Oneonta (Eli Porter) - MC Lars, YTCracker, MC Frontalot

But look

Ya’ll will have 45 seconds and please stop when I tell you or else you will be

disqualified

Alright, let’s get it goin'

We gon' start things off with ya' boy right here

I’m sitting by myself in Oneonta, New York

Typing rhymes on my MacBook, getting to work

I put my headphones on and I hide behind the screen

Because the world is mercurial and the world is mean

Sick of all these boring, people so I’m

In the fast lane writing rhyme after rhyme

I hide inside the gigs of the music and the data

Shot callin', Myspace, ballin', peace world I’ll see you later

YTCracker

I’m sitting by myself in the 'Springs, Colorado

Well, not alone, with my shadow, I battle

Thoughts from the cattle so I dig in my saddle

Deflect the mess with my Atari paddle

Control the flow, these bits is second nature

Paper what I make by pushin' data

Thank the maker blow out like a circuit breaker

Check my Facebook man, I’ll see you later

I’m sitting by myself in Oneonta, New York

Typing rhymes on my MacBook, getting to work

I put my headphones on and get lost in the web

I never liked reality, I’ll stay in mine instead

I’m over all the boring, dejected, bitter people

Who run to their dealers, their troughs, and their steeples

I reign supreme in my rhythmic paradise

I kill that demon with my lyrics and it feels very nice

Hip-hop integration the iGeneration went tech

I hit the streets from the net

Now this net vet get props and respect

‘Cause I knew what I was doing in the 80s, bet

The computer saved hip-hop made hip-hop

Played hip-hop so I return the favor

Tell ‘em how computers are their savior

Like hip-hop gave us this gift the greatest

I studied hip-hop 'cause I had to, I had no choice

I needed an identity I needed a voice

So I found my salvation in the Run-DMC

The KRS, Nas, and Public Enemy

You can take rapper out the British punk show

But you can’t take the punk show out the rapper yo

So I’m DIY, till I die, this is why, when I try

You’ll probably see my smiling when you see me flying straight on by

I’m sitting by myself in that San Francisco

Well not alone 'cause I’m 'bout to spit flows

With my friend Lars that I met cuz of music

And if I wasn’t rapping then I’d feel abused kid

Since I found music I’ve never had solitude

It will never beat on me or call me names

It will never cheat on me or play those games

It will always be loyal and never change

Kick it with the Rondos spitting in the studio

Blocking out the world when I’m feeling kinda moody yo

Getting into paradise, I’m the nerdy coolio

‘Cause I got a gift and I feel it is my duty yo

Got the fame now came up from dumb luck

And they all know I’m the ish like 2girls1cup

They all know that I’m styling on the interweb

And they all pressing repeat just to hear what I said

I’m the best man, I did it

I’m the best man, I did it

And they all pressing repeat just to hear what I said

And they all pressing repeat just to hear what I said

Now I’m sitting alone, not a stone’s throw from the bone show

That I don’t seek to star in, already went too far in

That direction: a goodly chunk of lifespan spent

Rapped for half of it, hadn’t had an epiphany yet

If I do, its onset’s getting attributed to this, though…

Sitting by myself in San Luis Obispo

Trying to thumb a ride to the castle keep

Where the rich man dwelled with his cash piled steep

Where his crimes wouldn’t leap from obscurity to prominence

Pen a rhyme while I hitchhike, the beat’s ominous

(Why frontalot maybe don’t get picked up:

Up in the middle of a lyric, you don’t want to interrupt

As you fly past.) Isn’t it hologram?

digital?

Cars and trucks are simulated by the quizzical

GPU who wonders why the threads would intermingle:

The roadside and the rhyming, the b-side and the single