somebodyraps.

…slowly chipping away…

This is one of those songs I’ve lived. Its also one of those songs that is actually comprised of bits and pieces of other songs I had originally set out doing, that were either weak, incomplete, or otherwise dead ends. 

Lyrics: somebody. 
Instrumental: ELENOR ft. Jat Cue, Matt Martians, Vince Staples and The RoseGold Dutch Masters

Lyrics:

Devil die slow, forks pitched— 
instead spoonfed Heaven with his eyes closed, torched lips, 
vomit pair of dice on the bathroom’s white floor, eyes snake through chunks of prayers sighed on the high stool, angel

hangover, non-sequitir the leader, day-to-day, thaw Hell with some twigs and leaves 
God’s sole conception, heels a senseless pair of dimes, empty two sense, 
head hoping lucky, the tail declined, 
Ninth shell to the beautiful, lift it and then pull it, fishing for barrels with, a dead 
liver full of bullets, 
Son of a gun smoke, charred blunt Sodomy, secondhand salt pillars, never parking Lot, so he’s, 
all driven, 
Chews the BS, 
Good boy, born again bib, spun charlotte web of blood adorn his lens, blinks, 
Carves a face on his smile, and it frowns… 
Scarlet scar drool the truth of life, nothing wrong

Zipper seized, pull across face, pain trapped in a maze of interlocking metal teeth, 
cuts are green, but stitches close China, northern lights underneath; 
vacuum up the broken heart, ammonia shines what’s left to beat, spotless nonliving being 
Mind racing, wrist razor roadmap; twitch, soul splits, brain goes sour, 
A sleepwalking zoloft binge, deflowered by his life he hasn’t given sex to no one since, he sobs but never weeps 
Hope drowns, suffers sweet, sits calm, swinging feet, no sense for the metronome, heart stops, mind snaps— 
The beat goes on, 
Skin splinters, gnawing bottom lip, molars pounded into powder, tongue swallowed, washes down with copper and opinions—smile widens 
Sleepy, hollow, with a blood-stained face, no one notices, 
Or cares, 
Where’s the vampires? 
Where’s the vampires? 
He avoids them, 
He avoids them, 
With a garlic-made front, and the fake warmth that he’s a good sun, 
Or cares, 
When his moms call, his eyes glaze; when she rolls over in bed to cuddle he squirms away, 
His face ends a sentence, 
But his heart’s sterile, never to germinate, 
He’s fried, sunny-side up, shivers and burn in place; and he’s at the fork, pauses, sitting still, 
But, behind that smirk its all left, isn’t it?

Smile, laugh, smile, laugh, smile, laugh, smile wide! 
Smile, laugh, smile, laugh, smile, laugh, smile wide! 
Smile, laugh, smile, laugh, smile, laugh, smile wide!

…i feel secure.

…what to even say about this? If there’s a song thus far that would explain my childhood, it would be this. Like most of my work, I didn’t plan or set out to make it; I just started listening to the beat (shout-out to KIN/Patriot Production of course) and the flood-gates opened. I just happened to be lucky enough to get them onto paper, er, notepad text file.

Lyrics: somebody. 
Instrumental: Hercules by KIN

I sit and I draw 
I sit and I write 
I sit and I hide 
Because its… safe…

Four-corner heaven, cigarette hindsight, outside brick and mortar experiments mirror live, 
Left-hand feed, 
Human condition sideshow, little latchkey kid, born snoring on the tight—rope, 
They’re walking sleep to the pound, wrong code, short leash, animal control performed to the beat, 
God’s dirty little secrets, inner-city, pull it back, show the scalp, 
Hope’s doing doughnuts in a cul de sac

Bed-trapped dreams, gunshot opera sound-track despair to a hole in the head, 
Look in the reflection, adjust the catacomb over 
Little canines stray from a plastic jawbone, 
Dog-eat-dog inner-city temple nappy grown coronal, 
Deep-rooted, 
Pick naps, 
Collect all the carrion from the dead land, seeds, stitch them into esoteric crafts, 
Wee barbershop of horrors, 
Keep the days refridgerated, seized; take to the head, lead razor shave 
Cast the crown clusters at the next dead man’s feet, 
Who was that at the door? 
Little kids say come and play, 
No, he doesn’t want to dance the run and tag ballet, 
Who was that knocking for? 
Teens exclaim come and hang! 
No, once bitten, defanged, now werewolves gaze and they see a stake, 
Crying drool from their lips, cannibal melodrama— 
…but its dry in here 
Mouthful of cotton, 
Shattered pattern baldness, 
Daily dose of blank page, screen glow dogma, draw the blind so I can’t spot them 
I don’t talk to them—everyone is royalty 
Welfare kingdoms, pawn store thrones; marching armies of the downtown bus 
Strict metronome diet, 
Of breakfast raps of ash, flesh, and bones and groundhog guts… 
…

Heaven in four corners.

Don’t look up.

…this song is weird. It started as another song from an earlier effort. It was called ‘deadleaves.’, and while the core concept was the same, it featured a different sonic background, and a different mood altogether. However, since I started working on this new mixtape, this, and a lot of other songs have just been marinating on my backburners. If its one thing creating music has taught me, its that sometimes, instead of having two weak songs, it is better to kill both off, steal their organs and put them together in a new body (…that’s kinda dark, lol). 

The name just kinda stuck. I wanted to originally keep from using ‘melancholy’, but I find the sings name themselves, and I didn’t want to force my hand on any part of the tape.

Lyrics: somebody. 
Instrumental: Four Years by KIN

Loose leaf life, red between the lines; hook, fleed height, to beds, leaves flying, look, bled tease divine, shook, just weep and cry, 
Dropout, thought I can fly, runaway till I found her, one night stand—naked city’s outskirt; love like sand, leaves slash lacerate, beams flash, glance and slap my face, heaven follows in small sips, I gaze awkwardly; 
I loved her… cause one day she’d translate God for me; 
Butt, 
Of a cigarrette they said, 
Set the forest aflame… smoking ligaments I read as I walked, head spinning rough, neck lifting up…

Screams, shrieks, fountains of life, ten crimson trucks

I… couldn’t save her—

I died in the arms of a charcoal skeleton, eyes fly alarmed till the hood’s drawn, dwelling in, heart froze, hellish tint, 
dyslexic religion, running in circles with no angles, six Hades chambers, snap hurricane, pull trigger—salvation… 
Lack bravery, angst, sold killer, cold feeler, a black hurting pain, no nigger—champagne then…

…And I saw the rest stand 
I can be saved? 
Heh, stash that thought in the palm of God’s left hand…

Must’ve put the bones on wrong, misfit in this skin, pushed to rip flesh off, get broken til these calcium twigs fit…

But twigs split…

-sigh-

I’m just a pile of wishbones 
Burn the dead forest in my trash just for a look—one

Just for a look… one.

…

Heavy, blackened irises buried in matrimony, soiled body bags 
Understanding sill plates 
Push up with both hands, till Daisy’s a grown mattress, a killer lay, silver 
Fork in my abdomen, sore, ravaged and shattered ribs, that whore snatched them and dipped, naked drum, ill made, left 
Trashed and salvaged in the talus, roll lab vocals and melt letters till the male’s changed,

cold experiments snowball, and still the failure’s the same,

Brittle bones in the right arm, figure sprinting my life with sore feet would lead to divine balm, 
More tears with torched seeds, sight’s far but torn, the lore, fright caused by an azure ceiling 
Shifting minutes till the night falls, 
Same old, cold wrecked duplex with the lights off 
Broke—no bill, froze in the nest; groan in my chest, windows tight closed

Safe with my neck bent and eyes low, talk to concrete and die slow, 
Slumdog refugee, shrine of some large maple trees, afraid of the sky so..

I pray to the dead leaves…

Another dawn 
Dust the chalk off myself, good mourning, pour the water from the iris to help down the speedbump of cards that I’m dealt, brakes on china, west; take in serial, nothing lost, I’m all I digest,

I’m all I digest… 
I’m all I digest… 
I’m all I digest…

…I’m all I digest.

Elevator climax, 
Walking skyscraper, world bleeds from the wounds, 
Heart lies, waiting 
Shaking hands grasp the hood 
Eyes write their epitaphs on the concrete 
Until… 
Cold toe cliffhanger, 
Slow fall down, 
Pickpocket stares from below, 
love-free runt, 
Why wait? 
A hundred broke blind dates, 
Turn and gaze upward, hood pulled back, and weep

…and last, our eyes meet

Fifty percent of television shows now end in divorce.

…but don’t they though? LOL, no, I really love this song and how it came out. MAJOR shout-outs to Jat Cue, Matt Martians, Vince Staples and The RoseGold Dutch Masters (totally CTRL-Ced that) for a masterpiece of a song, and a dope beat (don’t sue me).

This song was like, the beginning of the end. 2012’s seen my ‘creativity’ spike; usually, it goes in cycles; I have a period where I’m messing around in FL Studio for like 8 hours working on an instrumental, then busy scribbling little nothings over some Golden Age beat, then playing Transformers: FOC and yelling at my screen.

Friggin hate Infiltrators.

I would say the song is one of my favorites, but… I mean, shouldn’t ALL of an artist’s works be their favorite?

Lyrics: somebody.
Instrumental: ELENOR ft. Jat Cue, Matt Martians, Vince Staples and The RoseGold Dutch Masters



Lyrics:

Buried under pair of lips, miscarried marriage ends, ring without a tone, mime proposing with a carrot stick,
black and white, contrary variance, racing stripes gallop in a carousel, seared larynx carries, parents stare in fair embarrassment, please, run out of love, die and roam, find some ghost with a care to give,
Feral stare, apparent tear, careless, shared weariness, trade vows for a bear, I’m daring for a barren bed, she’s with other folks, I’m licking gold for the ferry—Styx, broke after fare is spit, can’t afford a home, whine pouring with a hair of wimp, touring with no heir of cents, divorced my life, a normal-bred American

Born to lonely-locked lips, awkward, arteries deep-sixed, Adam given with love, she walked him along her ribs, hitched, growth and hardships, cupid martyred, started to seem split, he’s pissed, sees it as cheating, she only dials in, but there’s others-
They’ve seen her naked, her whole body,
Didn’t pack his dreams, he fleed the rut they shared disimpassioned
index curl, pigeon flies
off the palm, and flips acrobatics,
Dead’s his new favorite passed time but when her eyes lock, she bats lashes, and he found fangs…she sings soft, gleam falls, lying with two, mouths she rings false…
Devil revolve her, drawn in a sweet heaven—a winged cellar, doorless make
The point’s blank, and he’s cut to a commercial heartbreak, poof, not a sole left, his foot’s out of print without a burden of bulletproof…

Chicken flavored, preferably.

…this was one of those ‘happy accident’ songs, one that had a lot of help coming into existence from my first heartbreak. I had really liked the instrumental already, but beforehand everything fell apart in my emotional life, I couldn’t write anything to it. 

I had gotten all kinds of caught up—and wasn’t writing for months, wrapped up in this girl who didn’t care at all for me; but then when the heartache started, (and I realized how much it sucks to spend a weekend alone) I needed something to take my mind off of her.

So I started to write.

Lyrics: somebody.
Instrumental: DJ Razzie of Ethereal Universe

Lyrics:

Bang bang, whiplash, the main train—its crashed, switched tracks,
gaze glazed, brain maimed, sit back, the rail freight, its smashed, inhale, gape, big gasp, snail pace, pale face, same dame

drift past;
Black bag wit with a grave cradled pen—black, decay flakes, spit tracks,
Can’t grab with, mad since, dazed, she dates the same lame riff raff—
man, ain’t fazed… can’t win, trapped in this crazed haze, say nay, break chains, fade, split fast, pain, hate, days abrade,

lay abased, dead man,
Crack fat whips, mack black chicks, stack racks, act mad sick, but the brain stay flipped back,
Miffed that chick had
Your heart all in it
Then dashed with Ash
Wound carved, pause, sob in it

Self-detest iminent, wedded regret limitless, lead foot by pulse, deafened begets ligaments, bred soot and sulk, ignorant cult

witness, an infinite soul stigma with flippant controlled mental’s a sickening old riddle of pitiful sold living implodes into

a clenching fist of cold dental, its college with dead temperatures, a perfect circle, menstrual—a said sentence, art of my

arteries, this red book is cold… it slept with lit cigarettes…

I’m alone
I slept with lead cigarettes…

Branded with your name, I’m stranded, a maddeneding game, push onward, cracking, fanatic sabbatical pain, till it accordions to

martyring artist blues…

And my heart.. all it can say is barbq,
Break her off an artery, smoked myocardial, yeah I know, cardinal sin metacarpal, tunneling to the palm where the memories are

kept, soft skin, small wrists, warm hands—all science friction

Mentally inward, iller with whiffed lyrics that kill over swift rhythms, spit lickety-splickety ickedy split wickedly,

sickening, rip enemies silly that diss twistedly, dismiss it and vividly fists will get stiffening, motor-mouth sign language

will get you to think differently, lifting tickety tickety bent to flip wizardy onto kids mentals, simply itching to switch

chemistry; swiss gets little, with the stitching to bridge symmetry; this spit’s silly,
Killing quickly with singed, dizzing, flipped scripts written, scribble cinnamon sniff witchery,
dim lit, six sense slithers and hiss willfully,

Underground… undead

Liar, …foolish
Extending metaphors just to burn a bridge
She was beautiful
Back to little two, big one,
Pissed off at life, again… just rapping to a cup of noodles