Unsuccessful Club Nights

I’m at your party like a girl I’ve slept with
That is now with the man of the house
New routes are directed, I get played out
Like underground rap, I wonder if you understand facts
I’m not Rory Them Finest but sometimes I try
I’m not a good self-promoter, I held a certain order
For my tracks and the way I select them
I clean off my records in an effort to protect them
I soak off my labels when I pull them from the store
And I got slipcases but I could use more
I play the bass shit because it simply booms
But it gets hard playing for an empty room
While it is a Tuesday, that should be no excuse
Hard working people are dying to let loose
I turn the lows high with a knob in the booth
I’m honest, I’m telling the whole truth
Cause my night ain’t good, so my nights get worse
My night ain’t good, so my nights get worse
My night ain’t good, so my nights get worse
I play for nobody, I know that love hurts
Too drunk to fuck, I’m too fucked to think
The rockers love me, I put dust in their drinks
When I pump in the dance punk numbers that bleed
Off the Richter, I’m a man about needs
Like checkers, I jump for practical records
With snap music collecting grey by the day
I’m pay per play with a focus on the former
And I keep a metal box that’s filled with four corners
Like Johnny Rotten, I switch styles with the year
With an awkward mix, I think I’m in the clear!
And now I hold dear the tracks that break the ruts
They got me like, «Scene sluts, shake your butts!»
I do the Simon Says like Pharoahe, pull a rapper’s card like tarot
Meet a girl, hit the crib, bump Portishead, G. Barrow
I’m posted up like a scarecrow
Play a couple tones, they’re on the bone like marrow
Cause my night ain’t good, so my nights get worse
My night ain’t good, so my nights get worse
My night ain’t good, so my nights get worse
I play for nobody, I know that love hurts
I write rhymes, I don’t write checks
Cover your fucking mouth if you see me on the decks
I start off my set with some real soft numbers
Like rounded off Sesame Street, I’m pressing the beats
And I give just a bit of the old one-two
Before they get unimpressed by the whole damn runthrough
But when I go out, I confuse myself
I only dance to songs that expound about wealth
So this is the first step in a long combination
It takes two to tango but even more to make a movement
You’ll get later’d like a truant, I try to set the songs
To the future, you’re still playing «Deceptacon»
Where’s the history? Where’s the identity?
DJs find their hearts with Hollertronix chemistry
Moths to a flame, they run out to the light
That’s why nobody goes to unsuccessful club nights
Cause my night ain’t good, so my nights get worse
My night ain’t good, so my nights get worse
My night ain’t good, so my nights get worse
I play for nobody, I know that love hurts
Tuesday Night Beatdown, The Youth Beat, This Isn’t A Test
Support your local DJ. Thank you for coming to my night
DJ Cadence Weapon, Weez-L!