, or thereabouts The wheels spun, the DJ played reminders of the kind of pain you feel from The needle and the damage done like Neil Young When freedom rings, will rappers heed the call and clip the strings as if they're sick of things, or stick you in the chest like nipple rings? Grip'll bring a bunch of pugilistic punchin' in the function At the back of dark rooms where I spit sharp like harpoons Get smart or get lost when Grip toss you off a cliff like cartoons Catch an anvil If it isn't Calibrator on the handbill, just cancel


Grip Grand--Welcome to Broakland

Grip Grand's self-produced debut album, originally released on Bomb Hip Hop Records in 2002. Recorded on a bedroom four-track deep in the heart of Broakland.


released November 24, 2002

Written, Produced, and Performed by Grip Grand, except tracks #7 & 13 not produced by Grip Grand . All raps by Grip Grand. Additional studio magic, scratching, and production/engineering assistance on Santa Ana Winds, Hard & Good, and Pro-Gress by Alex Posell.

Explicit Lyrics


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