Who Wants to Party?
(words by Dave Willard, Ryan Tilly and Brandon Mast)

We're comin' correct and tonight we get hectic
the people are jumping 'cause they're feelin' electric
but gimmie a second to reject the shock
repect the rock/ knocking people out of their socks
tap the bottle, twist the cap, tip the bottle back and relax
as you get waxed, it's just a fact
nobody does it better than us
And we get so stupid that we gotta ride the short bus

Show me where to plug my stereo into and I will let you know
before you begin to continue to break through
everything that your used to, here's another rendezvous
that's in need of a rescue
now i'm in the zone and we're doin' it right
I'ma bad to the bone when I rock the mic
do what you like/ comin' to this hullaballoo
so go do that voodoo that you do - BOO!

Who wants to Party?
(we want to party / cuz tonight the party don't stop)
Who wants to Party?
(we want to party / we got it goin' on so gimme what you got)

You got the right to be wrong but the choice is yours
by the end of the song you'll be on all fours
Nobody does it better than the CPR crew so
sit back, relax, and enjoy your brew
Dub-Sac's in the back with a stack of black Jack
I'm on the fast-track when I crack the six-pack
somebody must have put something in my drink
and to think, that I'm the weakest link - (this stinks)
on second thought I've got a remedy
gimmie a dj who can cut like a machete
who's always droppin' beats so I can hit the floor
goin' where no other man has gone before

Who wants to Party?
(we want to party / cuz tonight the party don't stop)
Who wants to Party?
(we want to party / we got it goin' on so gimme what you got)

We all take up the same amount of space (except you)
And we will do whatever it takes (to get through)
to this party (starting with you)
last chance to dance so make your move (c'mon)

I'm just a skinny guy serving up the fat-ass drum beats
super-sweet MC soon to be obsolete
completely unaware that a shorty with blonde hair was standing
right beside me while my mind was elsewhere
right about now (i'm the funk soul brother)
slim like a fatboy, smooth like a lover
but I should've run for cover when I saw those eys
(come right inside said the spider to the fly)

Who wants to Party?
(we want to party / cuz tonight the party don't stop)
Who wants to Party?
(we want to party / we got it goin' on so gimme what you got)


Slave to the Groove
(written by Ryan Tilly, Dave Willard and Brian Smith)

You know it really wasn't really always this way
I can still remember those off-rhythm days
but then I heard the thunder and felt the earth move
I drop down and cried (I'm a slave to the groove)

I've felt I've been given a gift from above
chill it out baby/ don't push and/or shove
I ain't got nothing that I've got to prove
I'm just a normal guy whose a slave to the groove

(slave to the groove)

Set it up - one, two/ welcome to my little zoo
I'll knock it down - three, four/ dish it out a little more
step inside/ take off your coat/ don't worry baby
I like to blow all over the place, but just maybe
I'll take you on a ride you won't ever wanna leave
the crimefighter says, "Ooh, it sounds sweet!"
I take my time and then I speed away
I'll make ya sweat, drip, lick and scream all day
(slave to the groove)

(yo check it) It's time, Is this thing working right?
I hit the mic as Kidd gives me the green light
spotlight this time sines on the past
in the days of the swatch watch and rhinestone starter caps
but further back we hi-jacked new rap
attacked and left shackled the whiteboy handicap
imagine that a boy that has skills
my soul is coughin' cuz i'm so damn ill
I take my medicine before I begin again
rocking you like I did, way back when

You know the get-up-kids, well I'm the get down Kidd
I'm like Zeus when I cut loose/ I cover the grid
I'm always in demand for what I'm able to do
and for the record you can make the check payable to
C-A-S-H-T-I-L-L
and I got more rhymes than the devils got skills
and I never really fall off track (track)
I'm super-cool so get off my back
Back-back-back - Back it up baby/ turn the stereo up
I gotta marry a model/ get my hands in the b-cup
I'm good to go when I low/ I'm in the front row, solo
I'm walking down the street I beat the lyrical famine
whose at the other end of my canon
who's camera is pannin' across the stage as we're blarin' it
who's next in the em-cee mutation experiment
I'm wearin' it down/ I'm tearin' down
a new gunslinger in town/ rap-singer in town
oh, find out how something sounds so sweet
when my lips start to move, slave to the groove

(slave to the groove, i said)


Lights, Camera, Satisfaction:
or how I learned Hollywood was a bad thing

(
(written by Ryan Tilly and Dave Willard)

America's obsessed with celebrity worship
what's new with Brad and Jennifer's courtship
it's horseshit/ let's torch it
Hollywood and Vine's so fine for ground zero
no time for fake heroes
Don't try to resist it survival of the fittest, no stop at the top
just drop off the A-list
the greatest made plans must be put to rest
when there's a life and death struggle versus
second best

stuck-up bastards/ they roll in their fast cars
passing all the little guys like they were their masters
disaster on the wings of a prayer goin' nowhere
Hollywood Babylon may come, but I don't care

we got the matches and the gasoline
so let's revive the magic of the silver screen
it only takes one match to burn a city of greed
lights camera satisfaction guaranteed

C'mon C'mon Let's burn this bridge tonight
(get back baby now)

the pretty faces meet in the street where shame breeds
stain the sheets, plot the schemes and chase dreams
deceived by the market that breeds the red-carpet disease
seems everything is make believe
there's no trust just lust and corruption
the busted networks pray on moral reduction
obedient to the media's instructions
stuck in this next big budget production

parasitic insects who revel in sex and special effects
level the sets when the Devil collects
pay only big bills to suckers with no skills
who pop pills for cheap thills in Beverly Hills
- yo Cash Till -
Mr. Ickarus - I'm sick of this
all these millionaires cry that the business is hit-or-miss
then get the hell out (of) the spotlight
you know that it's not right that an ingrate
like you become the hot hype

we got the matches and the gasoline
so let's revive the magic of the silver screen
it only takes one match to burn a city of greed
lights camera satisfaction guaranteed

C'mon C'mon Let's burn this bridge tonight
(get back baby now)

so take your collogen lips and lipo-suck my dick
you lunatic masochists/ I'm back and I'm pissed
I insist, I defy and resist
Hey Paris (you dumb bitch) comin' at ya with a clenched fist
Could've warned you California would be your demise
Cuz every road is quicksand, every man's in disquise
baptized by the spotlights filling up the skyline
designer sunshine is filling up my mind
move to the back of the line instead of past it
i've had it with all you primadonnas tainting the classics
ain't it fantastic, dramatic and drastic
nothing makes me puke like a bitch full of plastic
so you you wanna be the next headline, Kidd?
lost your mind - think you might just find it
misguided, You tried it, you failed
unsatisfied by this modern-day fairy tale


Every Sweet Song
featuring Amanda Wood
(
(written by Ryan Tilly and Dave Willard)

each night I close my eyes
I hear a melody, I try to shake it out
but it keeps telling me
with the sweetest sound
"you need to get up, if you wanna get down"

We'll keep you dizzy with a busy beat and seek
those who critique what we chose to speak about
a technique it's proven to work right
guaranteed fresh, sealed-up and airtight
Let's put the fun in the fundamentals/ the essentials
live up to all those we find as influential
a vicarious way of living
all those legends were with me from the very beginning
play the cassette deck let's show some respect
Too Bad To Care
the next musical trainwreck, expect the best
it's not for us but by us, and bring back what's left of this alliance

What do we look for in a song
some honesty, modesty, comedy, donning a sense
that we belong
(I long) for artistry in this industry of music
we write songs out of love instead of movin' units

Have you ever wondered what it is
that makes the whole world sing along
infectious and relentless
elements of every sweet song
each night I close my eyes
I hear a melody, I try to shake it out
but it keeps telling me
with the sweetest sound
"you need to get up, if you wanna get down"

When a noise like this, well it hits your ear
volunteer your voice and make that choice right here
with the beats pioneered by the ones before us
filling our lungs with the love each chorus
So I throw on my shoes, and I cruise out the door
'cause I know I can't lose when I choose to explore
a super-sonic, stereophonic sound/ you know I'm on it
don't matter if it's Dre's Chronic, Onyx or Harry Connick
I wanna move my anotomics and squeak my sneakers
A-Dubs, lemme hear ya tweak the speakers

Have you ever wondered what it is
that makes the whole world sing along
infectious and relentless
elements of every sweet song

Alright, with that in mind
Let me hear your voice this time

each night I close my eyes
I hear a melody, I try to shake it out
but it keeps telling me
with the sweetest sound
"you need to get up, if you wanna get down"

I wonder what it is that makes this planet sing together?
whether it's business or pleasure
whatever's clever
I remember I used to never think we were on the same page
nowadays any face can share the very same stage
So what's in the box of rock, nothin' but top-notch poetics
Some musical, aesthetical hop-scotch/ I get it
You know can't forget it and let it set a kinetic
electrical tempo/ meant for the dance floor
time to bring it to the basics because we make it so well
I'm replacing chart spaces in ways unparalleled
some scared to sell a statement a safe bet to make it
let's rearrange the words and force you to take it

Have you ever wondered what it is
that makes the whole world sing along
infectious and relentless
elements of every sweet song
each night I close my eyes
I hear a melody, I try to shake it out
but it keeps telling me
with the sweetest sound
"you need to get up, if you wanna get down"


 
Cold Product Revolt
(written by Ryan Tilly and Dave Willard)

(Alright! the time has come to pick yourself up out of the Used Section of every recordstore in America, dust yourself off and demand to be heard)
Keep it on the Q.T./ mum's the word
but I heard a new force is comin' out of the woodwork
company jerks/ a couple of quirks
tryin' to gain the limelight to the level that they once were
bring me the head of every top ten musical trend
we got a message to deliver SUBJECT:REVENGE
some will say we're ready and bound to strike
rock is dead, well that's what it sounds like

Who brought the guns/ why it's none other than Sponge
with a grudge/ comin' off the tail-end of grunge
and behind 'em is Primus now screamin' for blood
of the ones who bludgeoned their money sums
now who's name is mud

To Open your ears you gotta open your mind
despise the competition and let them realize that there
comes a time we must all taste defeat
undermined by a four-four drumbeat
Sit down just pause for a second
Stop the sound, take the needle off the record
forget about what you've been told
pick up the mic and let's revolt

Now what you gonna do? What new sound you gonna choose?
lose integrity to prove your celebrity's new face
not gonna make the same mistakes twice
Obie Trice make way for the next Vanilla Ice
Bobby Brown with his modus operandi givin' a black eye
to Whitney Houston goin' crazy on a crack high
now that's why the cold-product wants this bad guy
his ruthlessness would straight hit 'em like a landmine

So get involved hear the words we're saying
and stand up straight cuz your seats been taken
making sure you don't doubt your abilities
because good always triumphs over tragedy
well many believe that we can do it again
yes defend your name and never follow the trend
cuz you can spend your whole life in regrets and wishes
experience the hits as well as the misses
the greater the stakes, sweeter the reward
so take back what is rightfully yours

Forget the pressure, Forget the critics
keep your eyes on the prize, keep you mind on the finish
because it's truly in your heart to win it son
stand up the revolution's begun
that's right... your day has come

Revolt! To the sound coming through your stereo

Ghosts of a Guilty Man
(written by Dave Willard and Ryan Tilly)

Here stands a guilty man
condemned, but will he understand
a gun in hand with bloody plans
won't gain respect through one's demands
Born and raised in days of despair
Forced to stay and brave this affair
war is waged he's made aware
the Lord awaits his fate's repair


Now his redemption and exemption
don't exist/ there's no exception
he insists that through confession
lessens odds of fire pension
(upon closer inspection he finds himself walking away
from his own reflection, attempting escape, alone he waits
his day for change is not today)

Tear out the ending
and write your own one
the time has come to stop pretending that it's over before it's begun
and still as each day
slowly passes by
he looks through each page to find he's really just a chapter inside

This stud has lost the taste for blood
his race is run/ a waste of time
his crime he can't repay
and now he regrets every day
Began at the bottom nothing's changed
that's where he'll stay, replaying all the things he'd run away from
in his brain that can't be undone

But he's not pleased with what he sees
he pleads upon his hands and knees
to ease the screams of memories
a history of misery
Cigarettes, self-help cassettes, are all that's left of
tears and sweat, the years have swept away his
chance to overcome this circumstance

Tear out the ending
and write your own one
the time has come to stop pretending that it's over before it's begun
and still as each day
slowly passes by
he looks through each page to find he's really just a chapter inside
what's next when all that's left is gone
(bury your expectations)

He sits there so cavalier
but fear has steered his eyes to tears
and yet he sneers at what he hears
the cheers of ghosts of prior years
a heated gust/ his body thrusts
and now they watch him turn to dust
his blood and puss have turned to rust
now judgment's just/ in God we trust
Look's to the sky, book by his side, arms outstretched
with fear in his eyes, asking why have you forsaken?
God replies, "You are mistaken! Your salvation
OR damnation all depends on where your faith is"
This man blames him for the wasted years of waiting
to come save him

Tear out the ending
and write your own one
the time has come to stop pretending that it's over before it's begun
and still as each day
slowly passes by
he looks through each page to find he's really just a chapter inside
what's next when all that's left is gone
(bury your expectations)
 

Keep Your Receipt
(
(written by Ryan Tilly and Dave Willard)

Every time I turn on the radio I don't know what to believe
seems every other sucka MC I hear fails to please my ear
disposable scenes always reappear on MTV and BET
Hell, I'm too embarrassed to be an MC
so call me MC Phoney (Boney)
the Super-Disco Treat

Whatever happened to the old school beats
the new school is too cool, even for me
I want to return it but I lost my receipt

Well there once was a time when beats and rhymes
by design and thought were wrought for movements of all kinds
the mic was more than a tool/ it was a weapon
to cut through deception/ the symbol of progression
since the inception to a generation later
we still mix mics with records and cross-faders
hail to the mavericks and renegades/ the m.c.'s of better days
I wanna thank you for the memories

We're just a three man party brigade
kickin' it new school like Dr. Dre
and we're takin' ya back to the good ol' days
where the reign of Rob Bass would make the whole
place, move your feet, to the funky 'ol beat
and don't take that seat (why?)

because that is mine
like Cher I wish I could turn back time
and bring back every MC that I find

Halloween at Hot Rocks
(words by Jeff Carroll)

Jumpin' on the stage, goin' to a rage
Why these hoes never believe my age?
Say? Can I rock the mic to the early dawn?
Can I take a dump on your lawn?
YES! You've heard this voice before
Jumpin' off the the walls Jumpin' on the floor
.....

Slacker
(words by David Willard and Ryan Tilly)

I have a real big fear of getting a real career
Steer clear of responsibility
My only ability is drinking beer
It's taken me six years to come close to getting a B.A.
I can't say why the delay
Oh... and there's that loan I gotta repay
Well good news all you friends and fans
I still haven't a clue why I still draw "X"s on my hands
some stop and ask if Minor Threat's Philosophy is over yet
My personal poison is meant to be Hi-C and candy cigarettes I guess

Now you can't really call me the worst scoundrel alive
When all I do is sit on my ass and play NHL 2005
Hey, how do you like the free ad, EA Sports
Courtesy of your #1 fan, Kidd Ickarus of course
Now I relax, I take the easy raps, in fact afraid of challenge
I manage to damage any track I reprimanded for lack of talent
It's sad and understood I'm scandalous and never could be fabulous at all
So, if you are looking for the real Cash leave a message and I'll tell him that you called

Society's led us to believe that we all become rock stars
But I'm seeing my champagne dreams turn into ramen noodles and Pop Tarts
Say goodbye to the hot cars, high life, easy livin'
Forget about bedding supermodels, I'll settle for sleazy women
The life of a slacker is not intended to be one big hurdle
sometimes it acts intense like the guy from the Guitar Center commercials, The world will just you mostly just for knowing me
yet they're the ones on the internet writing the sad poetry (whoa is me)

The light at the end of the tunnel's getting dimmer and I'm losing hope
It's getting harder to cope with the fact that I'm at the end of my rope
Now I'm not saying that I ain't got no ambition
But I can't find the ignition for my motivation and vision
It often seems like I'm living a dream within a dream
except the meaning fades and nothing quite happens in-between
There are even days I'm sitting in a parked car
the scenery changes as I watch each day just stop and start

My pockets are shallow, I'm flat-broke, living in a rat-hole
Seems like a bad joke to this lazy asshole
Don't get me wrong, I'm not pointing any fingers
I'm not a victim of the system, I put my own tit in this ringer
I need to look for my way out, to find happiness, respect and clout
a lout en route to a meaningful life. That's what it's about
But then again, when I think about it... you know what? I think I still have my doubts
 

Destination:Anywhere
(words by Ryan Tilly and David Willard)

Got the blower out the top, Don't stop the top rock
the coolest hot rod to knock the road block.
road runner road runner i am the top gunner
turn the stereo on for the cherry bomb stunner
she's a one of a kind pitch black and so-fine
like a .357 coming off the line
no need to make time, got four on the floor
always go for the gold so let's settle the score
The door is open so c'mon it, this misbegotten automotive
is in need of a spin, let's begin with a location that's
easy to imagine, a little Led Zeppelin with no distraction
relax with your seat back, feet on the dash,
no need for maps, just stone cold cash,
and if you dare to ask me,
"Hey is that a hemi"
Watch me fly past like Mario Andretti

Please baby go put your black skirt on
We're gonna drive until the break of dawn
So be prepared to leave your cares behind
Destination, Anywhere Anytime

Don't think twice about the dice in the mirror
the road to paradise may be closer than it appears
self-sacrifice is the price all year, streetwise vagabond
is my chosen career, so I steer clear of this world around me
passing through each and every county
now I can't see why we ever stayed, in the same place
playing out this charade
so take heed as I bury the needle
a serious need for my speed I exceed all
coming up and I hit top end, I've got the luck of the dead
so buckle up my friend
take the road like I was mad max
no time to back track, I watch 'em snap back
the hood is jammed packed
I'm a master fiend, tearing up the place
like a catastrophe

Where is the Peace?
(words by Dave Willard and Ryan Tilly)

On a beautiful Tuesday... 8:45
I when to flip on the tube... to find the loss of life
Unparallel... terrible... where the hell is the parable
To allow such an act... in fact... it's unbearable
To watch on the screen... and hear the horrible screams
Of the innocent beings... in a plan that was unforeseen...
Plotted by an evil fundamentalist regime...
So the supreme become unsure and unseamed...
And when the second one hit... that was it... we couldn't take anymore...
But let us never forget numbers 3 and 4...
We went and lined up the troops... It's time for war...
But after all these years, I don't know what we're fighting for.

So tell me where is the peace? I thought you knew just where you left it
I know it's right there inside of you, so glad you kept it
So where is the peace?

So now we're looking for a just cause... a just law for this just war... I just saw another one of our boys... without a choice... discharged within a body-bag... switching out his dog-tags for toe-tag.
Now what is the cause of all wars?...
Could it be the never-ending hunger and greed of power-whores?...
An insatiable lust of always wanting more...
As they go and bully their way into oil reservoirs...
Or maybe just to settle an old score... dammit, what so demanding about peace, love and understanding, not withstanding all the bullshit that they're handing...
Like patriot mantras of the last man standing...
Now we're trying to make the best of what's left...
and the rest are just details... footnotes in this violent mess... But nothing that I suggest could ever make it better... when the rich are getting richer, and the dead are getting deader.

pick up, pick up, pick up, each piece and let them know what we are made of
pick up pick up pick up each piece this is what we need to rise above this
So tell me where is the peace
 

Hiphop Don't Stop
(words by Brian Neil Smith, Dave Willard and Ryan Tilly)

I say hiphop (don't stop), I say hiphop (don't stop)
I say hiphop (don't stop) I say hiphop (aawwwwww)
I'll be funkin' it up like George Clinton the p-funk allstar
show me the microphone and I'll show you how far, i can take it
watch me make it so sweet, than when we break into beat
you see I'm up-to-par
and i know what time it is because i'm rhyming this
I'm always dropping words where they belong because my timing is impeccable, (respectable)
every time I get up I get down, I've been called a spectacle around town

Yo, Willard and Tilly; i-defy and the Phillies
Come together with a new thing. Isn't it silly
that two suburbanites, who rock like masonite
Are keeping it tight all morning noon and night?
Alright, let me just get to the point
I'm employed by Medea just to rock the joint
From the days of three-brainers, big boys and hard gainers
The juice of never-ending entertainers.

Hiphop (don't stop) Hiphop (don't stop)

c-a-s-h-t-i-l-l pass me the mic and let me begin to get funky
not just a beat junkie,, but there's a good chance
there's a little bit of punk-in-me
the pub near the city where i'm living, beautiful woman
keep comin' up to me sayin' "aren't you that dope mc"?
and i say..."yeah...."

Everybody speak of a breakdown. This hit's a shakedown
Gotcha in a takedown. Get you in the mix.
The party never quits. The revolution will be televised -
I throw back to 8-bits.
Now Look before you leap, 'cause I'm on top of the heap.
They're all sheep that all bleat for the beat that I keep
And you better brought your loot, 'cause the bill is pretty steep.
You know I ain't giving it cheap.
what up peeps? and all you cool kids (that's it)
i'm sellin' my service so come place your bids
we don't bump the bass, we just bump the mids,
so never poke fun about the way i live
they call me cash till, cuz i don't have any...got a collection of hits
and i never made a penny, so follow me and your ears won't deceive
as we lead hiphop into the next century

spare no expense for the perfect sound, your ready to unravel
too tightly wound, yeah,
I know you wanna move when the record spins 'round
cuz you know our turntables weigh eighty-three pounds...right now?
now i'm gonna say hiphop don't stop, hiphop don't stop, hiphop don't stop