i punch up from the bottom won’t be buried alive Beatrix Kiddo on the mic so no one survives no pardons for the rotten, coulda married the bride but instead you shot em and you thought that we died never underestimate a clever emcee I might make rap jokes but I will murder a beat i spent a bit of money just paying my peeps> these candy ass emcees ain’t even leasing the heat I spend a bit of time just honing my craft playing shows with the homies having brews poured on draft so who’s the real rapper, the one with the books? or your rap salmonella? man your hit’s undercooked yo i break backbeats like a chiropractor/ devour these emcees, <stilted> I’m a velociRAPPER your instant ramen rhymes might be ready in a minute mine are hand crafted tickets & printed for the Bennetts I’m doin it for me and I’m doin it for you and I do it for the Art and the free craft brews!!! we punch up from the bottom when we down for the count might fall like the autumn, ain’t gonna stay down 25 years ago, it’s been a long road sprite, and slice, seemed nice, along with shell toes> represent mic check, love the old school respect rap pioneers> now I’m the old dude sneak attack from the back, yo now we robbed you keep it tight keep it right like KRS do You know why the devil can't get with me? cause I keep it on the level and I aim for victory we in and out of fashion like the lovers of truth innocence in the mix and heroics like Groot , just tryin a live right> for the loved ones we lost and when living loved ones fight, yo count up the cost I always make the songs … that I want to make got more freedom today than my career had mistakes people hawk and we walk, run could not hide tortured artists don’t mean nothing they know who’s inside

Never… (Reflections, Part 2) Chunjay, Chorus: I got my mistakes I don’t know about you I have one set of eyes and my own point of view I hold onto integrity now that I see There’s only one person, can take this from me I got my mistakes I don’t know about you I have one set of eyes and my own point of view I hold onto integrity now that its clear The only one can take it from me, is in the mirror Chunjay, Verse 1: A lot of things I am and a lot of things I’m not A lot of things I planned out never carried out the plot Never smacked a woman, never been an abuser Never used smack or meth never been a drug pusher Never hired a hooker never been an accuser I’ve written dope raps but was a wack beat producer Never cussed in my songs but I cuss every day Never been an agnostic but I struggle to pray Not one to play, but I’ve been divorced A couple failed relationships but marriage endorsed I’m a mixed bag of things, successfully broken A failure and a champion, always in motion I live by the ocean, once jumped off a cliff Taken back words spoken, I can’t roll a spliff I have my integrity and I have my mistakes But of those two things, they’re each mine to make Dirt, Verse 2: I was arrested, convicted, thrown in jail But remained free, my soul prevailed God visits the prisons with his face unveiled Throws the Gospel into hard hearts like molotov cocktails I never knew Christ’s love like that Even though I consider myself a believer from way back My intelligence reigns supreme But never seems smart enough to evade Devil schemes I read the Word like it’s God’s freestyle But never remember the verses while in the world’s Wild Style I’m alive but never not dying Seeking the Truth but never far away from lying I’m holy, set apart While never seeming to stop stumbling in the dark As my misgivings always running amok I’m not many things but one I am is never giving up! Manchild, Verse 3: Never never would I ever pen a letter to the ledger With a less than better effort like whatever man it’s clever Never sipped a drop of water after trekking cross the desert Check the method this is pleasure pain connected on the record Never…Never would I mother may I ask permission Man I’m on a mission you can keep the terms and the conditions Never counted costs I ain’t a statistician Never called my style free anytime I’m pad and penning Sometimes I lack the vision never see it all Trouble climbing on me never see the need to keep it off Never held the notion life is easy ya’ll Never knew the loudest voice around was mine and he can talk Never mind the never mind and checkered past Saw it slip away and never figured we could get it back Never would I claim to know the point to you and yours now Never say never, are you sure now?

Still… (Reflections, Part 1) Chunjay, Verse 1: Since day one I been Ruckusin’ it up Making grandma proud by not cussin on the cut A lot of things have changed in the world of Royal Ruckus Some relationships estranged and new friends have come among us Still down with MPWalker, we text all the time Imma be his friend ’til the day that he Flatlines Or if I’m going first he’ll hoist me in the hearse And I’ll pray for him from heaven ’til sadness is reversed Still eating bratwurst, still drinking Irish stout Still writin silly rhymes, still wrestling with doubts Still believing in Christ, still livin this life Still walking in faith with my eyes on the prize Still into girls, I’m now into beards Hash tag no homo, no offense meant to queers I misused a few years now I’m redeeming the days Serving food to the homeless soaking up sun rays From Cali to South Florida, what up Bakersfield? Still proud of my town, still run in those hills Still calling my dad, still cool with my brothers Much love to my sister, my nieces and mother Still working with kids, still shaping tomorrow Still finding reasons to laugh—even in sorrow What else can I say? I’m a steadfast kinda guy Back in the rap game and not about to say goodbye… Still! Dirt, Verse 2: Ay yo, the devil tried to choke me but I’m still breathin’ This world throws hard blows, I’m still bobbin’ n weavin’ Still believing, snakes is still deceivin’ But I’m still stopping serpents, givin’ demons a beatin’ I’m still decreasing, while God increasing The revelations from Heaven are still releasing Upon the people that will still receive them So stop sleeping on righteousness for no right reason I’m still keeping the rhymes red hot Pause the track, you still feel the aftershocks Because the epicenter still don’t get no writers block The Heaven sent to ya, still with Christ cypha unstopped I’m still sinning and I’m still forgiven And I’m still concerned with the way that I’m livin’ So I’m still searchin’ Scripture for a way up that hill Still instilling my soul Biblical, until time stand still Absent Minded, Verse 3: I put the ashes of my sister into Oceanside harbor Moved to Tennessee where we buried my daughter Life’s torture only makes my heart softer for this culture If their goal’s to see me hopeless better try harder Because there’s still light where the Cross is Kill us off and we’re still coming back with Jesus and swords on white horses Still go right where the lost is With the Aveo in San Diego, making these songs hit Still on tour after 12 years doing it 8 years married still in love like a newlywed 15 years with a busted lung still using it Healed, re-sutured getting stupid in studios with an axe to grind Against the masterminds keeping asinine mantras in the back of your mind and blind to the facts I’m trying to crack some spines like cat o’ nines, still Absent Minded And I count carbs these days, still eat these white-bread busters…

Departures Jeremiah Bonds, Verse 1: It took a lot to get here, a lot of long nights Striving to survive and writing with dull lights It’s like a long flight, the destination is hard, just warning ya Thinking how did I get here when I was just in California It’s especially hard to afford this life of wanderlust Or moving, ripped from your roots, proving it’s hard to trust This life that starts from dust, wishing on stars for love Thinking we’re too far from dusk to spend tonight here From Waikiki, to Tennessee, to the Isle of Capri You’ve got to agree that it’s awesome seeing the seven seas But hey, enough of me, coffee or tea? It’s from Hawaii Tell me how you’re doing, with jubilee, idiosyncracy It’s hard to keep in touch, an email here, a text there Searching for the next air-line ticket fare Sorry, I gotta go, up early to catch the redeye ‘Cause I have shows in Dubai, Shanghai and Versailles Chunjay, Verse 2: (Hey!) I was born in California in the Golden State I stayed for a couple decades and I loved to skate Played around with hip-hop, lived in a big house Put loved ones in the ground when they took life’s bow You never know how until it comes to you I moved to Tennessee when I was only 22 Made some mistakes, grew up a whole lot Friends filled up my soul when life had knocked Me to the ground, and then this teacher got taught Biggest pain of my life changed up my whole thought Got me Orthodox, on the beaches of Hawaii Can’t let roadblocks get me cryin’ out, “Why me?” Hit the east coast chased my dreams to Philly Put my flip-flops on the shelf that place was too chilly Really meant only the best, but I didn’t do great The whole event got me growin but I still dropped the plate Cleared the slate in that sunny state called Pascua Florida Re-evaluatin’ things, changing up the formula All of these departures have taught me many things More lessons ahead, more than ever I am listening Kalvin Koolidge, Verse 3: Life gets strange when things get rearranged People change, the song remains the same In the back of my brain I hear you saying That you and me, we would never break the chain So much older, not much wiser Still on my grind, still got that fire Still out in Nashville, still a little crazy Still tryna figure out how Jesus gonna save me From town to city, gutter to high sidity It goes so quickly, and sometimes it really hits me I’m left behind with mine, a sign nobody gets me I’m droppin’ dimes in my prime and I’ll be just fine So many people, things, and places Spaces in between, the things I seen, I know what grace is So I be seeing you when I be seeing you my friend We’ll grab a brew or two and then we do it all again

Burn It to the Ground Chunjay, Chorus: Pull out the match book and grab the gas can Change your outlook this is your last stand Rearrange the thangs this ain’t no sleight of hand Burn it to the ground is next on the plan Chunjay, Verse 1: Seriously, Harry, we gotta burn this all down Way too many things that need to meet the ground Heaven scrapes the pavement like the homie ManChild Don’t care if I’m reviled, blessed be the one in exile Call me Athanasius, it’s me against the world Not hittin that temptation and I’m coming unfurled Was whining bout a girl now I’m just walking away There is a silver lining, I’m sure I’ll see the day Are you Yoko Ono? ’cause you broke up the band Got me drinking like a hobo eatin fish out of a can So I trust you’ll understand when I light up the whole area Pushin for purity like beer in Bavaria I made some poor choices and I’m burning ’em all up Can’t let that mess define me so it’s more like a tune-up Confess it, got divine peace, sort of a clean-up Burn the whole thing down before a big build-up Krum, Verse 2: Pull the match book on how the past look And all the feelings that I never let show They told me move on to write a new song And burn it down, but it’s hard to let go Livin in these memories on a loop playin everyday Everything that happened was prolly my fault anyway The mirror’s full of fingers pointin all that I felt Forgive and forget—the problem is forgiving yourself Scrollin thru the pictures on my phone like a prison The trash can beggin to eat ’em and start livin My pride is in control and I been playin it cool Plus every time I pulled my lighter out it ran outta fuel Joey the Jerk, Verse 3: Yo! Far from an arsonist, feel the heat as we start to bust Leading the fleet like Optimus Prime time like mysogynists On BET, we three emcees who’ve seen between the lines With enemies on both sides so let the fire shine Brightly burnin’ down the town and if I get a little charred Let me come back more resourceful like an evolved Charizard Ashes to ashes with batches of bad matches The flash is fantastic like burning battery acid Spectacular magic can happen when you burn the bad that’s trapped in I ain’t talking bout rappin Talking supernatural action when we burn it down… Joey the Jerk! On the microphone! Killin’ emcees, like I been doin, for the last 375 years! Alright!

Lost Boys Chorus (Vocal Sample): “Run, run, lost boy,” they say to me, “Away from all of reality.” Cookbook, Verse 1: Yo, right before 2005 my father up and died Never knew what’s up inside, said he was cool but he musta lied Mustered up the strength because “I must survive,” muscles aching, so much pain I see inside my mother’s eyes Mother why? Why did he die? Why did he leave us? Ain’t we some good believers? We always put our faith in Jesus He heals diseases, man, I take it back He took a wonderful life and made it wack, fade to black In my father’s house we stayin at, we facin’ lack She start to disrespect my mother, I ain’t taking that, take it back We made a pact but girl I’m gonna break it I do what’s best for Jason, she started doing some investigation You turned my friends against me, you had my father’s blessing He even lent you money, man I’m bout to learn a lesson And I’m gonna have to learn it on my own, I’m all alone My daddy’s gone, and my family’s torn, 2005 and I felt the scorn Eligh, Verse 2: We fought about it one evening late Then I brushed it aside, like nothing Debate within my brain, between the Grains of sand… Time will pass, and she’ll forgive, and I’ll forget, its nothing big, nothing to Be concerned about, love is bigger Than the both of us, I doubt it will Linger past the fight But nights and days passed, and she’s depressed I broke the plain of trust and now it’s dead Inside her chest, I can’t resuscitate the heart The part is played I slayed us both By letting too much time pass Laziness, and avoidance killed the dove And filled the void with doubt, and now It rots…the consequence of Abandonment, speak up, or lose her That’s accurate… Eligh, Bridge: Me and you can work this out If you can find inside Me and you can work this out Don’t forget, or abandon me… Chunjay, Verse 3: My dad left this world at age 37 Didn’t expect to leave a lifetime of questions Thought I got my lessons, they’ve all come in sessions I make my confessions, each one is getting deeper Tried to be a teacher looking for a leader Siblings my seniors, mom the cheerleader Mom got remarried, Mark tried to carry The burden left behind from the father we buried No way to understand the weight of a missing man Or calculate missed time on a second hand No chance to plan, no way to say goodbye A lifetime of why and an occasional cry Too many goodbyes in this life add up Dips and ties things end abrupt My soul erupts with a proper corrective I’m trying to bring myself a fresh perspective

The Life Cycle of Man and Cicada By Joshua Gibbs and Jamey Bennett The average man knows little of cicadas, thinks rarely of cicadas. And yet on the rare occasion he hears the word “cicada,” his mind invariably drifts off into those few truths about the insects which he was taught in grade school: the cicada lives underground for seventeen years, emerges briefly, dies. A certain kind of man cannot recall such claims without immediately thinking of himself, staring into the distance, and wondering if he is truly a man, or if he is, in fact, a cicada. The life cycle of a cicada appeals to a man. When I was a child, I was taught that cicadas slept for all those seventeen years. Sadly, not every naturalist is still convinced of this, though poets yet carry a torch for the truth. To sleep for seventeen years, to wake briefly, soon to die…how sweet would life seem if it had been anticipated in dreams for so long? The poet is neither convinced that nature has commanded the cicada to spend so long underground. The poet knows the cicada has chosen to stay underground all these years, and that he might emerge from the earth when he pleases. The cicada has said, “It is better this way,” tCicada Manhough his residency with the dead, in Hades, is not obligatory and not tenured. The cicada is free and stays underground by choice. It is purely coincidental that seventeen years is the given term of these cicadas. Someday, these cicadas will have their Che Guevara, their Óscar Romero, their Picasso…and he will sleep for thirty-six years, or fifty-nine, or ninety-one years. We suspect the creature who makes company with Hades himself for seventeen years might be capable of doing so interminably. Have we numbered every cicada emerging from the ground? Have we truly kept track of their departures, their arrivals? Have we only said they sleep “seventeen years” because we tired of putting hash marks on the cell walls? “No one will count longer than this.” Who can say? The death and lust rattle you hear this summer’s eve might be a millennium in the making. The life cycle of a cicada appeals to a man. The man wants to believe that he, too, might only have been sleeping up until now, and that the emergence from the death of sleep this very morning might be the inauguration of a brief, golden age. “Will I now truly live? Has it always been a slumber and am I only now waking?” The man wants to believe this is true. He has long been underground, and no matter his activity, he recasts all his labor as nothing more than a patient biding of time. A man interprets patience into the long haul of his already-lived life. “I was always waiting.” A man longs to see the light of day as though he were a cicada, fingers emerging from the dirt, and then hoisting himself out. A man longs to see the world as a kind of egg from which he hatches after a beginning-less gestation period. “It will all end soon,” says the cicada man, although the cicada man is forever caught between the contradiction of a thing beginning and a thing ending. Is this the seventeen year slumber or the two months of waking? The question cannot be answered, and every bottle of wine might be the last before death; and every bottle of wine might be opened, poured, and break on the tongue as a revelation— not the end, but the beginning of the end. After a thousand years of sleep, what kind of death is possible for the cicada? The cicada is the resurrection creature. The chasm between life and death narrows to crossing points suddenly, unpredictably. While science has said the cicada wakes only to procreate, the poet knows the cicada wakes simply to live. Is a life of sixty days less meaningful than a life of sixty years? Meaning is not discerned in quantity; a moment in the soul is without end. The man who imagines the cicada emerging only to procreate falsely intuits sudden verve, anxiety and desperation in the cicada. How could such be true of a creature with the patience to wait forever? The sixty days of a cicada’s life are the sixty years of a man’s life. The creature which spends so long in preparation for life accomplishes much living once he has begun. A man needs sixty years to accomplish so little because he prepares for nothing. He is thrown into life and he does not know what it is about. The man longs to live a year as thoroughly as the cicada lives a single day. The cicada reviews its life many times as it begins to die. Death comes as a surprise to the cicada, just as it comes as a surprise to a man. The cicada has not counted on going to sleep again, so soon, but his eyelids are heavy and the day is late. From the cool shade of the branches of a tree, Thanatos comes to the cicada in the same solemnity with which he approaches a man. The weightless, spiritual scythe of Thanatos passes through the cicada’s legs and then his arms and then his head, and then the cicada body enters his eternal stillness as the dry machine-like fruit which clusters about the limbs of a summer tree. His soul returns to the earth, and he knows sleep again. He will emerge again when it suits the Spirit. Like the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus, like the Shulamite, the cicada will rise and go about the city and present himself to the King. And the King will be overwhelmed. Joshua Gibbs teaches great books, collects records and jogs to work. He and his wife have two children, both of whom have seven names. He also blogs for the CiRCE Institute. Jamey Bennett is a member of the unconventional rap outfit, Royal Ruckus. He claims that their project, The Summer of the Cicadas, is his magnum opus.