This week’s underground hip-hop track of the week is Puddinhead from Lone Wolf’s new album “Sum And Belief Are The Lone Wolf,” which I been bumping all week. The album is real chill and laid back, and nice to throw on at night after work and shit. I like Puddinhead because it’s basically a track contempating how a person gets older in hip-hop … something I deal with also. Click below to listen to the track:

And follow along with the lyrics after the break.

[Verse 1]
In a way I’m a stone like a volcanic spawn/
In these days with a form of a fair-weather pawn/
Is the norm like a catholic school uniform/
Where you have to put it on and a hat to belong/
I’m a songwriter dog and I been from the green/
Every bar is a farther departure from the scene/
Where the carpenter’s carving through their wood with a saw/
And they end up with a bandwagon sharp and not a raw/
While I’m all overalled and my hat made of straw/
When the long see the hay hanging down from my jaw/
Trying to draw with a knife made of stars into my block/
‘Til a nice piece of art do evolve, now a clock/
Don’t involve anything I create, get a eight/
Knock it down as the sound that I make/
Not a shape/
But a wood looking more like a shrine to the god/
That tell me late at night to write a timeless kinda song/

[Verse 2]
Halloween in the queen see Charlotte, Carolina/
Could you find a better town for the dude to be from?/
‘Cause it’s cool and it’s clean as the freshwater stream/
But it’s foul underneath like a freshwater stream/
Not NY, not New Orleans, ATL or Tennessee/
Got them hills and the sea, but it’s wedged in between/
As a teen I would dream of the stardom and the fans/
And the probable plans that would land me to fame/
Switching lanes with my man in a Pontiac Grand Am/
Youngins freestyling and slobbering all on dash/
Hit the mall feeling big but too small for our pants/
Headbands, Polos and Timberlands/
Following the ways of the famous emcees that we knew/
But them days long gone in the past but it ain’t through/
And it hurts when I hear grown man near my age/
That gave up being creative trying to hold on to them days/

[Verse 3]
I got a friend who’s a monster on the mic with a pen/
Who constantly be worried about being a has been/
‘Cause the jaw that be playing on the radio is so bad/
And it ain’t nothing but young punks that be all up in the mags/
He be asking me, ‘Hey Sum are we retarded, are we dumb/
For going through with this music, is our time really done?’/
I usually reply with a sigh and a shrug/
Take a deep swig of my brew and then respond, ‘Neither one’/
‘Cause it’s all pretty sad at the end of the day/
When these fools run around and they ain’t got a thing to say/
With twelve songs all about the same shit on their page/
And their lame ass careers ain’t gonna last past Wednesday/
Anyway they all sound the same to me/
I’m glad I ain’t grouped in with them niggas honestly/
‘Cause see they all chasing after hay/
With tears to blow away/
We want that Sade, Tom Waits and Curtis May/
Don’t we?/