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Step Child
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Album   $5
Free download
Rough copy of LP version
hip hop rap rhymer beats
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Rapping is a form of music that happens when... whatever, just give a mic and I'll show you some MAGIC!
www.myspace.com/emceenutso Lafayette Azevedo AKA Nutso has been rhyming since 1997 Currently 3 albums in the MP3 store, get them now!
Song Info
Genre
Hip-Hop • Hip Hop General
Charts
Peak #2,379
Peak in subgenre #1,171
Author
Lafayette Azevedo
Rights
WYD Records 2004
Uploaded
April 11, 2008
Track Files
MP3
MP3 2.5 MB • 128 kbps • 2:44
Story behind the song
This is a rough copy of the Lp version of "Step Child". This is not the real version but a rough draft to get feedback.
Lyrics
Welcome to the orphanage false abortion kids that live under privileged Under various civilians that have no children so life is different As they raise future rappers, dealers and killers that aren’t Normal like Norman Storming the gates at hotel Bates With mother’s dress in a suitcase, wig and make up for the face Ready to check in the next foster home with adults that don’t mate Forced to adopt-cloaked as people not cops-picked a child-through compiled data files Felt like a cosmonaut-bought to take orders-patrol borders in the quarters And make sure the real kids live normal-as I remain a soldier Truth be told they wanted to mold me into an emcee-step child-reconciled with my mic Stockpiled rhymes night after night with headphones relating codes in modes Through transistor radios with paranormal voices in high pitch tones known as ghosts Passing messages to those that understand what it’s like to be born alone You need to have courage to carry the burden of a child learning that his parents deserted him-not deserving it-but now the system is servicing him-searching for guardians to purchase a human who’s life was in ruins-before he knew what he was doing The device known as the mic was the proper utensil paper and pencil and producers that handled the beat in the session-the studio was more of a home then the parents that beat him to teach a lesson-the words served as a way out the mouth to shout how much he hated life now-anger turned into pages of songs that aged when he was ready to say them he was calm and caged in the mic booth was his haven waiting for his time to be placed in the rotation at radio stations to show his parents he wasn’t wasted but to save him before he went from biological to step child in a database to showcase people’s mistakes-when-lust raises the stakes-and one leave while the other abandons the child without a trace Stepped into a new life-weapon was always a mic-tucked close to my bones underneath my clothes-like those that keep guns close-concealed in the mobile with no plans to be captured onto newsreel to have kids feel that I revealed my evil side to people-fans that plan to purchase from a local merchant-for the purpose to keep current with music’s moving units-proving to you that it’s urgent-like a surgeon removing bullets casing that caved in the patient-pacing in the waiting room with patience waiting to see if the adoption option of a step child often was second guessed-nu-sense-pest and problem that carried burden and bullets on the chest
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