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ALABASTER SAMOVARS

by Alabaster Samovars

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betaraysam The Marijuana Pot Man is a singularly compelling voice extolling the virtues of opulent living. As a personality, he dissolves into a blissed-out cloud of blue sativa smoke pulsing gently to the relaxed beats of producer Remington Iron, which fall in folds of finest gold brocade. The listener wonders where the Marijuana Pot Man begins and Mammon ends. Indeed, the Marijuana Pot Man might be his most sympathetic avatar to date, reminding us that the purpose of riches are to delight the senses. Favorite track: Fabergé and Limoges.
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1.
Motorcade 02:11
Hop in with knowledge of all that's canonical Waffling on until monocles drop into coffee Kinda phenomenal, noshing on novices Oddest of hominids, offering homonym omelets Awful anomalus Lawful or not, hip-hop is a mosque And I'm an imam in it Might pop your thermometer Quaffing Hpnotiq and copping a guap of the conifer Proffer the conical bomber that fathered the moniker Fuck up your monitor I'm a blossoming sonic colostomist Banana Fostering all of 'em Nastradamus, Foster Wallace on top of it This ought to demolish 'em, Opulent, copping Lagondas and shit Slaloming all on a song and appalling 'em Popping a document off at the hip... Uh, I think I can change your vibe Robbed the German plug, I think I'm in Danger Five, I think I can change your vibe Robbed the German plug, I think I'm in Danger Five...
2.
Ayyo, Marijuana Pot Man, What's up? I'm in that salmon pink hammock My Cabernet tannic Heckler in my hand tan ceramic Declan McManus Spanish ham, canisters of anise Jet to Venice Get Greenwich-level lettuce Beveled edge, Cleverley Redzepi-level chef, never dress tepidly Red Stetson Double-breasted Ed Sexton Ten tentacles and twin Tecs Consider them shits akin to Windex: A quick fix; and I'm finna win next When I flex, I'm a little bit morbid I just left the jewelry store with a tortoise My slacks are crafted out of Styracosaurus The diamond on the tie tack is orange A more ingenious scene setter than your set's seen yet ...Whatever bread it begets. Okay, you know the difference in totem pole distance? My whip came equipped with a Poggenpohl kitchen My lips slicker than linseed Ellipses I'll leave your lid lifted, then I dip to Poughkeepsie I'm Pimp C mixed with Kim Peek, capisce? I'm a beast, a hedonist in need of a niche And Faberge made the cane, so, you see, it's antique Best believe when the Reefer Man speaks Peace Yo, Pot Man, we out in Luxembourg, baby... I got my hands on something you would probably be interested in. Call me back.
3.
It Ain't Me 03:49
Might see me posted up at Dobra Tea That overcoat is aubergine Loafer with the Coca-Cola hosiery You know it's me I'm known to throw opponents in the Nova Scotia sea I flow precociously, and don't a motherfucker know it Shining my cap toes with Moet Look down and the tell me who's the fairest (Reefer Man LaFlare is) My jargon is the rarest I park it on your terrace and darken your Arc'teryx Eric Ripert's how the hair is Ballin' heiresses, sippin Apollinaris, I'll embarrass all who merit it Carrot-tinted whip like a scarab with the carapace Cherry for the innards Rippin' up some terrapin for dinner [Hook:] If you're looking for somebody who can hold you tight Who can walk you to your doorstep each and every night It ain't me, baby It ain't (yeah, it ain't me) It ain't me (I said it ain't me) It ain't me Remi, Remi, Remi, Remi, Remi gettin' reckless All black stones in that all gold necklace Nas told me that it's mine, so I'mma get it Fuckin' Frank Abagnale couldn't check this, so check it Front same color as the thirties that the coupe is on Chartreuse deuce, thirty for the accoutrements Couple screws loose when Remi's gettin' his loopin' on Run up with that 38 and I'mma get my Lupin on Doin' business to the whole percentage Count it up, cold cream, couple million, yeah, word to Guinness Gyokuro I'm sippin' look akin to spinach Left hand holdin' on that dirty Grimace Tux Italian, Jag British Well received cask of that Glenfiddich My hoes know Finnish; Your hoes don't finish Remi coachin' bitches like an open scrimmage [Hook] I might just Cause your glossary to vanish Hunting coats Austrian to Spanish Walk to me with mantis hands Pants are Fanta-can tinted Remi sippin' on that Dimetapp I'm tryna chat with Iris Apfel on the Dynatac That two-buck Chuck Bass I'll have 'em baffled when they try to nab Bashful when they find the gat Mashburn on my back You need a Heimlich when you try to rap I got a hell of a spiel My coat rack goes from Shar-Pei to elephant seal Keep Benellis in wheel wells to perforate your Pelle Wet you up and speed-dial a deli Okay, step back and scope a better view Left two Pettigrews' sweaters soppressata-hued I'm that inventive dude your future flow's indebted to Stuff your girl like a Peppadew [Hook]
4.
Misty in the biscuit-tinted Fisker Miss me with that shit that isn't glistening or whiskered Risky: what the business is Wrist is a chameleon Mister Mephistophelean, but feel a little crisper Ain't a myth in which I'm not a fixture Espada shifter Trader Vic colada sipper Slip your sister a tawdry whisper You got the picture... Whipping something with the trunk in the front Slump gave me something skunky to accompany lunch So with a Bunsen I lit up Blunts in abundance and hit up Huntsman in London to pick up a little something to stunt I got the tongue you can trust Most don't talk about it Guillotine a beat; bow it down; gouts fountain out it Dressed like Eddie Hayes, my machete blades never break Sprinkle game every day Yeah, I got the dried pheasant garnish Get up on my level: cop the bezel with the garnets Neck and wrist drip like Pen & Pixel sent a missile in My pen is listed in the Michelin Fifty on on the ink I've written this epistle in Slick as glycerin up in the nib, I'm glistenin' Blisterin' Dismiss 'em with iridium Slip into the Chrysalis and dip
5.
Aw, shit. Oh, shit. Marijuana Pot Man... Wassup, baby? It's getting real hot out here, It's getting real hot out here... Let's do it to 'em. Prepare the spot Y'all compare me to a theropod a lot Panera pockets got me terracotta Lobbs Spot me opposite the parasol, tarragon and lox Heir to Tom Lehrer, Terror Squad, Pac and Darabont Spot a baller blocker and I'm cockin' thereupon I'm a walking bearer bond I'm clockin' 'em, Barry Bonds I'm that motherfucker Marijuana Pot Okay, my flow colder than a bomb pop Show up in a blond fox Braun watch I might drown when I lick her up, call me Bon Scott Got her looking something like a Cinnabon box Mister Jimmy John Pot, I been slayin' 'em hoes My teeth are antique Faberge and Limoges Bitches come state to state just to play in my clothes Tell a motherfucker what I say and it goes Too many furs in my coat: I can't go past zoos And if she's no nomad, I'll make your hoe mad too Who got a topaz tooth, and gold leaf on every talon? Keeping green tea by the gallon? My trou' lethally endowed, beat the beat around a bit Seize a counterfeit and breeze 'em out quick The Marijuana Pot Man, goddammit, I'm the shit Got that embryonic salmon on my wrist I flipped every Naugahyde divan at auction, hammered off of Schlitz Atlanta shoppin', rattan walking sticks Anaconda grips on them shits, tan Lagonda shift Caught wind of me and thought I was a myth I keep 'em ill at ease Fillin' up manilas with a mill' apiece Milanese filigree, Florentine silk Spill a motherfucker with the quarantine quill, then I..
6.
Citroen, rolling up a spliff, Dime mixing with the piff, get a beep up on my fifth line Seems as if Smith had nearly got the co-sign Finished the twist quick, 'cause clearly it was go time Brakes are fake; the new plates don't get used The crystal tint, like the print on Grey Goose I'm halfway there on the dash, like 8-2 The last three letters on the gas: B-L-U Cornu Blu, I pour no blood when punctured Quarter mil for Marijuana's Slump verse Man, he been managing Mars Way he been handling bars Send me the money advance That's an incredible charge Xzibit ain't pimp it, but trunk is fitted for samovars Marijuana Pot hopped in and said "it's hot!" They let off a shot I get off the brakes Statham when they chase 'em, i'm Jason Remi Iron briefcase holds the escape gun Many trying and failing just to erase them Lost the heat, switched the cartridge on the DS2 This ain't a game, Marijuana's got to be there soon... They got me like Doggone it Pajamas on, popping off subsonic rounds, hopping out the Saab Sonett Bob Munden on the shot So I guess their roster wants pasta sauce on it Left an awful lot of red gelato in my wake Henry lever model, the semi autos are for the snakes I've been running from the jakes, and goons in balaclavas And they all brought Chianti and favas To serve me, not with a cherry on top Marijuana Pot got 'em raring to pop Tearing the block up, the samovar tote on my wrist Sprinting from that Overfinch Rover with the tints Left the lobby like the Overlook Popped a shot off Dropped a body and took a closer look Couldn't be the Stasi, by the cut of the coat I need 'em out of my peripheral: "Blood of the Goat" Gun in the cloak, smoke trailing from the hems Quick cleanse Citroen to the Benz, then I'm sailing on the Thames Bailing on the gems, send Slump to get 'em later 'Bout to cop some hydrophanes south of the Equator Yeah, Reefer Man LaFlare. How you feeling, baby, how you feeling? The Pewter Bullet Pistolero. The Samovar Sultan. What's good, Pot? Yo, I heard they fished a duck press full of emeralds out the Thames. I heard they found tire tracks on the ceiling at Wilton's, man. A little bit of Dover sole for the getaway, huh? What's good, Slump, what's good? That avocado 450 With the almond seats...
7.
Hey, man... You know, I've never even seen Pot Man without a freshly picked orchid in his lapel, And something prehistoric on his wrist. This man...he grows two inches when he takes his jewelry off, man. I've seen him wear eight cameo rings at once. His face was on every one. I don't think you understand me, man. You know, I've seen Pot Man eat a handful of two-carat rubies while looking his jeweler straight in the motherfucking eye. Pot Man.. His British Shorthair has a Swiss bank account. I don't think you hear me though. I watched him extract his own pineal gland and pan-fry it in duck fat. Then he ate that shit for breakfast while listening to Cam. You know, it's just different. What do you know about million-dollar malachite soaking tubs, my man? What do you know about eighty racks a week at Gaziano, Twisting weed up in Rembrandts and Vermeers? *That's* just different. You know what, man? Don't talk to us. Don't talk to us unless you've got Tsarist court jewelers for the dental work. You know? Matter of fact, Sit the fuck down if you don't have twenty, thirty oils on your kitchen right fucking now. You feel me? You know, man, we were gonna do it to 'em. Take the Benz airship Straight to fucking Ipanema Shit was getting a bit hectic, shit was getting a bit hot back there. Had to hop off the radar, had to hop off the grid, man. The nephrite jade submarine...fuck y'all know about that? All vermilion corduroy, everything. Bocote paneling. Feel me? My man Danylo in the kitchen. Vampire squid ceviche. Japanese bear steaks. Spilling gyokuro on the Rubinaccis. Got me fucked up. I got Slump on the line, Talking something 'bout the opposition back in Berlin. On the other hand, On my other phone, I got several influential dealers back in the States Very interested in my most recent art heist. Fuck that, man, fuck that. That can wait. We got the samovar, babe. Yeah. And what's more, we made a pit stop in Iceland To dig up some Actavis I buried in a glacier eight years ago. Feel me? Nah, fuck that, man, we're going to Rio. Yeah... Underwater boys.
8.
Me and Remi, Copacabana. Sipping on that Tung Ting... [Hook, x2] Sippin' on that syrup, watch my diamonds flare up Sippin' on that syrup, watch my dollars turn up Technicolor tech, whip silhouette Step up in this bitch and watch my diamonds pirouette You know my schtick Lopin' in to give your hoe's envelope a lick I'm at ten below for this I might bend her over quick, then run up in her slow Pull her head back, bust a nut up in her throat I'm a motherfuckin' pro, so my dick ain't free You know that Spanish Inquisition, how my whip game be I like my top laid back Windows well tinted And my future bright enough that I can see myself in it Take a minute to acknowledge it Forgiatos on the Morgan, forty more to follow it Collar Neapolitan Politic up in the parking lot a bit Got the top of Corcovado cordoned off And I got 'em Mortoned off the quality of all of it Get up off my dick, I'm 'bout to call up a urologist Super in the shoulder holster, Rubirosa scholarship French polish on the kicks, French tips, and the motherfuckers cost a solid brick [Hook x2] Let me take another sip real quick. Okay. They're like..."why you keeping it vicuna for the uniform?" "Why your sense of humor need a humidor?" "Why you kick it with a tuning fork in human form Who can whip the pan awry, kind of like a Luminor?" Eight landaulets, pants are made of manta ray Fuck around and paint the Phantom like it's Santa's sleigh Supercomputer since booted through the uterus Lucifer your crew before you clue to who the shooter is Souchongs, oolongs, syrup out the samovar Ooh she bad, ooh she bad, hop up on these handlebars Black shades, brown frames, cream suede, tan cigars Remi hold heat like a candle jar Just got back from Zanzibar Tripped up, slicked up, purple out the pewter cup You ain't got the tools? No, no, no, no, you can't screw with us Duo too aloof in the coupe with some kittens, yeah Noodles to the tooth, I flew the coop with some chickens Catch up [Hook x2]
9.
Facel Vega 02:52
At the age of four, Blindfolded, Pot Man was able to discern Berluti from Lobb Paris by the sensation of fit alone. Simultaneously, He could detect the individual nuances of Gyokuro teas from eight prefectures. This prodigious aesthetic sense was both a blessing and a curse. Since anything short of perfection caused him intense sensory discomfort, Pot Man was unable to rap over most producers' beats. A trait that confined his work to writing Until he met Remington Iron. Make Chanel paper 28's on the Facel Vega Shells in the Benelli 'Feltro for raising hell later Blazing great since the shell-toe days They hate me like I'm separating Velcro tape But I'm an optimist: I copped the mint chocolate chip ostriches They cost a grip The John McLaughlin of exhausting clips Seen your posture from across the strip Unlawful shit, adopted it like a foster kid Lobster bib is often on if I've been verbing, If you've got a spine, I'm curving it I'll murder an invertebrate Swerving into skirmishes Each word a fifth of bourbon, If I serve it, get your torniquets Murder's what the verdict is... Samovar purchasing Pot Man is burgeoning Urchin for dessert and then Resurface in the 'vert I've been refurbishing Best of all, I'm merciless Purple on the stirrups and the rest of all the surfaces You might see me on a boat made for tuna Bait for rumors I'm moving weight, Yokozuna Overcoat vicuña Gloves peccary Could never get to me, however technically My bankroll is like a telephone directory And I tote the melatonin next to me...
10.
[Hook, x2]: Armagnac with the Parma ham Red and white Jag drop, call it farmer's tan (I got 'em like) "Don't harm us, damn!" A rapper can't scare me, but my karma can You're observing the habits of a Dirty ermine-having, nerdy abbot And word is that I'm maxing with the Persian cat And having Irma nab a certain bastard who'd prefer to have me perma-napping... (You eating good?) Call me Alton Rocking furs like the Baltic Hearse with the vaults in it, all tinted Silver straw, sipping on malteds (Malteds?) Halt it if y'all ain't exalting him right The welter weight Walter White came to alter your mic So don't falter, make a call to your wife and work your will out I don't name a rapper's name, I just send a bill out I don't rap for fame, that could take the thrill out Patinated at the matinee with my grill out Had to shake the krill out... Man, don't make me take the quill out [Hook x 2] I touched polyester once, and it turned woolen after (One time!) My turnbacks are Turnbull & Asser I could reach into a wormhole and back If you're reaching for that burn, pull it faster Jurassic amber on the handle of the blaster Folding Cambozola, hands a mandoline disaster... Hollow panels in the Jag, opps got me looking backward Rast & Gasser flashing, my macassar Madagascan Dick Dastardly, I'll have a bastard bashed in with the hatchet quick Casper with the cash and shit Basking on the Caspian, lavish with the fashion tip Had to give a dap to my Rapidograph Tapped the Ashton from the back of a giraffe I mourned Sebastian Horsley when he passed Orchids by the forklift, Porsches with the glass [Hook x 2] Yeah, you know what I'm talking about, baby, Deep in an Andean mineshaft. Garnets the size of fucking grapefruits. They finally came for that samovar, man. Had to hit them with the beat clap. That Jurassic amber. Yo, Pot Man, Where's the Jag? it's time for a victory lap.
11.
Jasper Hill 04:40
I'll have the dapperest haberdasher flabbergasted Lack Alaskan crab and Napa cabbage Had the masterful moustaches and the habits of a Captain Haddock A rap cat, a Zappa addict I act a rabbit, I Radagast it And for my cataracts, I bladderwrack it I grab a track and whip a raptor at it Atlas of ad-lib See me with that tractor beam, seemingly Reach up and I crack the attic Erratic, masochistic maximalist Massacre rappers with the tactical acumen, After which I get a slap on the wrist Mash-up of a honey badger and a black arachnid Plunge in with the thunder of a blunderbuss and wonder how to rack the Cabot... These other rappers' wit's alacritous as plaster casts, molasses, and a Cadillac in traffic I'll have the radio dispatcher ragged Pass the mic, I'll put them out to pasture gasping as I Pasternak it Out to get that cheese like Jasper Hill and Grafton Reefer Man LaFlare, master craftsman Your dude's reputed to be groovy, Supersuited doobie hoover Soothing tuning, new maneuver In pursuit, I whip the Buick If I'm oozing through, my duty is to neuter 'em Dish a scoop or two of this voodoo to your computer room "Dude, from whom is it?" That Marijuana Pot Man, Kind of goofy, but the noodle is voluminous I move into the booth atop a Newfoundland Bitch, I'm what the proof is in... Ha, I got em, it's the post-postmodernist Dadaist Think of a superlative: Marijuana Pot is it Rest assured, I'm a perverted verbal lobotomist I come through looking clean, kind of ominous Not a model kid, ask me where your daughter is i'll pick you off from the top of a Diplodocus And fuck an Audemars, I want to cop a Nautilus Hearken to the argument I'm kicking on a lark again I'll make a sparring partner gargle on the Parker pen Best 'em with the cestus and resist arrest Wrists a mess Conventional conceptually, but lexically a bitch to get Number two, call me Largo Skin tone tone of Escobar's car's cargo Keeping O's open like the star of Fargo I go High as Nard Dog banjo notes Plate full of escargot, I think I'm James Carville Really, no, I think I'm Russ Cargill 86, but I'm fucking with the bars still I made history: Marijuana just killed The 67 Chevy got the leather shell The liquid L sells better when the weather's swell And now I'm fucking with the birds like I'm Audobon Running from the Stasi on the Autobahn The 3.0 CSL got the bucket seats Remember back then, nobody couldn't fuck with me? But now I'm running from the Stasi down the Autobahn Marijuana Pot, motherfucker, where your daughter gone?

about

Three years. Pounds of shade-grown Japanese green tea. Garnets the size of grapefruits. Tsarist court jewelers on call for any and all dental work.

From Philly producer Remington Iron and Burlington rapper The Marijuana Pot Man comes ALABASTER SAMOVARS: an ambitious yet concise work of art, spanning multiple continents and countless rare hardwoods.

ALABASTER SAMOVARS is, admittedly, not for everyone. If you do not keep 20-30 high-temperature oils in your kitchen at all times; if your British Shorthair does not have a Swiss bank account; if you prefer your multisyllabic rhymes padded with suffixes; then, by all means, look elsewhere.

However, if you own a non-zero number of astrakhan overcoats; if the enamel on your teeth is vitreous; if the dashboard of your Hispano-Suiza has a microwave in it; this may very well be the album for you.


ALABASTER SAMOVARS is dedicated to the following individuals:

Nicholas Foulkes, aka Swellboy
Roc Marciano
Nubar Gulbenkian
Sai Wing Mock "Duck"
Henrik Wigström
Big Pun
Michael Porfirio Mason
Sebastian Horsley
Jeremiah Tower
Jon Zinter
Erik Kernan
Lily Leveret
Sam Heller
The entire staff at Wilton's (sorry about the mess)
Jean des Esseintes
Cam'ron
Michel Haillard
Danylo Bondar
The Harangutan
Edward Gorey
Besnik E. Sadikay

credits

released August 8, 2018

Vocals: The Marijuana Pot Man & Remington Iron

Production: Remington Iron
soundcloud.com/remington-iron

Cover art: John Keogh
lucid-tv.com

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about

Alabaster Samovars Burlington, Vermont

Alabaster Samovars consists of:

Remington Iron, producer and rapper

&

The Marijuana Pot Man, rapper

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