The intro music you hear as the album begins was recorded live in Ecuador by M. Stine's sister in law, walking down some alley in some town. A passing marching band, which as I listen to the record more becomes creepier and creepier. She emailed it to Matty during a beat-making session. We all just loved it, and wanted to use it somewhere on the record. So now it is the first sound you hear. I don't know why, but I love it. It sets the tone for the record.
Sentence and I did the bulk of the writing for We Brought Knives in one night at my parents' house while they were away. Two subs from Jersey Mike's (delicious). Sun chips (delicious). Cigarettes and some whiskey. Basically the same formula for every record. We wrote from like 6PM to maybe 3 or 4AM? I think we got seven or eight of the songs done in that one sitting.
While we wrote this song, trading lines back and forth on Sentence's laptop, whoever wasn't writing would be working on a different song.
I don't want to give the impression that the record was haphazardly put together; the opposite is true. Before we sat down to write anything we talked for months about what the songs would be about. I was just a big fan of the idea of taking our poured over outlines and actually writing the shit in a blur of unbridled creativity. Which is why it was also important to go someplace where we wouldn't be distracted.
The song is inspired by a story I heard third hand about an interaction between two rappers that we all know and love. Somtimes an image is an image. Sometimes emulating a manufactured image can be pretty goddamned dangerous.
Mal Hombre that hardbody. Walk softly. Talk shit and carry a big stick. Get lifted when the spliff's lit. Got his veins all filled with black coffee. Drug through the dirt with the mud on his shirt and his nerves all - don't you dare slackjaw me. Fights at the bar. Spiders in a jar. Sits with a long list of bad hobbies. Like back off me. Do you want to die, kid? Got them bourbon heavy eyelids. Four door Chevy. White rims. They like him. It's like this. Live fast, die pretty in a side ditch. Don't care about tomorrow. Steal beg and borrow. Still they ain't never gonna find prints.
We heard whispers coming from the bigger kids. They combed their hair just like his. They dropped their baseball cards and packed their daddy's switchblades on some fight shit. Intrigued by the way the police had a thing when see him their hand went to the nightstick. Instinct. Every king on the scene has a dream of a million little sidekicks. I knew as sure as shit I'd meet him. So I kept my blade sharp. My peoples ran the blocks so heads knew they shouldn't be playing in the dark. Got the name with the spraypaint drip. Got stomped if you talked to the narcs. Told them they can't maintain shit. Everybody knew better not to start.
The same drugs as him. Hold up. The same slugs as him. Sho 'nuff. The same bitches on my dick. You damn right I fucked your friend girl. So what? Nothing's gonna stop what we started. No one's going to try and step up. Worked hard for the spot. Dog recognize the fox. We're both trying to find the next hunt. Get smacked up. Slapped up. Knifed up. Shot up. On some BYOB shit, baby boy. You can think about it kind of like a pot luck. Think about your outline chalked up. Didn't think about getting locked up. Locked in a battle. Lost in the saddle. Never thought the door was gonna lock. Fuck.
Smile in the wrong place, hombre. You're rocking a long face with the tooth missing. Jewels missing. Shoes missing. Bust the knuckles out. Sunk them in a stool pigeon. You're screaming like a bitch, son. Who'll listen? No cops now. No lockdown. Kind of like romantic pop now. Check how the moon will make the tool glisten. Few screws missing. Couple bolts loose. Getting aggravated at you, daddy. Don't move. No white lights. Just blackouts. Got a game I like to play. It's got no rules.
Old shoes. If I want a new pair, monfrere, then I'm making you a code blue. I'm like: hold this. You're like: oh shit. I'm like: shut up, bitch. You're like: don't shoot. I'm an artist and I only paint with flatlines. Only color in except where it's green. I'm a bad guy. I'm a beast. I'm a thug. I'm a scanner. I'm a chud. Live forever because I can't die.
I finally met the old legend down at Johnny B's. Mal Hombre. Big Papi. I told him let's shoot a bag out back. His eyes met mine. He said yo, not me. But your the jefe de jefe's. Mean motherfucker. Bone crusher. Undisputed baddest. Not one of these fancy other suckers could say a thing to ever touch your status. I told him I wrote my story in blood. My blade is your blade, daddy. I'm you're student. He said life ain't a movie. If you can't figure that out -
That's on you, stupid.
« Back to Home