Raging Bull [ep] [2014]

by D-Sisive x Tone Mason

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

      $5 CAD  or more




all lyrics written by: Derek Christoff|D-Sisive
all music produced by: Tone Mason

all vocals recorded by: Tim 'Timbuktu' Wallace, at FUN. Toronto, Canada.
mixed by: Rob 'Muneshine' Bakker
artwork: Brett Lindzen [ www.knapsackwax.com ]
cuts [Maybe I Will]: DJ Grouch

twitter|instagram: @derekchristoff

twitter|instagram: @tonemason
A week before Christmas, and two days before the release of this record – I was laid off from my job. Never has time been so appropriate to release a project like this. Sure, my albums are never filled with sunshine, but this flame came from a different pit.

Two months ago, I was contacted out of the blue by Grammy nominated producer, Mellenius [Tone Mason], via Gmail chat. It was a message so straight to the point I thought he messaged me by mistake. “I’m going to send you some new beats in a minute.” The last time we spoke was when I received a similar message from Toronto legend, Saukrates, to work with him on one of his new TM produced songs, Wednesday. Even then I don’t think I communicated with Tone Mason. Thrown off, I replied, “I think you have the wrong person,” and waited for an answer. I waited for three hours until I finally heard the notification bell. I clicked to the Gmail screen and read “No. I have the right person.” Next thing I know, my inbox was filled with monsters. Cinematic savages.

“We need to capture the rage,” Mellenius said. He brought up the movie, Raging Bull, and suggested the film be our foundation. I love the movie, and was totally down with the concept. We agreed to release the project on December 19th, the films 33rd anniversary. At the time, I was reading George Chuvalo’s autobiography, a Toronto-born boxer with a story similar to Raging Bull’s Jake La Motta. Everything clicked. I started writing.

A week before Christmas, and two days before the release of this record – I was laid off from my job. Never has time been so appropriate to release a project like this. I’ve always been fueled by struggle, and now my tank is full.

“So give me a stage where this bull here can rage.
And though I can fight, I’d much rather recite.” –Jake La Motta

That’s entertainment.


released December 19, 2013



all rights reserved
Track Name: That's Entertainment
I’m Jake La Motta in a basement, haunted
I'm Georgia Chuvalo in this cold Toronto
Scarred knuckles…Bleeding gums
A heathen bleeding on the Bible that I'm reading from
Biting the hands that I'm eating from
A gift from God…I’ve never needed one
He forgot my birthday so we're even
I'll never kiss the feet of someone’s son unless it's me he's from
A deadbeat father with a heart of coal
And this heart of coal has no plans for solid gold
Ready to leave at any moment without a thought or note
A product of my yesterday, so that's all I know
One too many hooks to the hollow skull
One too many right crosses to the swallow hole
Broken teeth…A swollen tongue
An exploding temple beside a smoking gun
A hole-in-one
I've only gone toe to toe with bums
And I'm tired of beating up these homeless fucks
Instead of shattering glass jaws in hopeless slums
I want to shatter platinum plaques and golden ones
Slap the faces of the artists you hang posters of
Courvoiser and Patron bottles thrown in clubs
Blood staining my golden gloves
Misplaced sanity
A large canned of assorted nuts
I’m Jake La Motta in a basement, haunted
I'm Georgia Chuvalo in this cold Toronto
Stray cats and sewer rats
Soda pop bottles and tuna cans
Nosebleeds and alley whores
Card games in candy stores
Dreaming of champagne and caviar
Marble columns and Italian cars
A daydreamer - piss poor - a broken artist
Pissing on my reflection in toilet water
Toss me that Mitch Williams pitch to Joey Carter
I guarantee fireworks and exploding stars
But I won't play the game the way they play it
So they refused to throw the ball
And I keep swinging it wind
The Derek Jeter of the batting cage
With Don Mattingly sideburns and a fatter face
While talentless hacks get handed a title shot
Because young girls may find them hot, but their recitals not
I've done in 5 what they won't do at all
And in less than 2 they'll all be down the garbage chute with Veruca Salt I've been through it all and still refuse to fall
I'm proud of every single bruise and scar
So give me a stage where this bull here can rage
And though I can fight, I'd much rather recite, ‘cuz…
I’m Jake La Motta in a basement, haunted
I'm Georgia Chuvalo in this cold Toronto
That's entertainment.
Track Name: Maybe I Will [ft. DJ Grouch]
I’m Fred Astaire on the canvas
I'm Sammy Davis
Gregory Hines in his tap shoes on cracked pavement
You're in the presence of a champion whose half made it
No belt holding up his pants with his hands raised up
Skipping rope in a dim, damp basement
Shadowboxing between the wall and a lampshade
All I see is you and my level of anger raises
I jab stronger and harder and move caffeinated
A combination of passion and rage
A raging bull in a China shop
Shattering glasses AND vases
I want your blood splattered on your fans faces
The fans who’d never ask me to autograph my name
A name nobody knows
From the waterfronts to the suburbs
The projects to the barrios, maricon
To white dreads in college dorms
Lit spliffs burning like Paul Walker with Marley on
Blanco, on a Ducati rolling
Up to your automo and pierce two shots through your Bugatti door
On to the next
I'm off…Gone with the wind
I want to see fireworks exploding above me
A sold-out crowd on their feet
Telling me they love me
My album loud on the speakers
Maybe I won't | Maybe I will [x3]
There's a thousand you’d and only one of me
Every fighter needs a theme song
And every artist needs an easel to bleed on
Every writer needs a sheet of paper and a pen
And we all need a bed sheet to dream on
Like Steve Tyler
A sleeping Viper
River Phoenix with a demon sleeping deep inside him
In a private Idaho with Keanna Reeves beside him
Sidewalk flat-lining…Joaquin dialing
He said… “I saw you on the net, you said that you're retiring…
you're a liar, motherfucker!”
Please be quiet
I retire and return every four weeks
You don't walk in my Jordans, mind your own sneaks
I was Amy Bi-Polar on a cold streak
And you're mad because I didn't wrap on your beats
Mandela sign language…Charade’ing it
Making a tonne of moves and ain't saying shit
Your record…Nobody's playing it
I'm Keenan Ivory…You ain’t even Shawn Wayan it, son i
Au Revoir
On to the next
I'm off…Gone with the wind
Track Name: ThoughtsFromAnOfficeCubicle
I need a million dollars
I need a million dollars
I need to fill my pockets with a hundred million dollars
I need to pick the winning numbers on the spinning balls, and
Win the lottery and pay off the collectors calling
I need a million dollars so I can quit my job, and
Throw my hard drive and monitor against the wall, and
Middle finger every manager that pissed me off, then
Flip my boss’s desk and piss on his carpet
But I don’t see a million dollars in my crystal ball, and
My Rogers bill’s two months overdue along with
Forty dollars my homeboy spotted
I promised I’d pay back a week ago
Not a problem
Another broken promise…I can’t afford a promise
A heartbroken daughter who will never go to college
The total opposite of what a responsible adult is
I’ve never seen a thousand dollars in my balance column
I need a million dollars
I need a million dollars
I need to fill my pockets with a hundred million dollars
I should be puffing on a pipe in pink silk pajamas
A made man…Dick swinging like Vincent Vaughn’s is
Flicking quarters at the CN Tower restaurant, and
Throwing litter out the window of my helicopter
But my Mastercard’s maxed and my credit’s garbage
Yesterday I got rejected for a Brick credit card
I’m starting to think a million’s not in my deck of cards, and
I don’t deserve a million dollars like Marisa’s Oscar
I’m sick of window shopping
I’m sick of hard day’s nights
Working like a dog
Beat like Ringo Starr sticks
The pressure’s on me
I’m one disconnected phone away from visiting a session at the bingo parlor
Eyeball the jackpot bingo caller
Pull a pistol on her and rob all of her winnings off her
Slip the wedding ring on her finger off her
Pawn her jewelry at Richmond and Jarvis
I need a million dollars
I need a million dollars
I need to fill my pocket with a hundred million dollars
I’ll never lose a wink of sleep with a million dollars
A fistful of dollars outweighs a guilty conscience
I can’t spend my life imprisoned in this dismal office
I need to fill my pockets with a million dollars
Track Name: Derek Sanderson
Seventeen dollars in the cheque account
I can't afford wrapping paper and it's December now
I'm trying to rap for paper and get my message out
Sick of being broke as fuck and the best around
They tell me shave the syllables and dumb the records down
Dennis Miller - will you cut the obscure reference out
I guess I'm too intelligent for selling out
Which makes me too imbecilic to sell my records out
That means stupid, stupid
Get the Websters out
And I don't mean Emmanuel Lewis, goof
Bitch, please
In my city I'm the Springsteen of sixteens
An underground hero and I don't need to pick strings
Laughed at as a child…Now I'm lapping my idols
My once-favorite rappers are my rivals
And I can kill them with my eyes closed, blindfolded
Hands both against my spine, tied
High on crack and that's my quote
My daddy named me Derek after Sanderson
A former Boston Bruin - slash – boozer – slash - addict
A disaster – slash - left-handed center with a heavy heart
Broke and on cocaine, who fell asleep in Central Park
I named myself D-Sisive when I was seventeen
Flipping through the dictionary, skimming through the letter “D”
Spelled it incorrectly, far from what it's meant to read
I'm trying to win a Juno, not trying to win a spelling bee
Promoters spelt it wrong on posters, unintentionally
Some added an extra “S”
Some added the letter “C”
And had me seeing red like a poinsettia leaf
Releasing kettle steam
Embarrassed, I went back to Derek C
And I accept I'll forever be connected to a name that was fresh to me
When I was seventeen
All that matters is the voice on the instrumentals
And not some pseudonym on a record sleeve
And that can be meant for me
Track Name: Afraid For Ava
We run faster with light pockets
And I'm the Ben Johnson of my block
Running when guns shoot - I sprint fierce
And when I say I'm the king, I'm sincere
But I still run in the shadows of giants
And I'm David waiting
Where you see fame from true skills
I only see lames on two stilts
Dropping the same three-pointers you're scoring
Only I’m in the schoolyard when I score them
And if a tree falls down in the forest
Fuck that…You get what my point is
You can only wear the crown when appointed
And I ain't paying for votes,,,Fuck the GOAT
What's great when a legend is ignored
Adored by a handful of members on the board
Lefsetz says…
If you're not blowing up, you’re not good enough
And I respond…
Bob, I could give a fuck about what you think
I know I'm top-tier
But the industry pretends that I'm not here
While the exclusive stars in Canada
Couldn't sell a record in Buffalo
Famous for not being famous
Afraid for Ava
I'm just thinking out loud
Drowning in these thoughts
Running out of breath
I forgot how to swim
I may never see the sun again
My little girl sleeps on my chest and I wonder what she dreams about
Eats, sleeps and shits
She barely leaves the house
Maybe she sees the images from the storybooks her mother reads aloud
When she dreams…
Maybe she sees daddy dancing in pajama pants
Trying to make her laugh
Or mommy singing lullabies softly until she falls asleep
Or is it all a dream?
Will Ava see her daddy as a failure?
Or respect him for chasing the dreams that made him a nightmare?
He never gave up or caved
In the basement remained
And the basement’s a state of mind
The cable guy
Why say “hello” just to say “goodbye”?
You either leave me alone, or stay the night
Will you remember me?
Will I be there when you walk the lanes of your memories?
Is my legacy…
Famous for not being famous
Afraid for Ava