by George Glas

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A demo of roughly edited songs I made in a week's time with a tape recorder and a microphone in a closet.


released April 25, 2014

1. Geezer
Producer: Aesop Rock
Instrumental: The Blob

2. A Football Playing King In Space
Producer: Co.Fee
Instrumental: Florence

3. Naked Self-Portraits
Producer: MF DOOM
Instrumental: Styrax Gum
Sample: Mike Mills - Deformer

4. Cider
Producer: Groundislava
Instrumental: Cider

Thanks to Pravar, Shay, Nick, and Slater. Without them this would have just remained on a computer somewhere.



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George Glas Maryland

Someone who makes noises when others aren't around.

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Track Name: Geezer (prod. Aesop Rock)
You can find me in the trees like the lorax
Enacting plan 23c from my by-laws jack
Reenacting the warehouse scene from footloose
In some Hanes tighty-whiteys and a thrift store bubble goose

(This is) dada rap,
Spin cycles in Laundromats
Exposed asses to princesses and claimed aristocrats
Young geezer, fiddling with your intellect
In a sec, I gonna relish in the fact that I got ill with that
(Yeah I know)
I know you heard it before,
It’s the same old flow with familiar prose
(But ya’ll don’t know)
How to do this flow, and buckle down at the geezer’s approach
At the geezer’s approach
Track Name: A Football Playing King In Space (prod. Co.Fee)
Another week’s day becomes another faint blur
Sure that this one, won’t succumb, to becoming another bummer
I feel, as if I experienced a lot of those this summer
Even if one’s longer than the other
And feels as if they’re strung together
More are to come and I’m assuring that
They’ll be suppressed into sage gems like
Time spent at Laundromats
Formal events when you arrived in the wrong pants,
Watching ants,
Studying 80’s movies for that romance,
Deep breaths, bold chance,
Attempts of trying to gallivant,
Purchasing every copy at the time of Captain Underpants,
Crushes you claim crush your heart, but toes at the most
That evoked, corny proses out on paper instead of out your throat
We still peer through windows in hope for a better morrow
Or at least a better day, iso or with some gusto
Stowing away the known and frayed for new tchotchkes and funnies
Until we find the need to conquest the attic to battle dust-bunnies

Yeah, kill or be killed
Where even the strongest willed, wilt and shed peels
To depth to feel the field of budding philosophers
Spawning our own fables of pygmies, cranes, and conquers

Yeah, kill or be killed
Where even the strongest willed, wilt and shed peels
To depth to feel the field of budding philosophers
Spawning our own fables of pygmies, cranes, and conquers

Track Name: Naked Self-Portraits (prod. MF DOOM)
Another song from the green book,
Another sad song with bad hook,
Another damn wrong with a bad look,
(look, look)

I’ve spent years trying to find my bearings,
Instead wrote rhymes and dine with red barons,
And still blame my problems on Red Herring
(Herring, hearing)

Your voice dear, sure makes me sick
Stomach flip, and do weird shit,
Someday, I’ll say what I can’t admit

Adamant actions, half-assed for the fraction of times
Assign to manage my time to make these assets
Jump like Kris Kross, priorities criss-crossed,
Sail off like Chris Cross, escape to blow off time

Instead I rather slump on my couch watching Cowboy Bebop,
Vibe to Aesop, sop in the night air,
And make my own dada hip-hop,
Won’t stop, can’t stop
Diddy bop my ass to welfare,
Quote on my raps like “who cares”
Divvy-up my rations and small shares
Parlay it all for a calling
That my heart claims is not here
(Man it’s not here)


Note to self:
(close your eyes now, close your eyes now)
The only people who like your paintings
(feel with your tongue)
Are people who like to look at naked people
(don't let things get out of control. No means no and never, yes.)
The only reason your paintings are popular is because they have naked people in them
(empty hearts lack blood. empty hearts lack blood.)
Also, your paintings are not popular
(empty hearts lack blood. Feel with your tongue.)

(I love everyone I meet. I love girls and boys, I probably even love you. Love is really wonderful, especially if you love a lot of people, just not one. One is lonely, a lot is fun. I like fun, I like love; love, love, love, love.)
Track Name: Cider (prod. Groundislava)
If I wrote a song for every shad of my emotions
I’d destroy every page due to my preconceived notions
About, begin open and what it does to my morals
My abilities at coping and my problems with being social
I was advised with labels that would describe how I feel
They would have prescribed with so capsules they would have called “happy pill”
A pseudonym used to chipper up the daily process
But honest, I process many things just to try to stay honest
On this conscious, it constantly ponders about promises
Broken trying to preempt a conflict that was bound to happen
(Or was it?)
Perils of the naïve and stupid
Personal ennuis and tchotchkes sent to ruins
(and I’ve chosen)
To smile often for a wrong reason,
To still grieve on most of my own decisions
(and I’ve chosen)
To stay here and banter out all my options
To ruin things by being outspoken

But I know life can’t get better than this
Life can’t get better than this
(or so I’m told)
Life can’t get better than this
And life can’t get better than this

I still wish someday I’ll find my niche
A burrow somewhere in my head with a snug fit
Or a white picket fence by a cotton candy river,
A place enough to invite all my friends to dinner (x2)

But, time goes on whether or not you want to follow
Feeling hollow without direction, I lowered my expectations
I grew less patience and engulfed in resignation
Ruined relationships with loved ones in the process
Confidence shattered, conscious battered and bruised these bones
Sticks and stones still hurt now, but more than you’ll ever care to know I just,
Want to show myself that I can be fine
I just want to show myself that I will be fine