Black Hand

Cadence WeaponCadence Weapon 

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Cadence Weapon

Roland "Rollie" Pemberton, better known by his stage name Cadence Weapon, is a Canadian rapper. Born and raised in Edmonton, Alberta, Pemberton released his first album, Breaking Kayfabe, in 2005 to positive reviews. He subsequently signed with the American record label ANTI-, releasing the albums Afterparty Babies in 2008 and Hope in Dirt City in 2012. In 2009, Cadence Weapon was named Edmonton's Poet Laureate. His first book Magnetic Days was published by Metatron in 2014. more »

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I take the break where it is, cousin
Cadence fuckin' Weapon
Eight step programmer 
Listen

Sleepers, hand them a pillow
Black hand like Gavrilo
I don't spit coke rap, while you gram into kilos
I withstand it for real bro (yup)
And sure, I'll house you but I won't supply you a meal though
Not really, keep your points slow and to yourself
I dropped out with a 4.0, have a way with words
Heavy mental, gentle medley of every single sound sent to arrest me in development
I'm the intelligent black speaker
With a sound that bangs every relevant black speaker
At the Black Dog, their sort avoids me
In rap, future's blacker than airport employees
You're dead if it's fight night cause with feds, you're quite tight
Right right, you know I got you pegged like Light-Brite
I spit the sickness, your bitch is a split decision
I can tell your bird's lyin'
And I don't riff with griffins

Style soft like a pillow
For real though
Black hand like Gavrilo

I'm Bob Dylan on the fence
Will I sell out or buy in?
Either way, I'm indebted to science
Pyramid schemes with acquaintances on the whip
So I won't push this block unless enough money is spent
The kid was shook to scandal, the pistol grip pumps do work
'Cause the vandals took the handles
Hope it hits you harder than an anvil
The way I wrote my epitaph date
On the face of that handbill
It's damn real, that's my space like The Jetsons
You're on MySpace with my line as a reference
Y'all leave hookers with a dime and your preference
I'm hard talk, papi, I don't whine or regret shit
A question, house or field? I field the house like the speaker
Plus I wield the joust for the weaker and the poorer
Hand black like the Moors
And I ran to the back with seven years and four scores

Style soft like a pillow
For real though
Black hand like Gavrilo

I said, "Get' em," I'm done with dead riddims
The number one question is can the heads mix' em?
I gotta vendettas with ice chains and grills
But I flame with skills that might pain your illness
F*ck writer's block, I block writers on the Reggie Larry
I'm said to marry fighter talk with the debts they bury
Like going to battle, they say the warrior's god-like
Which means you're a civilian, looking at a dogfight
Colder than frostbite, I walk in strikes and run blocks
Like Pac-Man but with more rubber then Dunlop
Who's grimy? Then again, who's rhyming? Ask your girl
She blew my tower like Boots Riley
And now fools, try me, catch 'em when their flow's dumb
Like it was '88, ripping Lee patches off of homespun
No one can touch' em, so I'm takin' my marker
To get my point across like an atheist archer

Style soft like a pillow
For real though
Black hand like Gavrilo

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