Sounds Like

by Ivan Ice & Emay

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    Contact:
    Emay | http://vinylmeltdown.com
    Ivan Ice | http://beatmup.net

     

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03:33
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03:07
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02:26
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01:27
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about

First official album from Ivan Ice & Emay

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released February 23, 2010

Vocals: C. Clay; M. Adams
Production: M. Adams; I. Winter

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Ivan Ice & Emay Hamilton, Ontario

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Track Name: Get Ready!
They aint ready for it.
Insane steady forces.
We kinda similar,
But I aint ready for forfeit.
We trynna transfer thought
To afford more porsches.
Slim-minded is falling
Afford more coffins.
Made preperations.
Aimed for the patience.
Studied the script wisely,
attained from the famous.
Applied fiercely,
So when we do the album cover,
We should end every song title
With an exclamation.
And I aint never had a team behind me.
You see I've only had a team beside me.
Move as a squadron.
Never need accomplice.
But these McCain mawfuckers trynna move in office.
So I'mma O-Bomb ya.
Get your style Gore'd.
Then stand up like, "what you trynna bite my style for?"
You see I've never wrote a hit.
Only magic, action, lights,
Classic.

I'm supposed to talk shit right here......Shit.

They aint ready.
See they aint ready for this, and they aint ready for that,
And they aint ready for it. (They aint ready for) x2
They aint ready for more.
They aint ready for less, they aint ready for more.
They aint ready. (Yes!)

So now they claim ready with they pants on fire,
Liar liar Jim Carey fairies wary of the fire.
But I lack lawyer, foundation never budging.
So creative that they made me judge of all the judges.
Lay the smackdown on Judy and Joe Brown.
No remorse for divorce courts with horse sounds.
Or hillbilly soundscapes, see they sound ape.
For your birthday, you get bananas and some pound cake.
(Sounds great!)
See this is jet pack music.
Skygazin' in fly havens,
The exact music that you'd use just to prove improvements.
Cuz rock and roll's now fragmented into loose excuses.
This aint a battle. Nor is it a war.
It's more like a family feud for more force.
So strap up and be prepared for the "seems cool!".
Marching up DNA ladders, crush gene pools.

They aint ready.
See they aint ready for this, and they aint ready for that,
And they aint ready for it. (They aint ready for) x2
They aint ready for more.
They aint ready for less, they aint ready for more.
They aint ready. (Yes!)

Goddamn. Am I supposed to talk shit here to?
Why are there so many fuckin talk shit spots?
I dont want to talk shit man.
I'll talk shit in my verses, but I don't want to talk shit when I'm talking.
Y'know? I make tracks.
So ummm...... Put your mics up.
Track Name: Mic's Up
I am a martian.
Naw, more like a warlock.
You see the flow kills crops when the Korg drops.
Kinda like kick, snare, shaker.
My wing cuts into the reverb phaser.
With the hands I can reverse favours,
into kicking dudes in the shin 'till the pain hurts.
How could you try to cut down a steel tree?
The titanium leaves will make you feel bleak.
Mix this into your synapse.
Crisp when I flip switch, splits into chin straps.
Now your face lacks protection.
Switch prefixes, and pass/past the tenses.
Like I went to the store to re-do something,
But when I looked back, I pre-did it.
And when I looked back to the present,
I wrapped/rapped it up, and when it opened, it says menace.

They coudn't understand the patterns.
Or how he makes everything scattered. (x2)

Put your mics up. (x4)

Put your mics up high up in the bass treble.
Where the stars and the comets erase pebbles.
And anything small, fried.
We predict that you drop to the far side/pharcyde.
And of course, I don't mean the west coast.
The middle of nowhere is where you get your neck toast.
Left in a dark room lightless.
Pitch black is in fact how we like ish.
The anatomy of a mic ripper.
Black ink for breakfast and mics dinner.
Chewing on a book for snackage.
Midnight snacks, where I cook disasters.
Tornadoes and avalanches.
Adventurers that fought with lances.
But I engage war with a pop filter.
And a stand that demands that you drop silver.
Plus gold and platium.
Leave contenders in insane A-SY-LUMS.
And of course he meant asylums.
But to drown out the noise you need silence...
Quiet so I can hear pins dropping.
In a riot I'm the voice with intense topics.
The mad man's too eager, the cause of eargasms through speakers.

Put your mics up. (x4)

*Shoutouts
Track Name: Lab
Ivan Ice on the beat.

Take a step into the lab. (x3)

The mad scientist. With bad sinuses.
So when I grab the beaker, It freeze to my calluses.
And then I turn around and I burn butsons.
That annoy cats, like I ask too many questions.
But I'm a genius, I provide answers.
Manipulating chromosomes, creating assault gnomes.
So watch out, they going for ya ankles.
Unhinge fibias and use them to spank you.
So thank you. For agreeing.
To be apart of my experiment that I'm achieving.
Just to make the earth stand still.
Stiff for a split second.. Mad skill.
Then I hop out the labmobile.
Invisible cloak on so I have no wheels.
But right about now, see I need a new specimen.
A bird and a man that evolves to a pelican.
That can simply speak and, talks like a man does.
With a beak that can grab like a hand does.
And if you touch the bottom of his back,
Then it forms into a woofer and it plays my anthem.
A formula to cause tantrums.
I blend unseen colours of the spectrum.
I can destroy all barriers with a gun,
To implant spy cams in area 51.
For fun.
I guess I just lack motive.
It's in my blood called negative devotion.
When I complete equations I race rapid.
I can dissolve any base when I base acids.
Easily belittle any mansion.
Went from huge to a miniature expansion.
That's why I love shrink rays.
Turn black and grey into a pink day.
Turn grasshoppers into sensei's.
Don't tempt me dog, I'm riding Entei.
I said I'm riding Entei. (On my pokemon shit)

Ivan Ice.
Emay.
Take a step into the lab (x2)
Track Name: Stupid Shit
Ivan Ice on the beat.
Let me spit some stupid ish right quick.
Listen.

I do my own thing.
I'm the notes when you sing.
DING!
He ran when I scorched up the ring.
I melt turnbuckles.
And I'm smashing loud.
Words is roids, make Pacman beat Pacquiao.
And you're laughing now.
I turn smiles to frowns.
Frowns to sound, when sound's never cracking out.
Then I turn that into a rhyme.
Leave your lips horizontal, symmetrical lines.
This is what you seek when you need weed substitute.
Made an 8th heaven just for me and my parachute.
Your whole crew is assholes and asswipes.
I can even sound dope on a bagpipe.
Your crew needs Pro Tools and crack pipes.
I can even sound dope on a bagpipe.
....Sorry for pulling a mike jones.
Beat your ass in repeat, so they call it Ike Jones.
Track Name: Used To Sound Like, Now
It used to sound like.
It used to sound like.
Now it sounds like.
But now it sounds like. (x2)

I remember back in the days.
DJ's spinning and they scratch and amaze.
Freestyle teams in the street, they protect turf.
No schemes in the beef, just a wet verse.
Grand flash and the furious five.
Wack crews to a minimum.
Dope is provoking them.
And the hip-hop hope is the opium.
Top pinnacle, rocking spots pivotal.
To the advancement, the movement.
Of a b-boy spinning on his cap to the music.
Send thrills through a windmill.
Ice sheets through a tight beat.
Hot coals on a bomb flow.
Bomb flows to a lost soul.
Now found in a poncho.
Now warm from the storm of the world of the hostile.
Where the mc's plugged with the crowd like a console.
Gaming. But not games when,
The cypher sparks, the MC's playpen.
Hip-hop is a jewel, not a fake gem.
The birth of a voice on which the pain swept.

It used to sound like.
It used to sound like.
Now it sounds like.
But now it sounds like. (x2)

So where we at now?
30 plus years.
Where we at now?
Let the blood smear.
It's all about the money, get that cheese.
Pockets fat, not flat, make them envy.
The new school's trynna take over.
All tired of the thugs and guns, give it a make-over.
So now we have a new wave of glam rappers.
Bright shirts and tight pants, they mad at us.
But the new never listen to the veterans.
The new wanna progress and be better than.
But the fat gold chains from the 80's.
Is tied to our ankles, dangling, flailing.
So should we learn to cut them off?
Or maybe run with it through the tall grass helping us evolve.
To solve, the re-occurring issues.
Keep our heads high, instead of down in the tissue.
Taller than Shaq standing on the Eiffel tip.
Hip-hop is a jewel, not another brick.

It used to sound like.
It used to sound like.
Now it sounds like.
But now it sounds like. (x2)

Now it sounds like.
Track Name: Hank Aaron "WildnOut"
Straight off the bat.
ill like Dilla on a monsta track. (Wildn Out)
But there's no imitation.
Original flow for the faces. (Wildin Out) (x2)

You can hear the off time ticking.
Boom like Royce Da 5'9" the click is.
Dope like coke in a pocket.
With more hash for ya ass so rock it.
But don't roll it, don't roll it.
Welcome to molten voltage.
Yeah, the beats kinda fancy.
My bad, the beats kinda nasty.
Turn it up so now the rooms drafty.
My bad the beats kinda Yancey.
Like I had madlib on adlib simply to get the whole club dancing. (Wildn Out)
But this here's no Jaylib.
It's more like Ivan and flame kid.
And the kid's named Emay.
First name Beast. Last name Emay.
We be easily distinguished.
You be easily extinguished. (Wildn Out)
Diminish. Finish. Done with.
Y'all targets dog, I'm a gun smith.
Y'all trynna be J Dillz.
So you went and you copped his drum kit. (Wildn Out)
And it never worked out, so you tried to find where he chops his trumpets. (We be Wildn Out)
And you still can't do it.
Trying to copy instead of being influence. (Wildn Out)
Me and Ivan. Don't try and,
We still burst out basslines at a time.
Refined and designed.
New old shit, new new shit.
Evolution, leave all clueless.
But this here's beyond Darwin darling.
Deep in the soul, spirit.
Hard, solid, gold, feel it.
Can't touch this. '
I'm here to get these MC's hammered.
Stomp on swagger. (Wildn Out)
Track Name: Ze Drums (feat. C4)
As my hand puts force to a bongo.
To extract waveforms out of wood through air to the ear lobe.
To the brain nerves, and now your brain searches.
For a flat to dance on, a plain surface.
And so you climb up the stage.
The spokes on the ladder, lather in the rythm.
And now that you know how to approach all the pain.
The mucsles in you cause laughter in the system.
Trust me, you don't even need a drum kit.
You could have 808 hate and still bump shit.
For real, you don't even need a hand palm.
Nor leg, or peg, for to stand on.
Just imagine, travel through the rhythmic a little bit,
And now it's a lot.
Percussion, hurts nothing that's out of the box.
So I'mma tamper the tambourine, and get you out of your socks.
And that's Hot.

You can feel it in the drums.
You can feel it in the drums.
You can feel it in the lungs.
Kick, clap, kick, clap.
Tamper the tambourine, and that's it. (x2)

The sound's ignited when C4's invited to rock the session.
As drums build progression to knock low.
From snot nosed Picassos.
Thought grows in ya knot from the spots that caught the rot.
So turn this up a notch.
Cuz ya mind's in the groove when the drum is hot.
We move, a thousand miles in one shot.
Confucianary subplots.
Taking rhymes and whatnot.
To times of sheep skin stretched over the wood hollow.
4 taps is the rhythm that you should follow.
Moving current through your brains cells.
With encephalitis to ensure that your brain swells.
That's a strange tale/
Wavelengths groove through your memory banks,
As proof this was made well.
And that's how it begins.
So imma let the drum solo come in to get ya outta your skin.
Come on.

You can feel it in your heart now. Chyeah.
You can feel it in your heart now.
It's rising to your brain now.

You can feel it in the drums.
You can feel it in the drums.
You can feel it in the lungs.
Kick, clap, kick, clap.
Tamper the tambourine, and that's it. (x2)

Kick, clap, kick, clap.
You could feel it in the.
Track Name: Child Remix (prod. Emay)
Verse 1

Imagine being born in a fortress
Only left with a scarce way to manage
And your mind state gnaws on famine
Entirely unseen to the blind and the damaged
Where the nutrients you intake
Were once yesterdays waste for the next days
Can't work, cuz your necks phased
To the point where your spine chip cracks to react and The rest fray
But you continue to progress and manoeuvre
Slave in the age where the brave's in the sewer
Dirt pit gravel, left to dismantle
For the boss that gets hammered like an anvil
And nobody is the leader of the ant hill
Because the war is within, and they demand kill
They demand take and rape, so stand still
As i kidnap your child into his last thrill

Verse 2

So now we have a child in the fight for his life
Trained to terrorize the pain that he felt and the strife
Transformed to the form of a gun trigger
And his release is the scotch, and some malt liquor
His whole village in the east, is a memory
Drowns babies just to put them out their misery
And the leader of the rebels is the recipe
To his new found darkness, the entity
And we can blame him, instead of blaming ourselves
But it'll never keep an angel out of hell
It'll never keep a gypsy from migrating
Pain is a waste of time, yet we lack patience
I refine each rhyme to a back-breaker
To stimulate the climb and attract nature
But see, my voice is too fragile
And too brittle for the corporate assholes
Every line i write, the bloodshed spreads farther
Each syllable a child to a dead father
Each dead father's a martyr
Who couldn't understand war, didn't bother
You see he only conformed to the general
The composition of gun play was mineral
The main element, source of his freedom
But he got poked in the eye through the peepholes

Verse 3

He couldn't bare it anymore
The gold was stole out of his soul
Left with only fragments, pieces he holds
His hands stained with the lives that he's taken
Dream at night, of all the childhood faces
All the women, the children painted in blood when he sleeps in the dark he couldn't take it
He had to rearrange ways to a new order
like if north korea was to strip borders
And south korea was forgiving of the sores
And they traded in pain for wings so they could soar
Cut clouds into halves for a new quarter
a new period in time to reverse slaughter
Put all the demons in a mini little basket
Ship it to no where, kick it in a casket
Put it on a blimp with a bomb for the masses
But nurturing the wounds caused havoc
So then he woke up saw the AK sittin
and it told him, "listen here, I was made by you and enslaved by you, I never took a human soul, only you do"
And by now see the dream was forgotten
Whole fantasy was just sold in an auction
A dead pool full of slugs and they watched him
Kill till death turned around and it mocked him