Opening Credits: The Charles Bivona Movie! [Hip-Hip via @SageFrancis]

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Dedicated to certain former colleagues of mine.
And please do sing along.

=-)

Thank you!


@CharlesBivona

 

LYRICS

(When I first got into magic,
yeah. Hehhaha…)

When I first got into magic,
it was an underground phenomenon

Now everybody’s like
“pick a card, any card…”

If I shot my full load
with the first hand I played

I’d be a monkey in a box
hangin’ with the David Blaines

I’d be swimmin’ with the sharks,
mouths full of razor blades

But I’m not,
I got out of that game

“Escape Artist”

I talk ’til I’m red in my face
with strained polyps

I’ll rock ’til I’m out of my range
then raise octaves, I…

play through the pain
and remain conscious…

Refraining from commenting
on the lame compliments

And the petty criticisms
from those who ain’t accomplished

Even one-fifths of some of this shit
I made progress with

I’m leaving naysayers stumped
like rain forests

After years of pullin’ rabbit ears
out my pants pockets

I’m not revealin’
any tricks of the trade

It’s just there ain’t no magic
in the breakdown baby

In an effort to make ‘em all see
what I found in my life

I decided to give ‘em a look
None of ‘em gave it a glimpse

and I guess that I’m sitting in the middle
of an unread book

Letters are falling apart
but the sentences stand on their own

and the wording is permanent
Never been missed,

I’ve just been mis-worded
and mis-interpreted, it’s…

Funny how serving a sentence
of solitary confinement

Results in the death sentences
filling my writing assignment

I’m just wondering where my time went,
it pulled a disappearing act

And every single assistant I ever had
got sawed in half

You See I never paid attention
But I can’t afford to laugh

’cause I’m lookin’ for my break
and an autograph for my cast

but I’m short on staff
so all I ask is volunteers in the crowd

show a little bit of audience
participation now

When I say hip (what do I say?)
You, you say shut the fuck up

we ain’t sayin shit!!!
And I respect it.

Check it,
Got a flair for the dramatic exit

A fashionable entrance
Late to my own arraignment (Oh!)

The self-destructive things
that I do for entertainment

My folks gave me this art,
your broken heart is my pallet

While I was out honing my craft
you was disowning your talent

That’s why you still live at home
and I bought this house off my parents

I’m getting ahead of myself
(gettin ahead of myself)

I see the hair on my back
(see the hair on my back)

I’m ‘On The Road’ reading Kerouac
It’s poems versus better raps

I think to myself
What’s worth remembering

Verses defending the size of my manhood
or confessional canned goods?

In an effort to make ‘em all see
what I found in my life

I decided to give ‘em a look
None of ‘em gave it a glimpse

and I guess that I’m sitting in the middle
of an unread book

Letters are falling apart
but the sentences stand on their own

and the wording is permanent
Never been missed,

I’ve just been mis-worded
and mis-interpreted, it’s…

Funny how serving a sentence
of solitary confinement

Results in the death sentences
filling my writing assignment

But none of this is getting told
in confidence I reckon

I spin confidential records
just to hold the listener’s attention

I’m a veteran
of spatial relationships

I clip ya wings to fit you in,
head-shrinking magician

Shape-shifting reptilian
turned body contortionist

Orphanages started offering
torches to abortion clinics

I lost acquaintances
and a morgue of lady friends

I gender bent the heaven-sent
angelic devil-boy,

good God’s androgynous
I’m lookin’ marvelous

but looks CAN kill
And you’re unsure about

my sexual orientation still [groan]
Put me in a special kind of case

that only breaks if
You hit it with a bouquet of flowers

and baby breath arrangement
The vault is vacant

They’re all looking for fault or blame
I called my agent

The moment that I caught the train
I let him know

I’m going nowhere,
and he’s invited

If he leaves tonight
then he just might help me find it

But this is my burden to bear,
not his

And I’m a psychic without a sidekick
holding the future hostage

A loose cannon
standing on the rooftop with

A new respect and understanding
of bartenders and locksmiths

They call me daredevil
but I’m not precise enough.

Unprofessional,
on an amateur level…

I love my life too much.

Escape Artist – Escape Artist
Escape Artist -Escape Artist

Escape Artist
I’m in two places at once.

Escape Artist
I ain’t slept in months.

Escape Artist
I’m just trying to get away.

Ain’t no magic
in the breakdown baby.

Ain’t no magic
in the breakdown baby.

No magic in the break.
Ain’t no magic in the breakdown

bay-bay.

Pussies, you’re scared to shoot me in the heart!
You know it’s too big, uhh!

Fuck, I gotta bulletproof heart,
hit me baby…

I’ll never fall in love with you,
ever!

mumble mumble angry mumble,
bitch hahaha

 

Make some noise for Sage Francis y’all!

 

And download this song from iTunes!

—

More Rapture Party!

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