Violin
The violin is a string instrument in the violin family. It is the smallest and highest-pitched instrument in the family in regular use. The violin typically has four strings tuned in perfect fifths, and is most commonly played by drawing a bow across its strings. Violins are important instruments a wide variety of musical genres. They are most prominent in the Western classical tradition and in many varieties of folk music (where the violin is often known as the "fiddle"). However, violins are also frequently used in jazz, a number of different forms of rock and roll and metal, and descendants of folk including country music and bluegrass music. Further, the violin has come to be played in many non-Western music cultures all over the world. The violin is sometimes informally called a fiddle, regardless of the type of music played on it.
The violin was first known in 16th-century Italy, with some further modifications occurring in the 18th and 19th centuries. In Europe it served as the basis for stringed instruments used in western classical music, the viola and the violin. Violinists and collectors particularly prize the instruments made by the Stradivari, Guarneri and Amati families from the 16th to the 18th century in Brescia and Cremona and by Jacob Stainer in Austria. According to their reputation, the quality of their sound has defied attempts to explain or equal it, though this belief is disputed. Great numbers of instruments have come from the hands of "lesser" makers, as well as still greater numbers of mass-produced commercial "trade violins" coming from cottage industries in places such as Saxony, Bohemia, and Mirecourt. Many of these trade instruments were formerly sold by Sears, Roebuck and Co. and other mass merchandisers.
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(Down) The Left Hand Path
by: Cage* I was mislead, but once I found the way
I convinced a group of 19 that they should drown today
How I flipped it, clipped it after madness
Then the dead came back and haunted the wrong address
Cause they some stupid dead motherfuckers
Just like all you bitches, all Weathermen fluffers
And I get my shoes polished
By the best open mic emcees paying Timbaland's homage
In this day and age
If your deck ain't playing Cage
You probably disgruntled your Mrs. Funnel mayonnaise
Or I ain't get the right palm
My whole career been a upstream kayak through blood
My tools love, seeing the face of opponents
Seconds before they scull and wig savor the moment
Light up a Jay, cast silence over Bob
And hair stuck on the ground, shit I might as well rob the dead
[Chorus]
Hear this to the DJ then track the clubs
Lift the cover of my CD then see what acid does
Don't just stand there looking like some average thugs
If there's a chick standing next to you then grab her jugs
And if you ain't grabbin' the dough when they ass below
Then you come back to the crib wearin' a mask and gloves
Then you go back to the club stinkin' of ass and blood
Joke some kid up diggin' pockets and snatch the drugs
I a backwards education
Studied some chick with broken navigation
All this anti-Cage demonstratin'
I don't pray to Satan
I pray on agents makin'
Shapeable minds
Capable of firing traceable 9's
But not at any kegs that make they snout's see
I don't know what I wrote till' I spit and my mouth bleeds
Look, more patterns to market
Not even naming I'm standin' a walkin' target with shoppers that look at me
awkward
Granted I got a canon and my freakin' mouth's leakin'
Cause my crew put more dust in the air than house keeping
If you sleeping you're getting woke the fuck up
Like you're parents while you bought this and smoke the fuck up
With some much rhymin' in the NYC
I carry 9 millimeter in the back of Taxi
While I thought music prevented GOB servants
And a cycle of brain wash entertainments to detergent
[Chorus]
If my thought patterns
Brought palans to Walt Adams
And spit violence and death, then kids start gaddin'
Bloody ear canal
Hold it down with a towel
Cause by the time the verse hatch your stomach's hangin' out
We got a verse on the loose, let's get these mouth zippers
Buy six drinks a night then wake up and wear 'em as house slippers
I'm just fuckin' with you bitch, don't get offended
This ain't your average anti-pop record with a happy ending
Go ask your block
School body and bastard pops
How the fuck you get your hands on acid drops
Music television repellent for kids with extreme views
Start torchin' labs to light the team's fuse
I've gotten plottin', rotten ? been chewing
I keep my hands in it with no tangible influence
Whether a Clockwork Orange or a murderous night
A book of what my pops did to Tony Burgess's wife