Supernova

by OT23

/
  • Streaming + Download

     

  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    OT23's 2010 Release in it's physical form, shrink-wrapped and in full color.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Supernova via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 7 days

      $7 USD or more 

     

1.
02:32
2.
3.
04:13
4.
03:01
5.
01:45
6.
7.
04:29
8.
02:06
9.
02:51
10.
03:30
11.
01:56

credits

released December 7, 2010

Production:
2,4,5,6,9,11: Dylon Camero
1,3,8: Ruler Why
7: N.I.P.

Cuts:
1,6: DJ Aspekt
7: Trillbot

Additional Vocals on 10: ProjectDead

Mixed and Mastered by Ruler Why.

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

OT23 Austin, Texas

contact / help

Contact OT23

Streaming and
Download help

Redeem code

Track Name: Inaugural
INAUGURAL. The bonds run deeply forged in fires and wars; blood brothers from inbred mothers took an oath and swore to watch each others backs in good times and times of strife. The tension eased, one became the husband, and the other became the wifey; looking pretty, rebuilding, a sight for weary eyes, the maternal home to legends and lore and lullabies. So the thinking goes…say husband disciplinarian and bread winner, provides the table and provides the dinner. Only half wrong: Equal knows no stratification. Disciplinarian and pacifist passing back and forth that bread and bacon to run bonds deeper; it’s like share and share alike. One brother gives most to his other and vice versa. Equal- so let’s get equal on wood. Brothers each hold their own and that much is understood. They stay in different neighborhoods so each hold their own- they should hold their own so the other don’t have to watch so hard. Remember, share and share alike. Money and power go together like wind and a kite. Build together. Protect together. War mongering, governments and poverty, yuppies eating Havarti, records playing Pavarotti, sound tracks snap your pictures like paparazzi, old school like Joni and Chachi, indoctrinate ya like ROTC, bad karma for being cocky, rocky waters bad temper- like Ricky Waters in late December we’re limber lyrically like pine timber, in the wind, we’re spiritually transforming bad vibes to glee, in ‘23’ broken fences yes we’re mending, 1 to the community, 2 to the Unity and 3 for scrutiny of ego-driving lunacy. Who the fuck is this? Its BMC and Lord Hennessey with over magnified truth scrutiny.
Track Name: Knucklebreakers
KNUCKLEBREAKERS. Life viewed through a filter of dogmatic understanding with a god that’s reprimanding and standing true to his branding. Contracting not expanding all existence is sanded down to a kernel that’s easily commanded by any one person who claims cosmification; basing all actions on laws that are evasive and postulation in a manner meant to be persuasive, but like the paper that’s sanding them down, they are abrasive in words , thoughts, actions and feelings. Stupid zealing spleen spilling got me hanging from the ceiling; because I know what you’re concealing. Hatred is with what you’re dealing. In equal parts love and killing, your heart’s Descartes’ but still you’re kneeling. And this concern’s not religion only; preaching is preaching and mostly it is phony; because of the sheep, the shepherd’s not lonely- the feeder, leader- In name only! And mostly seen on public access TV, from a calm to a scream essentially the same thing. And claims to be the crop’s cream, jump start a regime, serialize a scheme, materialize a dream. Have a book from which to believe: Holy Bible, The Quran, Tao De Chang, Dianetics, Book of Mormon, Mein Kampf; a face where the buck stops, shining out of the box- cult leader, brain feeder, lay reader coaxed into the bloc. Now act in compliance, show disdain and defiance for those who hold disagreement with self-contained pseudoscience. Simple interest now reliance, and the kernel grip that’s tightest and the feeling of a titan, until what enlightened frightens. As the stranglehold tightens, knuckles start a-breaking, the façade start a-flaking and ohhh your heart starts aching. Time for decision making, those that be proclaiming the whole truth leave their flocks lost and shaking and forsaken. Falsely imprisoned like a Haitian turned complacent, or Guantanamo patient forth and back pacing , we’re adjusting inflation for whom? McVeigh Kaczynski like invasions, Neo-Cons adjacent elation score. Check it: tasting the hating of elite-ly ruled populations, simply put they super-masons, nonetheless invasive penetrations in psyche-abominations. Free-will and manifest destiny’s- cold soul domination, clearly seen as hand to forehead chest then shoulder blessing. Short changed soldiers supplying selves with wound dressing, vesting and testing free subjects who’re resting with chemicals, die at-no-cost! 600 ways ‘The Beard’ dodged Orlando Bosch, and other psycho Rambo jocks, sheep flocks smoking government sinsemilla , you seedless Louis Carriles’ , the opposites of Jesus, Luis Posada Carriles: Don’t ever, DON’T EVER think we don’t see ya!
Track Name: Belief
BELIEF. The pen, the pencil, the scalpel, the microscope…Feelings believe they want to be hope. The proof, the truth, the nails, the heads…Where all the right answers prove ‘nope’ instead. This is for the strict disciples, ideologues, proscribers to a set of beliefs, within success lies defeat. Hold white clutched knuckle in the face of rebuttal, aim dead-eye, rebuking the truth is unfunctional. Unfuctionable for forward progress; never make it cross the yellow line of high-mindedness. Done slipped by the riptide, shifts in paradigms, decided in labs by those imbibed who can say this is this and this is that, to the nth degree, we little mental Zacchaeus done climbed up the tree to see. But instead of invitation in, on the minds of weakened worldviews cashing in by overtaxing them. Annihilating the ability for those who create by swamping all critical thoughtforms with hate. For the other side blinds eyes with triviality and Easter egg facts, found exactly where they placed at. To reaffirm the circular argument, going loop-to-loop; providing tidbits of proof for what was pre-assumed. To punt the placement of the burden of proof and drive them backwards; and blitz the shit out of them with knockdown answers. Up tension the ratchet, no one gives up attachment; the whole situation gets hairier than the beasts of Kashyyyk. Providence and quantification both reside in the mind. Subjectivity and determinism, the ties that bind. Gaps filled on both sides with claims never backed up. The whole of whole of nature is not all it’s cracked up to be. A question never answered because it can’t be…it’s just a cancer on the community. Alls it do is drive scientific progress to a halt; wears me slick with all the big up and the faults. When no solution is apparent, both dive back to metaphysics to explain what can never be explained, just admit it. Paid too much attention to the negativity, find self in San Quentin-like serendipity, hating me cuz I breathe the same air as you, austerity program’s clean no filters of blue. I pity the fool who lives and dies by their rules, so I devise my route, seldom losing my cool. Let you think you know the answers just playing a fool: but you’re just a tiny dancer shiest-ed by the gene pool. So I kick back, engage pen to pad, practice lyrical math, learned the demographics of Chad, that’s the way this MC chooses to fight back, not a flight risk but I do fight back, hoping this mic’s tapped. Energy Release secrets lethal seeds, it’s a simple fact, I believe what you believe but will you bleed to change these things? I think not; you need your bling, its hampering how your seeds perceive wrong and right things, so I just might bring an M-16 to this fight ring. And start firing. Killing a verse, robin hooded your purse, emotions in check first blurs realty, check, squirt, 6ccs of venom in your main neck V, steadily dissecting, leveling with my audience, truth first not peddling incompetence bursts of words impeccable demonstrative, no opiate- mass appeal, self taught, lobbing words at your religions never caught on. Tithe your scrill. Wallow at the bottom with privately funded nano-goblins, frogmen, hunting Bin Laden. Open your primitive reptilian cortex, vernacular sturdy like war vets, peep the war-chest of words, purged to scourge the score best, heard of your burbs that bore abreast, ready for the test, your ideals, depress your leaders gills, suppress the impediments, filter out the sediments, flowing out of your thought faucet negligence.
Track Name: Solstice
SOLSTICE. My rhymes go harder than blood diamonds. My rhymes are relaxed and coincidentally ya’ll they surpass, all expectations of space time aberration, with lax application, implanted through routine observation, of tireless drones, happy to keep your heads down: USA a slave nation with ass up and out on loan for penetration, flown through dimensional transfer zones, now that’s ventilation as the stars align with Solstice like tone. My aggregation of verbiage is versatile vagabond thought process vendetta vindicated through vascular evacuation, Miss, please give me denominations non-consecutive and without that tracking beacon shit, cuz this nation I’ll be leaving kids, better believe indeed this emcee loves to flee, but always saddles up and rides the beat, hip hop pumping through me, indubitably, rudely, crudely, fluidly with fluidity, naw bitches you cant get rid of me, fuck an enemy with them there’s only one remedy, kill em. Kill em all vehemently, I got your style. Mines real talk, like war province Anwar or oil Czars from afar taking charge that mirage is a fraud that you lent, your brain waves compliment, off and on again. OT23 omnipotent. Against the aggregate of charges leveled at me I’ll have vindication; polite words chocked full of connotation, my coronation’s the culmination of all parts of this social organization; only to be discovered to desecration ad post-mortem examination. This world’s an abomination, a plantation of human machination, all guns blazing, hate in incubation, rotten teat the filling station, milk’s fermentation, ex-patriation, a nation open to broad interpretation and a whole-to-part relation misrepresentation. Aspiration lain murdered by codification of authentication. Emancipation by accreditation, alleviation of approximation, all this passed on by vocal ejaculation. Placing all chips on fact, polarization of edification, my education’s depreciation’s an indication of credential inflation. Over-saturation of the population, poly-tiered conglomeration and our nation’s privatization is glazing over our visualization. It seems to me truth’s an empirical observation.
Track Name: Midgets
MIDGETS. Don’t be mad at me 'cause I’m a giant and you’re a midget, 'cause my style flows free like silk and yours is rigid. The young flamethrower heating up the street while you’re frigid. The nighthawk soaring and hunting while you’re a pigeon. Picking up the cold pieces, I drop the hot feces; your rapping lack direction, I got the strong thesis. It’s thee.m.c.double e r.o.c.k.i.n.g. the m.i.c.r.o.p.h.o.n.e. at thirty-three and a third, I embrace the absurd. Strong minds prefer the words of Higginberg. Programming, one-half of OT23 standing and commanding at the mic stand. Metarapping bout rapping; rapping bout rapping rapping what I do…Brag about what you got not what you own fool. And do it on the microphone.
Track Name: Formidable Foes
FORMIDABLE FOES. Insane visions coincide with reality, when I close my eyes I devise a wise disguise a formality- for formidable foes that irritate like sties do and nothing declines my rhyme style ho. Worthwhile individuals might get a smile, the rest getting gutted then spoon-fed bile, defile your grave, compile all facts first just to see if there's a cancer in your brain, fuck her edging off the skirt man, make it hurt. Mainframe down, but can't complain, surely you’re dirtier than dirt, or I'm insane with feelings blurred by similar words, that everyone claims, they wicked stains, which pertain to Aspartame membranes: dumbed down. Feigned to be real, feel the same lame fake juice like Tang, reptilians with fish gills: Fuck a Politician, feeding us cheap thrills, barely able to pay the bills. On a mission for kills. Time, time, and time again, it all depends on how you spend it. Blooming like spring or withering, either fall under control or render it useful, meaning advantageous. If you want to be totally truthful, time do pass, lines do grow; but like I said before…It’s better to be fruitful. So hold on, throw on your blinders to these passages’ signifiers. The way Rocket or Ryan’s fastball be similar to the way time be flying. Tying one on can numb the pain, which is all good, but shouldn’t have been there in the first place. It’s psychosomatic. If you’ve had it, put your blindfold on and watch it get drastic. Shot wasting bleed; beat you to submission with a well timed internal war of attrition. Mathematicians could solve this time crime like numb3rs only if it mattered that the concentration of events of significance posses and uninteresting scatter pattern. Clustered up in the front like huts, the rest behind an adult wall, or don’t exist at all. It’s up to you to see how far you can fall. Spring turns to fall. Summer’s somehow always a dream- wasted away with………..
Track Name: N4N
N4N. I sit back and relax like the sultan. A day’s work for a day’s pay is worth something. It makes me feel fine- relax my mind, to know I’m on my grind- open like venetian blinds. If it makes me a herb to punch a clock- oh well…I’mma be a herb non-stop, I don’t dwell on what it extracts from me, that breed negativity- I go hard for my family. The fact’s the man in me makes me strive for what I can. Gave up a child’s lifestyle so I could take a stand to build and protect; and in the respect, I’m fulfilled and feeling chill like winters in Quebec. If I want it I’mma get it with my hands and my brains. Never served off a silver platter, I appreciate every thing that I’ve got- everything that I own- these small successes smelling sweet like cologne. I’m on my throne. Nothing comes from nothing. Nothing comes for free. Wrap your mind around these things and let your conscious be free. Nothing comes from nothing. Nothing comes for free. BMC, H.I. double G’s- this consciousness achieved. We sneak up on you, like John Wilkes Booth, and careful barkeep, that’s way too much Vermouth, so keep the mixture right, workers plight to pay the light and all that hype. We factory workers homie, that means day and night. Fuck the shackles, demonic cackles, we biding time, mercantilist with my flows and my rhymes. Nothing comes from nothing either with that hating state of mind, I'm traveling ley lines while you're riding life’s pine. Bottom rung lower thirty MFI- demographic fall guy who's pornographic all night. We reeling from feeling the steel industry’s outreach, talking complex matrices involving tax schemes. Plus how you think. I'm talking hitting a Brinx, you worried bout the Spinx. Doorbell rings, tables empty, what’d you bring? And that’s that, your whack philosophies neglecting fact, better pattern recognize That…Working for the man isn’t the only work I can. My pen swish constitutes my other pension plan. As the hourglass sand passes through the slender part, I get better at my art and start ripping styles apart. But yet far from the best; I just get it off my chest. When life puts me to the test I reply surely you jest and supply plush verbiage to my mic device. The release and relief that eases the pains of my life. I’m just an imperfect copy of an ideal emcee who flows towards perfection on every day I be upon this physical plane of idea and will- employed for the money, but rhyme for the skill. I’ve never flowed to hustle. I’ve never pimped my pen; I treat her with respect like I treat my woman. To be an e.m.c.e.e. doesn’t come for free. Nothing comes from nothing-Dedication-It can’t be a fling to rap sing.
Track Name: Blinders
BLINDERS. Life with blinders, can’t feel the incisors ripping flesh from the neck of the pride inside us; smugly rationalizing, slowly realizing that everyone’s been lying and left us to fighting what we hold to be self-evident, taken-for-grantedness, emotionlessly we assess the mess, we made for ourselves and all our seeds by internalizing greed and bearing witness to nothing. Believing in everything that makes us believe minus all else; I’mma go for self won’t help.
I've lived in Lima, Peru. Seen Oil for food, while Cambodian immigrants monopolize cigarettes and juice. Government food, stomach cancer lack of funding for youth. All related facets of society driving me aloof. Exploring foreign lands to find the truth and seeing globalizations roots. Societies plagued. consumers and proprietors prove- the vastness of this vague maze of addicts in a laid off haze. Sleeping under building stoops and shelter from the acid rain of industry goons, gloomy vision of Armageddon on shrooms, plumes of smoke harming our youth, lung cancer killing one in two it touches. Volumes of record in fumes… If your not pedigree you’re doomed tunnel vision illumed suckaz. These days look bleak. I can feel their teeth sink into our collective pride and deeper into mine. I feel the vulnerability of a child sometime. Futile to fret for what’s coming; let the bums keep bumming; monks keep humming; balladeers keep strumming. The gears are in motion. I feel like we’re coasting; but in my heart of hearts I enjoy the commotion. Let the fire start right here before my eyes today. I don’t have anything to lose anyway. Rip my neck out- pull until the sinews pop. Suck the blood from the pride and the lies let the hope for a prosperous future die before our eye by our actions and inactions.
Track Name: DMV
DMV. We’re living dangerously close to the edge; one step from the sledge and the sickle, feel the effects ripple from the underclass to whom lied, pacified by WIC milk and monthly cash, but not enough to stash to claw and climb and advance to the that next stratum where mashed down by the mass cleverly trained and made to believe that education’s a blessing, but the true lesson is that same education is the overlord’s blessing, to keep those with it on a very short chain, to do the work of the master so clean hands they can claim. Stand at the helm of disaster, the working class is the learned class, together yet alone..Marx’s knuckles chewed through the bone..It’s beyond what he could have known- Sandwich of the pacified, whose eyes show discontent but no fire, no danger, to struggle no stranger, rearrange the picture- those getting used up or outsourced now forced one way or another….The hands of the worker become the hands of the gunner shooting up the old workplace with shame and fear on his face could get a check from the g.o.v.t. but feel disgraced. It’s a shame, they turned the wild man tame, he’s got tears on his paycheck like stains on his brain. Militant visions, giving me proscriptions, first note social divisions then wisdom kicks in with no permission, morals the omission, quarrels with debt, deed, and propaganda drowning many, so bring mean profit hounding individuals, hatred residual. Ceased abstract thought sounding pitiful. Hit a fool, right through their liar, natural divider, application done by the applier, Swiss Army like MacGyver. Mineral seeds, mineral oil, mineral rights by Halliburton spoils whats right, premeditated warring? Evil soaring! from record levels, several voices silenced to appease that devilish impale that grabs hold of ya, don’t call me bra, cuz Ill get swoll as fuck. Duck matrix like from bullets, split your European mullets, if ya got a gat then hold it- to the knot of any cop… Watch that pigs eyes’ pop out his head protrude that snout. Ego grows bigger, when you pull the trigger, like Mordacai in Purim, Gomorrah or Sodom, either/or you’re rock bottom. Walls surround you, Palestine. Hilltop settlements just there to remind you of control. Strap a bomb on and get swoll! Dust settles both sides still at opposite polls. Hate attracts as the medium’s Unc Sam backed, thirty round clip in your back when your heads turns to ask Obama for some slack, stray bomb hit your shack: Southern Lebanon and Northern Iraq.
Track Name: Loyalties
LOYALTIES. Now they done cut down all the trees now we have no shade, sun baked class-consciousness and the worst decisions made. As the globe looks on, there’s no prescriptions, no faith healers to lay hands on and ease our diseases. It seems a crime to be a human being to all else that breathing, dividing, photosynthesizing; knee-jerk reaction is hiding. Construct a bunker, build a fortress, reallocate my proportions, divide it up between intra and extra versions. Hide and seek with myself, seek and hide a life for myself behind the prying eyes and forked tongued lies, leaves me bluer than deft w.a.r.e., the soup seems thin, me need something hardy to keep me from floating. I longs to get deep, control my hands in my sleep,; and find what the answer should truly be for me. Should I go out like a soldier or huddle and hide? My greatest pride would be constructing a good and happy life. I'm elated, so fucking elated you made it, ill fated, still g-rated, but hated nonetheless, your life, I'll still take it. Fuck this mess, arrests, less-received receipts. You’re the real time thief with your esoteric MPC. Ya. You’re real lucky you ain't six-feet deep. L’Chayim to your Israel lobby, bedside like Sharon’s mommy. Walking around placid eyed and fake like a zombie, wearing Abercrombie you’ll remember me like prison rape. Living the mission or vision of precision but missing the wisdom of forgiveness for take and a wish list? I gotta leave ya fistless, listless, charcoal for Christmas. Naw fuck that- you bar-coded yuppie bitch-fit. I'm gonna leave you no hands no dick, vertical slits in your wrists: suicide not soaked in your own blood and shit.
Track Name: RAZR
RAZR. With a tongue whose dimensions resemble a razor, knocking out beats like Capt. Kirk's fazer, emcees spit dull like a butter knife, while DJs spin 90’s bangers off in the night, with grimey-like flows, flippin' off traffic cameras as I blow 'dro sweets…peep seek aesthetic beef- the rest reap what they sow. Spying on your population just to know when you know already what they hate you for…smoke screens and lies the real democracy, morals fried as razors drop these passes like Shockey, Jeremy. Reactions slowed like molasses just as speakers blast this we ask these questions call them pertinent beat stabbing head bobbin, body swerving, fans learning, we relevant…jaws drop fast like its Lent or Rammadan, with bombs strapped on at the crack of dawn, beads of sweat drip like the faucets on. I'm winning one for the Gip, its easy to talk shit. Try to be an activist. There’s two pillars of a farm-fresh rhyme, namely a razor-blade tongue and a whetstone mind. My thought processes figured out, fingered the sediment, found the rudiment, the kernel, of what I’m trying to talk about. Then exploration of words, precision descriptors; the internal chemical reactions in my brain turn my deep seeded pains to grains that became physical reality as I stared down at my page. I’ve done reached an age in which I’m eager to beat the daemons out of my chest and place them all on display like loaded laundry on a line. It’s only fine if it possess the divine shine. The right of the emcee, to express thoughts eloquently, tersely, precisely and relevantly; sing your life…but mean what you sing…….Razor Blade Emcees!