<Loes raps:> On rooftops and trainyards see my squad 'round. When shit stinks it's instinct- don't let my guard down. Blackout- they all want power on the block now but bullet heads taste sick sour like the cops 'round. Y'all desreve a pity-murder for ruining waves like a shitty surfer while I'm painting streets like a city worker. Shining chrome- piece ain't a nine-milli burner- beef on walls- no flippin burgers when I grill and serve ya. Ghetto birds got you pitchin nervous- speak in code- but don't be greetin' Loes with suspicious wordage. Pissed you heard us- 'cause now you serve a fickle purpose. If I'm lava in Guatamala- you a little furnace. So dope drugs pay us to rep- drums pace in my steps. We mean business like frustrated execs. The clubs paying for drinks sayin' you done payin for sex? Bad bucks don't add up like skunk papers and cess. What we are to our craft is math to an economist- adds to what the profit is- bloodbath to pirana fish. My city reeks of drunk-asses and vomitin'. Just shitty beats with punk asses predominant. I take it back like at the store tryin' to trade my girl. I got a long 'to-do' list like my name is Earl. I bag your whore- bag the raw- get some paint and curl. Tag your door and write a quote that'll change the world/
<Classified raps:> Now when the lights go down the night turn dark, people don't sleep fast- livin' like Dale Earnheart. Money makin' suit and ties advance with true lies while street kids try to get a bite like fruit flies. The city life- every corner has a different story, every block and every building had their day of glory: the burn-outs- broken bottles in the littered streets, older cats reminiscing how it used to be. A small town growing up to be a big city. Sky-scrapers constructed over history. Gotta get money- work the street like young whores who got room and board paying off cheap slum lords. Big community- small back yard. The youth are killing me- they all act hard. I talk what I'm seeing- not what it could've been- Classified; an outsider's view looking in the city life.
<Ghettosocks:> I swim through the city with fins and crisp splashes, where humans get lost under frost and sip rations. My paint ain't faint- these templates will rip canvas, stained with the fame of the names then kids vanish. Inflict damage- media vans depict bandits who risk captivity masked like sick pandas. Cliques clash- play in the streets the script's tragic, clips split fabric the strip restricts fashions. Imagination caged in a maze with mixed plastics, leave your flow dead as the veins in crypt caskets. Kids gather in packs to get magic, the wizard walks blizzards and wrath to spit havoc. Thrashing in the wake of mistakes to flip habits like sisters on trampolines eclipse passion. Gipped masses sing non-descript anthems to represent a place where all this shit happens. Slip fathoms under the ships with lips gaspin'- black strapped hips government equipped hatchets- magnums numb and defrag to hit patches- body bags sag when they're dragged like ripped mattress. Lacking concern earns burn from stick matches, stigmata hatches through cracks of whip crashes. Seeds disappear -another mother's gift passes, leaves here - tears bead in thick lashes.
from Get Some Friends,
released November 15, 2006
Produced by Mr. Bix, written and performed by Loe Pesci, Classified and Ghettosocks
Noted as one of the top rappers in Canada (The CBC’s Top 25 Greatest Canadian Rappers Ever), Ghettosocks is a JUNO Award nominated Hip Hop Producer and MC born in Ottawa and living in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada.