It's Happening Pt. 1- The Storm

by The Pineapple Army

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What people are saying about this album:

"You may wanna look into college or trade school"
"This is terrible"
"How and why did we create this?"


released April 20, 2015

Jollybeard- beats, deets, and eats.
Goldenboy- speaks, freaks and tweaks.
Queezy- jams, whams and slams.
Thomm- dads, ads and fads.
Shaggy 2 Dope- bass right now

Album Artwork by Thomm Foolery & Jollybeard....more specifically: Thomm did the good looking parts and Jollybeard scribbled in the margins like a child.




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The Pineapple Army Michigan

I've always been terrible at writing biographies so why stop now. We're probably a band from Michigan. We don't adhere to a specific genre which causes mild schizophrenia in certain individuals. We will write commercial jingles for the right price and we do NOT play at weddings, only funerals. ... more

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Track Name: Hot Chocolate Crazy Sauce
"Mountaintop Waterdrop" as spoken by Edward James Olmos unto Joaquin Phoenix

One, now place ya bets. You don't don't need a 2 3 b4 u 4get.
J to the olly. B to the eard. People laugh when I'm comin but I wanna be feared.
So I paint my face like I'm Violent J, go to Bishop Park with the ukule
and I play out my heart singin "Girls Not Grey" and the Theme from Titanic by Celine Dijionaise.

But still, they all wanna laugh at me. It's true, comedy begets tragedy.
But I'll hit my bong and I carry on cause the day's be long. Better play my song.
No work put in, the response I get could make a man start to waver in his confidence.
It's honest shit but it's a constant bitch and I've been building up my tolerance.

Blunts, yeah I smoked a few. You know I ain't being stingy you can have one too.
Better get that goo deep inside your lungs, grab you a tool to scoop the resin,
save it for later, got a nasty ass flavor but you know it gets you higher than an elevator on the 99th floor of the World Trade Center. 2001, September 11th...

…just kiddin. Israel, Palestine layin on the low line.
You can't man, there's no run and no hide. You nosedive, you rose, died, corrode guy.
You gross pile of decomposing whole style.
Alex picks up where I left off and then we drive to the store to get some pizza.
Throw pineapples on it and extra cheese. Double bake that shit it looks just like me.
There's no denying it! I'm the Boss! So gimme them sticks with the Crazy Sauce.

You driving me crazy.
You driving me Crazy Sauce, it's true.

Fish man with a fish mangina. Hook you in the mouth like a live white rhino.
Sawtrap, but not for cats. Lighting fools up with the wizard staff.
A fish dick just ain't legit. Sing it one time and you never quit like:
Jollybeard here, put in my two cents: Won't somebody pay my neighbor's rent?
Like Bamanemehneneh.
Track Name: Neon Cat
Here's a little ditty that wrote when I was high.
It's about a mythic kitty that glows in the sky
cause it's got a cherry filling and magical powers
that'll make you stare at it blankly for hours.

I was gonna write a song about smoking a blunt.
Yeah, another fucking song about smoking a blunt.
Cause I'm smoking a blunt right now in the dark
by myself, all alone with my best friend Willy.

Yeah, Willy's a platypus. You can't stay mad at us.
Appropriating culture like my main man Atticus.
Using an abacus cause all we do is add it up.
We fatten up like flabby butt poopin out a rainbow!

Mermaids, otters, baby AIDS.
Fuck dumb hos while I get paid.
8-bit ain't shit. Dig yo grave.
That Neon Cat gon fly away.

Some bitches try to bury me because I got a penis
and I stuff it up they butt and then I ask if they can feel this.
If they can I use a can and call a clansman Cletus,
such a sweetie when I need a nectarine or squishy fetus.

Now hold up, wait. I got off track.
This is barely a song about Neon Cat.
If you play it backwards, I guess the fact is
that I should've wrote a song about smoking a blunt.

Friends on Facebook dumb as hell.
Should kill em all like Metallica.
Got friends with cats and some that aren't.
That Neon Cat got rainbow farts.
Track Name: Smell Like Everything
All black, all white, all clear everything.
Pitbull, Pitstain, smell like everything.
Fred Durst won't curse, won't say anything.
Produce, progress, just press anything.

Look like, taste like, smell like everything
Red, purple, blue, black taste like medicine.
Full steam interspace, hyperdrive everything
Smell like everything what?!

Special anytime you want. It's the future now.
Chris Rushlow with a chainsaw. Superflow.
Walkin through Walmart, smells like everything.
Look at all the people smelling like everything.

Smell like everything, feel like anything,
taste like, sound like, look like anything.
Picking up the product, project everything.
Frolic through the flowers with a pitchfork. Everything.

You think I didn't notice? I already know this.
My poise is poisonous. I'm always pissed like a blowfish.
Come here yo and help me hold this homeless.
Give him room and board and tuck him in and give him no kiss.

All day, all night, every day look like.
Taste like, front like, walk like stuntin!
It's fucking tasteless you can't even smell this.
You don't even know your dad until it hits.

It hits your bloodstream. Fuckin naw mean?
Tastes like ice cream. Naw Leans!!
Mothafuckin black beans. Mothafuckin Chuck Sheen.
Chuck Cheese mothafucka drop your pants. I said please.

I used to spit fire, took an arrow to the knee.
Now I stand around town, talk shit and bust thieves.
Get cleaved and get beat when my swords unsheathed.
You get thrown in the mine if you disturbing the peace. should have been a Sage Owl, looked to the future and Saw.
Track Name: Recked
Sippin dub, smoking on bud and its only 1:30
I took it to the streets. I'm looking to get dirty early.
So I took a big chance at the high school dance with a missy who was ready to play.
Big mistake I'm like 28, guess the beard might have gave it away.

Flash forward.
Now I'm doin 93 in a 75, got a baby in the back trying to keep him alive.
I'm still puffin on the chron tryna keep that high,
pass it back to the baby cause he rolled that shit in the first place.
Fork coming up and I can't commit.
I pull a Paul Walker and hit that shit.
Baby goes flying but i know he's straight.
Only thing that can kill him is baby AIDS

Kick out my door and I'm straight up gashin'.
The cops pull up and I just start blastin'.
I hit the captain and they call for backup,
"we need help over here this guy gives like no fucks."
Dropped a nuke but you can't kill this evil.
I'm gone for now but i'll be back in the sequel.
Just remember kids: don't do drugs
and you'll live forever or some stupid shit.
Track Name: Patrolling the Mojave
You're gettin' into the chamber, you're gettin' everything.
You're gettin' hungry and thirsty, you're eatin' everything.
You're killin' everything. You're scatchin', bitin', and fightin' your way through everything.

You're makin' enemies quickly, you're makin' lots of friends.
You try to distance yourself by getting closer to them.
Another neighborhood, not a nightmare I'll remember.
Decembers comin' and goin' but it will still be Winter.

You're climbin' over a monumental tower,
overcomin' and outrunnin' just as fast as Rocket Power.
Head on ya, smooth wobble. You punch it full throttle. You knock over gin bottles, atomical pro-product, YES!

You keep creepin', you sneaky like Fats Domino,
fat like McDonalds, I'm lovin' it and cuddlin' and coddlin' the government, hoverin' above in a ton of a tonic bubblin and no one knows its comin.
It's a hard knock life, sharp rock knife, first strike to your windpipe.
Night night, it's beddy bye.
You ready? Cause I've been peddling your organs to your enemies. Steadily your settling, left to be in a centerpiece.

I raise my characters evenly when I'm RPGing.
See, I got a GED for free. I know my ABCs,
my Do Re Mis so don't hate me
because I lot of potata inside of my frittata. I karate hot Impala.
Chili, chocolate cheese and chowder.
Shout an order out the window.
Scale a falling tower and holler when it's el manana.
Hana, dool, set, net, da seot and ya seot.
Get the fuck up out the closet and fucking do something about it, bitch.
Track Name: Brock, Barack and Baraka
Brock, Barack and Baraka were playin Rock em Sock em Robots
when Team Rocket fuckin showed up, tried to stop em, hold up.
It's not a fuckin brand new episode of Who's the Boss.
It's a plate of grilled labia with rooster sauce.
And I don't think that I could find the c-c-cuter claws
than the ones I'm sporting right now so let's do this Hoss.
Get up and ride him like a pony
then do it again but this time with macaroni.

We tryin to make you look like you the one true Yankee Doodle.
You fuckin sucking cheesy and you creamy in the noodle.
Orange and mushy, gushy pussy, you must be Naruto.
You not a ninja kid, you kinda useless like Kabuto.
Speakin of which, this bitch Jesse wants to ride my nizzuts,
swallow them too fast, now she got the hiccups.
Held her upside-down. Told her hold her breath.
Sawtrapped that ass, unprotected sex, yeah.
New Orleans, runnin for President.

Now what you gotta do is fuckin listen to me.
Climb to the top of a mountain to the highest peak.
Grab you some fruit and what you gotta do
is dry that shit out for a week or two.
Now grind it all up into a nice spice.
You can use your bare hands or a mental device.
Now the next and final step is to take the material,
use your thumb and index finger and sprinkle it on your cereal
and then you eat that shit for Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner.
Track Name: Battling the Storm of Diarrhea (Ross' Song)
Driving down the freeway, cars goin past.
Got a baby in the back, got baby AIDS.
Lights go past. Gotta get that ass to the hospital

Got an embryo, a long way to go
Got baby in the back who's got baby AIDS
Drivin so fast. Gotta get that ass to the hospital.

You gotta quit that shit cause it's not legit.
Pull a Paul Walker and hit that shit.
9/11 didn't exist. Holocaust actually did.
Boston Bombing. New Orleans. Sandy Hook. Charlie Sheen!

You're the Devil of my dreams
the Angel of my nightmares.
Track Name: Brikabraka
Brikabraka, paddywack. Ya leave the dog alone.
Dig a hole and watch it grow. DeVito roast a bone.
White and black and lavender. Pages get pulled out of calendars.
Fidget and forget the passive words. Hickory dickory that ya nerds.
Pick a patch of pickled peppers, peel em apart, put em back together.
Stomp the wine in fine stilettos. Write a million miss ya letters.
Take the tirade to the top. Get in, get out, get off, get on.
Why's it so circular, not perpendicular. Year of the Pineapple, get out your crucifer.

Brikabraka, padded jacket in case they bring the chrome.
Get a gat a-rat-a-tat-a, splat into the dome.
Who's the fool bringing power tools to mules?
He didn't read the rules and now he's gonna get schooled.
First you take the pliers to the teeth, remove all trace of identity.
You take the planer to the finger pads, it's bad but necessary.
Very kinda scary unless you do it on the regs.
I'm chainin up their arms while you're chainin up their legs.
We're gonna wind em up and tell em jokes until their sides split open
and the top gets separated from the rest.
We'll make a fuckin mess with hooks and hammers, course we'll cover it with cameras and we'll cut your fucking heart out of your chest.

Yeah, I'm a mathlete. You can ask me.
I sixty-nine bitches in the backseat
of my taxi, that's a creepy van.
I'll go Undertaker- Tombstone any man.
Speakin of piledrivers, how's your mama doin?
We used to kick old school like the first June.
If you don't get the reference I'll get the referee.
Cause I don't let the better get the best of me.
Girl, I'm level 3. Bill Belamy. I don't know who that is
but he's heard of me.
I'm the whitest rapper ever except for Apollo D
diagonally killin em. Connect 4.

And I came for the Chex Mix not sex, whore.
And I prefer playin chess in six sets more.
And whats more is I don't even have a penis.
I'm a Ken doll, a candle, fuck, what I mean is…
Well, I guess I'm out in the open.
I'll flash my fleshy fun bits and you can do your scopin.
And we can get to lovin and we don't have to pretend to be
something we're not cause we ain't got no fear of pregnancy.
Track Name: Dude Yeah
Dude, yeah. Are you here to do some plumbing?
Get you nekkid in a second, get that roto-rooter suction.
Get my pipes drained. Ooh yeah. Dude, yeah, do dat till the blood flow back.

Dude, yeah. I'm about to get my dick sucked
by a skinny lookin dude with a cute butt.
Aww...fuck...skeet. I need that release.
Anything to get my mind off…oh shit…Keith!!
I forgot about Keith.

Dude, yeah. You know I got my man back.
He watchin over me, and his dick black.
And he get cash, yeah I know he get that.
Dude, yeah, Chinese babies out the ass.
Track Name: Bein' A Dad
You know it ain't easy bein a Dad.
It's like the second hardest job you could ever have:
payin the bills and raisin your kid.
Yo Dad, why don't you hit me with some gangsta shit.

Bein a Dad is hard as hell.
Always killin rattlesnakes takes its toll and well,
I'ma give the shit up and turn in my badge.
Cause I'm sick of stickin it in just one vag.
Maybe roam the land and go to Tennessee
or Seattle, I don't know, I just wanna be free.
A man's gotta roam, gotta sew my oats,
another girl pregnant? I gotta go!
Bein a Dad…well let me tell ya…
I'm terrified of being a failure.
I just booked it and never looked back.
I'm sure I'll probably never regret that!

That's just one case of bein a Dad.
If you get to know one I'm sure they're not that bad.
People give them hard times, like to talk a lot of crap
which is basically why Dads are getting this bad rap.
I don't hate my Dad, I just wanted to show him
all my Pokemon cards and how much I've grown.
But I guess I'll make due with my fake Dad Tom.
Oh, and the first hardest job is being a Mom.

It ain't easy bein a Dad.
That's probably why my turned tails and ran.
Maybe someplace better where it's way less crowded.
Hakuna Matata, but really I doubt it.
Mi casa, su casa, you no Mufasa.
You's a man, not a lion, or a bear or a tiger.
I don't blame you for leaving. I don't think you're a cunt.
Just hit me up dad and let's smoke a blunt!!
Track Name: Chasing After a Dog
Got no direction, head lost in a fog.
Nothing else to do, think I'll follow that dog.

Runnin', sprintin', pantin', red, cracked out eyes.
That dog might be my wife who has recently died!
Track Name: Soul Peaches
Right now in a town you don't know,
a place you've never even heard of before,
there is a man, a tyrant, a tyrannical leader with a salt peter feeder.
Got a two ounce liter, a full out meter, a little backstory for the keystone creeper.
Take a look at the past, ain't nothing but bad.
Now we gonna feel his wrath. Every night, take a bath,
brush your hair, brush your teeth, scrub underneath your feet.
Scrub until you can't feel nothing but your human meat.
What's it mean to me? Well, nothing it would seem.
But you gotta stay clean if you wanna succeed.
If you want to fuck free, just a buck twenty-three.
If you want a ducky, well fuck, let's see,
pay a nominal fee, pay more than previously,
pay more than Mayor McCheese.
No fair, fake G's keep bullying me, bouillonese,
for folks with buckling knees.
Yeah man I'll say it like, "fuck the Chinese."
Like Snap Crackle Pop, Rice Krispie Treats
Like Jason and the Argonauts, golden fleece.
I'm holding Greece for hostage see.
I better get my motherfuckin buck twenty-three.
If I don't things are gonna get dirty, 3-2-1
I'm done. Time to bust-bust, run.
Y'all stand there stunned, I ain't got a gun.
Y'all just dumb and a little naive,
jaws gaped wide open now suck my seed.
I ain't red hot chili, damn sure ain't pepper,
no sergeant-at-arms gonna do this better.
Little Bear don't compare, just weather the weather
and be cool like Fonzie (Donny Osmond)
One last thing before I leave,
I gotta smoke a blunt and do the laundry.
My clothes just lie there until they're clean,
everybody listening will know I mean.
I'm elite. I juggle bowls of cream heroically.
So it seems hoes will dream of blowin' me.
So obscene. Woe is me. Soul Peaches.
Yeah, Soul Peaches.
Track Name: When All Else Fails
I've been working even harder since I've given up
I've always said 'when all else fails' I'll be a rapper, yup.
So here I am, I'm rapping, whoopty fucking doo, you feel me? (lame)
Should I yippie-ki-yay mother fucker? John McClain?

Should i be more focused on creating stages
or should i channel all my energy into becoming famous?
Should I write some better lyrics? Stop trying to be so meta?
Should i just stop asking questions? Only I can know whats better.

Should I stay Thug Whilin? Or start free stylin?
Should I Childish Gambino and just stop smilin?
Should I start being violent? Tearing up vagina
fina than your mama's china, gold rush, 49er.

Should I tell you what that means? Well I won't. You can guess.
If you're right you get a blunt. (And if I'm wrong?) A Blunt. (Yes!)
See now, everyones a winner there's no losers round here
you can take it from the man with the jolly 'olly beard.

I don't care, songs over.
You don't get no autographs just an ice cold shoulder.
Oh shit, I almost forgot, here's a blunt
Now get out of here kid. I gotta talk to your mom.
Track Name: A Certain Level of Wackness
Shits getting weird nowadays, no joke.
You either in it to win it, or in it to smoke.
I have to admit that I wanted them both
but it takes a lot of work and I'm damn near broke.

So I rose from the dead and I'm looking for brains.
Gotta eat other artists and finish the remains.
Got a shovel and a lantern, gonna dig me a grave,
stand six feet deep as it fills up with rain.

Gonna drown my sorrows, there's no tomorrow.
Taken everything for granted, all the time that I borrowed,
well I have to give it back to the world somehow,
someway, some time well the time is now.

It isn't very good but it took three years,
got deleted three times but it's finally here.
Try to make something different for you all to hear.
Homophones can't rhyme? Sure they can, don't fear.

See, all I ever wanted was to make a rap record
that wasn't just shit, that might be respected,
that might get detected by a recognized producer
who could stop making headphones for a second just to do
another great album cause the way is lost.
I can say very confidently "Dre fell off"
I can say, "if you standin' in my way get tossed…
a bag of Blue Dream and Strawberry cough now…

We're smoking dro with our bros in the back
It's Happening, a Certain Level of Wackness

This songs too long, better hit my bong.
I've come full circle dog.
If you've gotten this far then I'm proud of you,
not that pride really matters. You know that that's true.

Truth is happiness ain't a warm gun at all.
It's how I feel in the Autumn when the leaves fall.
It's kickin' back with a blunt, relaxin' with my homies,
watchin' Breakin' Bad, passin' till the last ash.

It's funny how things change but seem to stay the same.
We remain in the same state in which we were raised.
We never do anything with the blank slate,
just throw it in the corner, let the days waste.

Turn yellow while the dust just settles in the sun rays
and collects, whats next? I hate Mondays too
but you gotta make do.
You know haste makes waste but you gotta break through.
You gotta face the race cause we're waitin' for you.
Finish in last place? Don't worry that's cool.
It ain't about what happens at A and B.
It's all about experiences in between. So...

We're smokin' dro with our bros in the back
It's Happening, a Certain Level of Wackness
All of you, I'm getting all of you and I'm…..

I got a feeling, ferocious. I know it isn't hopeless.
When the going gets tough, the tough smoke roaches.
I'm Focused like track 4 on Yoko.
We never playin' that though, that's a no-go.

Oh hell yeah bitch, I'm feelin' good yo.
Workaholics commentary, gonna blow dro.
Fizzy pop smoke smells so good,
better than Dragon's Blood or Sandlewood.

Anyways, back to the bigger task at hand.
I'm tryin to make a point, or make demands.
I can't remember anymore, maybe I'm just jokin
when I say there's nothing more to life but drinkin and smokin.
I'm thinkin and hopin at least, I guess.
I mean, it could be worse, I could be dead.
I still have my health. I still have my head.
For what that's worth, I'm here on Earth.

I'm not on Saturn cause that would suck:
no oxygen, no bag of blunts,
no traveling sound, no warming sun,
just the freezing cold loneliness and nowhere to run.

I look around. I guess things aren't all that bad.
We got fire, water, air, dirts and magnets yeah.
Is it a miracle, all that we have?
Some squid-faced god? Or circumstance.

Things take a dark turn and the world will burn
somehow without fuel. We'll adapt learn.
We'll recede underneath till the time is right.
Until then when we wait, go to sleep, goodnight.

A cup of cocoa and a warm cheddar biscuit
is so delicious when you mix it with a quick hit
of Sour Patch or Lemon Grass
and you top it off with Golden Hash, yeah.

My arrest remains shrouded in mystery.
Nobody knows so they're repeating the history.
Channel surfing, flannel wearing,
hipster-eating monsters breeding.

A new perspective, put a prism in your outlook.
A rainbow comes from putting passion over Facebook.
Pretendinitis, Polluticorn wishes Recyclops was never born.

Poppin' off a poppy seed, pocket full of posies.
Liven up the limit cuz I'm livin' with this gross beat.
Chall know me. Cha hurr me. Cha love me. Cheddar Cheese.