Week 5 Paint Thinner Flow

(Crocker Verse)

/Holla!, Holla!, naw I'm just foolin'/ Crocker! Crocker! Doin' my one, two-in'/ Bastards, baby, this here is a movement/ Bitches be like "Slow it down, you too confusing"/ They wanna be P. Didd., I wanna be J. Prince/ Rap a lot, bitch, and be on my independent/ Six for every album, I'll cover the promo/ Contractual heat-slinger; Hideo Nomo/ Two-faced execs. try and play me for slow-mo/ Play Nelly, "Check the Telly," I don't need you no mo'/ Build a fan base and do my distribution/ Or let them do it, for one-tenth of what I'm moving/ Proof in the pudding, I don't need an endorsement/ "Mr. Ed smiles" tryna feed me some horse shit/ Goldilocks ain't bout to come close to my porridge/ 'Cause you should never EAT, if you ain't work FOR IT!/

Week 3 Who Better Than Me

(Hook)
/Better move 'fore you lose it/ No need in actin' foolish, I'm the best at this true shit/ Walking around askin' "who better than me?"/ "Not you, or you, nor you, or you/ Better move 'fore you lose it/ No need in actin' foolish, I'm the best at this new shit/ Walking around askin' "who better than me?"/ "Not you, or you, nor you, or you/

(Crocker Verse)
/Molecular structure, will puncture any motherfucker/ That dare stray...or try to cross the juncture/ I'm of a different makeup, a different breed of MC/ That's why I laugh at the gall of ya'll tryna test me/ Best me? I doubt that/ Real shit? I'm bout that/ Crocker; Only cracker bringing the South back/ It's more than swagger or the delivery enabled/ It's what chivalry you bring to the table...bitch/  I'm of a different caliber, a parabola/ You're weak, like five minute trips off Salvia/ I'm incensed for the sick shit, words are endless/ Dimwit, been fit, never try to flip this/ It's on baby boy, what you'd rather try see?/ It's Spartanburg, bitch, like a Southern Fried Sting/ Holler at a 'Bama, Blue Ribbon & some women/ Make use of her digits, then dispose of her linens/

Week 7 Sandlapper Swagger

(Crocker Verse)
Caleb, I think they hate me/ They front like they tough and they're bare-knuckle rough.../But I know that they fugazi/ Spit 'till my throat raw, bend every note raw/ 'Bout to plucked and 'bout to fucked like...what you drop the soap for? (Pause)/ Anyway I write 'till I mutilate my cuticles/ Arthritis premature, but, it feel so boo-tiful/ 'Bout that, 'bout that, holler out South Crack/ Every bar "bump," like my mouth done got a gout patch/ Button down shirts with a pull-over sweater.../ Animal control flow; Pull pussy better/ Spit nasty shit like every tooth is abscessed/ Play your beat,  I jack it, I'm a motherfucking bandit!/ Bastard, kid, just ask your bitch/ What you can do, when, you task a clit/ Rover, red rover, send them bitches over/ Wouldn't know a fresh cut, if I put stitches on your shoulder/

(Kronkite Verse)
/Outrageous, contagious, amazing, just blazing, Caucasian/ I be in the kitchen just baking until my dough is steady raising/ You runnin', I'm gunnin' for number one, before the summer/ And best believe I won't stop 'till all you rappers are under/ the dirt, ya worth is nothing of comparison, embarrassing/ cause ya all need to stop, if ya career ya cherishing/ You see the signs of the road, all the heads shaking no/ Telling me I'll never make it, my breath I need to save it/ let me tell how I got to where I am/ No money from hungry, greedy Uncle Sam/ I scrimped, dipped, and saved, you limp pimps just play/I'm just here to say, to get out my way/ 'Cause today is the day that I take my frustrates/ Out on whoever steps up to the plate/ Your flows, I will take them, and your hoes I will rape them/ And your lows I will make them my highest expectations/

Week 1 Every Time I Touch Mics

(Crocker Verse)
/Carolina baby, but, you already knew that/ Rap's Silva, I'm iller, pound the track 'till it's blue,black/ Fuck should I front for? Comfortable, true facts/ Flip a Madlib and go polly with Loot Packs/ Fresh with the words, Listerine tonsils/ Dabbled in the magic; Christine O'Donnell/ Toss a lil' seed and watch the hens peck/ Then they cry and scream when I leave 'em; Glen Beck/ It's all shit's and giggles, 'till I hit em in the middle/ Self-esteem'll start to dwindle/ Dig 'em even more, if they're lil', very nimble/ Designated hitter, now they wanna call me Terry Pendele...ton/ My spit weighs a ton.../ Your bitch dates a....bum/ You feed 'em, I beat 'em/ Suckas are too lame/ Fantastic bastard, all I know is a blue flame/

Week 8 Our Condolences

/Peer into my mind as my thoughts coagulate/ Bind to form the bars as the people gravitate/ Destiny tryna court me; trial, magistrate/ Just picking up on me? Man, damn...you late/Best hide your bravado, war up out my sorrow/ Rhyme technicolor..you seein' things mulatto/ White & black mixture, South Crack fixture/ They count on me, on the low, Outback census/ Open up your senses, this greatness in the flesh/ Born to be an idol, young, chasing after death/ Baruch atah Adonai, they try and cut my wings off/ Try and shift the weight, try and push off the see-saw/ If ain't the best...bear a witness and subpoena/ I'm after cold cash, yo, Medina that's anemic/ Push weight up out my mouth, resembling bulimics/ But, bet it's all fresh, like it's bathing in Febreeze and/ Seventeenth bar and I'm just cutting my teeth in/ Bet I'm spittin' A.I.D.S., see the lesions when I'm breathing/  Worsens with the seasons, believe it when I speak it/ More heat between the measures than "23" & Cleavland/ Got the word from Pico, their talent is poquito/ Tony Clifton swagger, Kaufman with my steelo/ They spy on the kid, like it's Porky's and the peep hole/ Claimin' that you "fire," well, I'm negative below/ President precedent setter, definite deficit better/ Put your chips on me and bet that the deficit betters/ John Wesley descendent, Hardin is my makeup/ Time, pardon what I take up, I'm just trying to save us/ Cut from a fabric, that's now since endangered/ They spoke of my coming like that baby in the manger/ Respect when you hear it, nobody's coming after/ Won't claim to be your savior...Just an angry cracker.../

Supernova Burnout

(1st Verse)
/Critical enough, feel it's pivotal to touch/ That essence 'fore it leaves and eviscerates the dust/ Just to muster up a lyric that capitulates my trust/ To think self-sacrifice demonstrates my love/ I see the hand of the clock, I'll demand that it stops/ Damned, tryna plan, and Uncle Sam on my jock/ Youth a shame of a sham when you stand on a prop/ But what's the worth of a man? Where he lands or how he drops?/ Carolina's abstract, wunderkid, tea sippin' Mad Hat/ Measure me, how I build, not by my ASCAP/ Praise to be God, I keep fallin' to the trappings/ All I took from Jesus was love and take your lashings/ So past transgressions and all man's lessons/ I'm a fucking emcee that demands your attention/ Whether broke or prosperous, po' or prosperous/ You can call rappers "hot," just distinguish me as phosphorous/

(Hook)
And I might fall/ And this might burn down/
But right now, I won't turn down/
Told me, you'd thought I'd learn now/
'Nother cliche, supernova burnout/

(3rd Verse)
/Absent but I'm present, sometimes I'm second guessing/ I'm the man, but still a man, and mistakes are my collections/ See me with my shrine and the temple I'm erecting/ Watch it go astray and no one find objection/ I'm in my prime, sure, but when I leave...so my legacy as well/ Yet and still, leave the best of me in every bar I yell/ 'Cause who among you'se really testing me for real?/ Crocker, ye and far, I wrote the recipe for ill/

Week 41 Faites-Le A Mort

Cabbage patch in Hackensack, couple broads back to back/

/Bout as ugly as a midget tranny smoking bath salts/Waiting on T, that fat fucker is tardy / With these Cheers winos siting giggling hearty/   

See em, the footwork is like Christopher Walken/But he's short and smelling like a miniature Balken/  I hope it's worth what his fam' will have to spend on a coffin/And tell my mans chill, that his liquor has tossed him/ That's when Lurch swings, so I weave like Lennox/ Take a switchblade seize his appendix/ remember the winos like all I need is a witness/And a third strike means that I won't see christmas/

Yo T! The fuck you been at?!

CHILL!

BE REAL, I CAME FOR THE BLOW

Fuck Bobby Hurley,  bitch ruined my Filas/ Blood stained stripes now they lookin' Adidas/ T, you strapped, them pigs plot to roast us/ Let's plow a quick gagger and cock that toaster/

Thinking of last night, using all of my rubbers/ That pussy hummed like it was blind as shit/ T this it, the car's  half a block at nine and fifth/

Bitch quit eyeing my shit/ Wipe my crack with my hand in your eyes and shit/

 Reach into my coat, tighten my grip/ Pull The M3, pump two in the captain/The other 3 fire, buncha bullets, no action/

T busts out, hare triggers his Uzi/ Mows down two like he remembered a movie/The last fires a shell that pierces his neck/ T falls next to Walt, breath screaming respect/

He fires one last round, caught in the pig in his his chest/Says if I'ma do it, I'ma do it to death/

Week 4 Jonesin' For A Smoke

/Saw my man down, he looked teeming with plight/ So...I said some funny shit, like, "Jesus is white"/ Just because I'm a bastard, they won't believe that I'm nice/ Liar! Ask your wife, how I treat her with pipe/ Fuck a check, give me respect and my stamp/ My logic makes sense, I'm after Gregory Grants/ Think your bars hard? I run a sediment plant/ Kid's disrespectful, learn some etiquette man/ Popcorn rappers, hope you choke on a kernel/ /Number one on the hit-list, that you keep in your journal/ Say he best? He's taking a piss, like he's frontin' a urinal/ Heard he sports nighties, likes to stunt with a gerbil/ Refrain from the lane I'm rolling in/ Chill when I'm in, they know it's him/ Grab my nuts then I hold my brim/ Hold your breath and then soak it in/ Say I think I'm better...well it's probably true/ Asking who is next...son, it's probably you/

/Grab your whiskey bottles and imbibe like this/ Son, burn a lil' Lah, try subside this shit/ Not a patron to a party where you wallow in your pity/  So follow all the hollows as I swallow up the city/ St. Pierre status, there's nobody left/ So as I'm waitin' in the ring, I might body the ref/ Damn right I spit coke, X, molly, & meth/ And they a paraplegic frat, won't nobody step/

Week 14 The Beauty Of Afterbirth

For my city, neighborhood, the place where I'll die at/ Made a couple calls and swore of a wire-tap/ Followed now and then, cause of cats that I hang with/ Hand of one, hand of all, think it's the same shit/ Paranoid, late night, higher than jet planes/ Seeing headlights, I'm as stiff as cassette tapes/ Sitting on the thought of the moment regret makes/ Watching every word, cause of places your breath takes/...You know what I mean man?/ Seen dumb shit that you wouldn't believe man/ Charge after charge, like I was crowding the paint/ Go in, in the night, be out in the day/ Constantly pulled with the same exact rap/ Searched more times than a dealer at fat camp/ The same ol' police, you'd know if you seen/ But it's getting too much, if it's getting routine/

Week 20 The Proclamation

/On my o-four grizzle, lil' slow burn sizzle/ Caught between heaven, hell, purgatory twiddle/ It's never what it seems to be, never be as simple/ So i document the trials, 'tween the crashing of the cymbals/ Success if you hear me, I'll never sell my standards out/ Even if that means, that I'll never see my album out/ Nurse another Newport, working on my next scheme/ But couldn't catch the wave if I was piloting the jet-ski/ Probably see some scratch if I compromised my sound/ Be hot up in the streets, be the talk all over town/ But what fucking good is that, when the market is down?/ The only artist 'round they ain't targeting now/ Ironic underground; cause it's over your noggin'/ Never thought, "too smart" could be all of the problem/ Keep begging me to please, dilute the solvent/ Like, that'll be the day, that they neuter a Crocker/

Week 2 Pie With Aunt Bee

(Crocker/ Verse 2)
/Ride beats, flow'll stray, colder, Jon Benet/ Or Benoit/ Hear voices, enigmatic like bent stars/ I cast a shadow like that of Goliath/ I'd've crushed David, raps too frustrating/ Replayed the ending to the tune of Waylon Jennings/ Stacked a few corpses and surveyed my winnings/ Massacre the game and converge with clips/ Son of Sam, I am the son of David Berkowitz/ When my time's up and my life's recapped/ I would've eaten enough rappers to force having teeth capped/ Vlad The Impaler, picturesque when I nail her/ Like..who would Jesus kill? And who was his tailor?/ Hate encapsulated with arsenic and a smidgen of lead/ Dear Lord, I am lost in the land of the dead/ Henceforth, barter salvation through the steel of a sword/ Behead Antoinette and keep slaughtering more/

(Crocker/ Verse 3)
/Confined in a rhyme that knows nothing of structure/ In time, the grind realigns and unwinds at a juncture/ It's up to me to tempt fate/ And bleed it like it menstruate/ Grip the pen and squeeze until the ink's raped/

/ Violate the pad with obscene visions and come-on's/ And eulogize departed, who I feel were done wrong/ Brimming with capitalism and a side of fascism/ Outlast the timid and buy and sell women/

With the sickle...I am so damn despicable/ Make an outright diss seem like a subliminal/ Far beyond the restraints of fear or apprehensions/ Rap's "G" with a compass, collapsing buildings/

Mother-fuck the rest of whoever the hottest/ I'm hard, like I finger-fucked a mythic Greek goddess/ Cease fire, lest, you stupid or suicidal/ You brow-beat, I beat bitches with Bibles/

Week 15 The Change-Up

They talk who they tout, saying dog he steamin'/ But they a joke to me rappin' son, Joaquin Phoenix/ Skill level show they just parsley greenish/ My bars the entree, beg par I'm Stephen/ So do you pop the Tre or do you rock-away?/ I think you take it in the mouth for cheese; Sascha Grey/ Flash in the pan ass; Timothy Tebow/ I give em dope bars, son you feed em placebos/

Beat change, think it's time for reflection/ But fuck that, the hard's on, like a perm-ie erection/ Competition where? Son, procure me the next one/ Ain't hard to understand like a hermie's depression/ Talk about my bars like...he'll befuddle you/ He's too hardcore bitch...E.C.W./ Leader of the New Dawn, Jim Jones shit/ Then I'm ballin' in her mouth...Jim Jones tip/ Herringbone, neck-bone, I flavor the tasteless/ The hard to baking soda, I bring base to the baseless/ Tired of new rappers...you slittin' your wrist yet?/ If I wanted slick talk...then I'd throw on some Dipset/

Week 23 My Repressed Former Self

The heart of me is notes on a measuring scale/ In a raincoat, umbrella, weathering hell/ And whether I fail, is beside the message/ With a book of regrets and some second guesses / Went to bed with that injury, that'da been the end of me/ one last lullaby sung so tenderly/ Looking eye level, death in the pupil/ Day away from Church and from seeing the pews filled/ Kind words, tears, and that's all she wrote/ One final prayer and to the dirt I go/ You ever faced that?/Outright forced to face fact/Wake up to IV's, your split up parents/ Looking down like your a corpse, won't quit staring/ Ask what you need... so sentimental/And you reply a pen, paper and a instrumental/ Just cheated death and you just wanna write/ Beat bump between vomiting all through the night/Now tell me what you know about dedication?/ Not in the stratosphere of the specification/ Severed brain nerve endings, and sixteen measures/ Puking hurts, but them bars? Pristine pleasure/ Middle finger wagging through the blitzkrieg weather/ G-d shined on me, I do the sixteen better/

A Song For You

Verse 1:
/Off but I'm on, need I say more?/ What and how do I do, when can't reach the door/ Seems like a chore, one that ain't too fruitful/ Makes me question self-worth and if I'm that useful/ Hate you but I love you, always comforting/ Known you'd never leave me here wondering/ Since Dad left, you've been right there by me/ Throwing gas on the fire so it ain't that dying/ School after school, you kept near by me/ So it was either fists flying or me, broke down, crying/ Over Dad, step-dad, always inspiring/ Me, to bring hate, either out or inside me/ Had me five years old put a kid on a stretcher/ Daycare calling' Mom, telling' her to come get him/ Diggin' in the sandbox, tunnel to hell/ Naw, I ain't a shrink, but I think, something had fell/

Verse 2:
Guidance counselor after counselor, you stood right by me/ 1st thru 5th, as the time went flying/ Fight after fight, you ain't stop trying/ Then you'd guilt me on Sunday as if you ain't try me/ Mom's tripping on us talkin', says I shouldn't know you/ I'm playing dumb like "Who?" She says, "He'll control you"/ Held me when she was hurting, mental or physical/ And when it got pivotal, you proved to be critical/ Woodbine, woodbine, just you, me, and Mom's/ I miss it so much, but, fuck that song/ Ten years old: you showed me what coke does/ Never could recall when you showed me what hope was/ Showed me: Love doesn't last, shoe always drops/ And if I ever got close, made sure it always stopped/ When we left the city, you hopped in with me/ Tried to let you go, but I knew you'd miss me/

Verse 3:
/Always said you were enough and I always bought that/ If I tried and forget, you always brought back/ If it was self-esteem, I always lost that/ And you'd look aways, as if, you ain't saw that/ Took away my fight, just left me to take it/ Fuck was that about? You knew that I'd hate it/ Turned cheek after cheek, until I regressed/ Just began to keep quiet, kept it all in my chest/ Play some heavy metal, start dreaming' of death/ Start reciting all the reasons that I would have left/ And here we are again, a decade later/ The same mix playing and I reach for the fader/ Nineteen years, you've been playing my savior/ But every time I think, it was you'd who I'd cater/ Matter fact, fuck you, and your backhanded blessings/ I'm sick and tired of you, my grandstanding depression/

I Think I'm Black

(Verse 1)
/That boy go bananas, throws fingers at cameras/ Is too open when he paints his picture up on a canvas/ Likes to reference G-d and then follow with dammit/ Has a problem with is heritage, continually trash it/ Did a track, with a Muslim, claimed our country was fascist/ In the vid, he made salat, the hell's with that shit?/ Bet he's a sympathizer, or a terrorist worst/ Started singin' "Kill Whitey" last show that they worked/ Stood up, on that stage, with that arrogant smirk/ I'm sure he's insecure, and a terrible jerk/ Keeps mixed company, blacks, Jews, and the like/ Like deep down inside, he's ashamed that he's white/ Saw him in the Jailbirds, spent a couple of nights/ Bet his mother is disgusted, keeps him out of her sight/ Bet when she speaks with her friends, never speaks on his life/ Pretends like he isn't there, just to save her the spite/

(Hook)
/Don't pay him attention, he don't know who he is/
/Little insecure prick, pretend he flow and he spit/
/Boy wanna be black, tries to show that he is/
/Crock? Name suits, he should know that he's shit/

(Verse 2)
/Heard his open mic failed, as did his hometown showcase/ Never made money, so they showed where the door breaked/ Heard that DJ backed him, one that spins at the club/ That's controversy filled and but that's welcoming is/ Heard his ole lady left him, and he shattered to pieces/ That's what they both get, both slandering Jesus/ Talks about suicide as if he's screaming to see us/ Like look at me, look at me, he's either sick or defeatist/ Heard his real label split, acts left in the process/ So, he started a new one, like this one will progress/ Don't make real music, and he sucks at the fake shit/ And he'll never have a song on a radio playlist/ His album's never dropping, been coming for two years/That single came and went, everybody like who cares/ And if it does drop, hell, I'm sure it'll flop/ Who you know would buy a record from a rapper named Crock?/

(Hook)
/Don't pay him attention, he don't know who he is/
/Little insecure prick, pretend he flow and he spit/
/Boy wanna be black, tries to show that he is/
/Crock? Name suits, he should know that he's shit/

(Verse 3)
/Yeah he made salat and I back it completely/ Don't like it, don't care, give a fuck how you see me/ This country isn't fascist, hell look at the brackets/ Of taxes between politicians and the national average/ Far as being white, shit, it is what it is/ But I won't live a life being proud of the shit/ Far as my crew goes, those people are family/ Keep 'em out of your mouth, don't misunderstand me/ The jail shit was dumb shit, really nothing of mention/ But outta that came Bandit and divine intervention/ Mom's proud, in her way, she just hates that I'm broke/ Far as the shows, thanks for the five you paid at the door/ Sparkle City's still up, hell Scotty's behind me/ Lovelorn's growing wings and we're working on flying/ Buy it or your don't, but peep the progress to here/ Shit, I hate my name to and Catharsis is here/

(Hook)
/Don't pay him attention, he don't know who he is/
/Little insecure prick, pretend he flow and he spit/
/Boy wanna be black, tries to show that he is/
/Crock? Name suits, he should know that he's shit/

Week 37 Ole Country Heart

Collectible treasures of immeasurable measure/ Birds of a feather, move, traversing the weather/ Storm stays, storm leaves, whoever got it together/ When the hardest word seems for me to be: "never"/ The fuck do I care for? Soul with an air hole/ When aren't you in rare form?/ I curse myself for it, control's too important/ Dragging out the past, should've kept it in storage/ World fulla color, yet it seems so morbid/ In the midst of my bullshit, conflicted, & warring/ Put the brush down, this corner's too rigid/ Should've used another lyric, I don't dig the depiction/ This trap's alotta things, but me, it just isn't/ Or maybe I've changed, and I feel I resent it/ Maybe I can't find the words to sum in a sentence/ Maybe it's the ending or maybe...it isn't/

The Devil Is Dope (Remix) Verse

A shaytan, Satan, the accuser/ He who defies the order, self-building Confucian/ The fallen star metaphor for imperfect human form/ A romanticizing of our self-effacing scorn/ The rebel, the outcast, label use to defame/ Like Jesus in the temple kicking tables of change/ Tell Benedict I think him more the unrighteous/ The Beast that Revelations prophesied and surmises/ The opposer, the opponent, like who oppresses/ The light Pike spoke about, Morals and Dogma professes/ A John Milton invention, Christians turned to an icon/ To justify the slaughters that they spent their whole life on/ A boogeyman people traumatize their kids with/ A Mel Gibson scene with a female depiction/ Ronald Regan, Ronald Regan, White Christ, what is this?/ Pitchfork, horns, and red elephant pendants/

Week 38 Herman Cain

/Underground Transmission, we are fuckin' relentless/ Milligram after gram, 'til it's numbing my senses/ Till I'm all geeked up, like a comic convention/ Like the best die here, like Golgotha tradition/ Make this shit look easy, whiff, take a smell of it/ On the low, try to kill it, for the Jerry Heller of it/ You go dumb? I go Helen Keller sonny/ Goin' Moby Dick, I'm on my white whaler hunting/ There can only be one: Obama, Osama/ Am I the best? Maybe: Ghani Gautama/ The unofficial 3rd Gunman/ Asalaam & Shalom, the second Sessions coming/ Lovelorn curator, Bastards as well/ So much heat in the stash, thought I was salvaging hell/ Smoked a pack and a half in the past twelve hours/ Graveside, watering, old frail flowers/ Bon Scott style, another kick to the teeth/ Stigmata spit, 'till I feel the slits in my feet/ 'Till the shit nicks and rips another inch your seat/ 'Till your shit flips and trips and you're convinced that it's me/ You're H.I.V.? I'm a sicker degree/ Comprise the eye of the storm...You're but a flicker to me/ And peace to Josh Wiley, it's just the liquor in me/ When Michelangelo painted Jesus...it was a picture of me/

I Emcee

Feast your eyes on this, the incomparable bastard/ Most obnoxious of crackers, bout to stomp on the axis/ Tailored is the name, it's how my moniker lasted/ Black head to toe, death harbinger fashioned/ Fee, Phi, Fo, Fum, bout to conjure some skid marks/ Gather for the show with fire torches and pitchforks/ You cats write your raps like: "The hell I do this for?"/ I spit twisters and toilets, watch it swell to a shit storm/ I see no threat, like blind bitches at truck stops/ Funny like scene kids explaining what's punk rock/ Like a gullible fuck makin' a wife out of a jump off/ Flow crack cunts, you just know that it come raw/ Throw shots at Horus 'till it's pissing the sun off/ Then Heru steps and humbles him with a dumb loss/ Eat him, then burp flames whenever my lungs cough/ Amen-Crock, I'm what you stare at a "one" for/

So...run, run, I real emcee/
No...dumb, dumb, when I speak/
The boogieman's here, it's intelligent white trash/
With shit so fresh, thought it's tinted with lilac/

This the throw down , bitch, the line in the sandbox/ Cause I'ma pour it on 'till the beams in the dam rot/ I define sick, I use the word as my mascot/ Vomit stuffed hammocks, honey basted with crack rock/ Tryna kill Father Time, on the low, cause I obsess/ Mother Earth fronts, pumps brakes when I progress/  "X" him, Fuck her, six feet and it's on brett/ Developed one hell of an oedipus complex/ I don't wanna stunt, skinny bitches are cunts/ I think club music sucks, most rappers are punks/ I think club music sucks and most rappers are punks/ If R&B's on, it's cause I'm finna to hump/ Some ol' Lena Horne or Donny Hath, I'ma bump/ No cool, high strung, they stew, I come/ Haikus, they shun, I bruise, they puns/ Butt of the joke, you asshole/ Son I spit, like I pack Skoal/

Came to smoke and kick ass...and I'm down to my lucky/ Scrunchies and jean skirts, son it's gonna get ugly/ Gon take that and bop, like your publishing Puffy's/ Fuck you 'till you cry and you tell me you love me/ (Whoo!) Pause to infinity!/ I'm what made Medusa cold, night I took her virginity/ Herpes to the game, son, you'll never get rid of me/ Pop up, awards night: watch everybody get finicky/ Brian Pillman resurrected, Adderall, & erection/ H.E.R. stripped 'till she's naked, nine inches for skeptics/ Yeah the truth hurts, and I'ma beat 'till she's septic/ 'Till the backlash deafen & they're calling for medics/ Programmers beware, censors ready your button/ Cause this is what happens, giving books to a bumpkin'/ Learns knowledge of self, esteem gets to jumpin'/ And soon he's poppin' shit, like, what's the use of the ruffage?/

Week 32 Third Time

Sittin' on the dock, she's straddlin' my cock/ Thighs quiver, lips shiver, that's another one I've knocked/ NOTCH!/ Big feet, big ears big hands/ look goofier than fuck but I've got a kickstand/ Heard myths about my dick like it does guest appearances/ Was on Mariah's last album, but Sony wouldn't hear of it/ Skinny bitches got a fear of it/ Go a lil deep, watch 'em start to tear and shit/ Talk about my penis like I'm full of insecurity/ Ha! That'd be the mother-fucking day/ When I fuck, it rain dances, and you start to feel the rain/ No Cherokee/ I dunno what's bigger, my ego, or my member/ Latter brought the former, since I could remember/ Magnum for the squeeze, XL let it breathe/ Watch her swallow little dribbles, then I tickle til she sneeze/ EW! That's too fuckin' sick/ If a broad ever left me, it wasn't for my dick/ This my Dice Clay flow, Hick dickory dock/ Yadda, yadda, yadda, it's simp-uhly Crock/

Howard Street Part II

See that paint chip, faucet leaks drop/ Curled up, denim coat and some worn Reeboks/ The cold makes the bone chill, won't cease. Stop!/ Try to numb with dollar-beer, feel your right knee lock/ Ain't shaved in months, Shower, forget it!/ Last meal, a Debbie cake, can coke, and come chips and/ Didn't settle shit, hear your stomach a bitchin'/ Thinking of your family and the tear in the stitchin'/ Gave careless forgiveness for the prayer that you'd listen/ Unaware of tradition, and the ware that you're fixed in/ Feel that roach crawl, feelin' despair/ Hell you'd cry again, but who would hear you or care?/ Those stains on your pipe, went and painted your soul/ Disengaged, been afraid, down in a hole/ In control, out control, hopin' you fold/ Death'd be release, hell's suffering old.

Masochism

/It doesn't stop and it never fades/ So I dream of peace, 'round the Everglades/ Out in the cut, me and nature/ Each moment solace, ripe to savor/ See the past and I wave it bye-bye/ Just me, a broad, and a fuckin' my-ty/ Tired of standing out like tye-dye/ Tryin' to focus, and expand on my high/ It ain't all love, it's salt to slugs/ Bitter quitter, that walk with thugs/ Astute convicts, slidin' jewels/ I stand aghast, but a lyin' tool/ Lose myself in the mire of pools/ Of thought, and cost just as dyin' do/ That's what it's 'bout, right? Wealth and passing/ A memory fading, never lasting/

/Let me roam in the garden of Adam and Eve/ To bare witness of what the sinless see/ No genocide, or hate or treason/ No logical thought of rhyme or reason/ No sense of time, to stymie seasons/ Not a time with the slime and the grimy heathens/ Oh my ego, Oh my ego/ Am I crazy? Word to Cee-Lo/ Nah, I'm just trying to find my Nemo/ And lose my hair, like a dose of chemo/ Take my deeds and barter grace/ Make a path through my father's way/ Create a family and then abandon/ And pretend like what the hell had happened/ Knowing I gave it all up for rappin'/ Pissed away on the whim to chances.

/Time to go, faster I do/ There I sit, bleed like Pirus/ Round top floor, see the sky view/ I know love, and I swear it's by you/ You let it go, chalk it up to fate/ I'm martyred up, and I fail to say/ 'Fore you leave, best not to lay/I know lonely and it's a stayin'/ You say no, sir, I've been prayin'/ I say bullshit, start conveying/ All my reason for my anguish/ Why I love here, and why I languish/ You say, in that case, grab that stainless/ And prove to me that it's fuckin' painless.

/I can't let go/
/I can't let go/
/It's the reason I love livin'/
/Justifies me and my sinnin'/
/I don't need you/
/I can't see you/
/You'll be the reason I last too long/
/You'll be the reason to rap this song./

Ashing On The Past

(Kronkite Verse)
//I’m coming in, trying to achieve the American dream/ But it’s the only thing I’m gonna do until it’s time to leave/ Money in that drop box, ego past that normal stee-lo/
/Actions colder than below, why you fucking with me hoe/ Got that blade in the pocket, hearing voices say stop it/ I’m just a stupid watch kid who can’t seem to clock it/
I need some adrenaline, and I’m sickened by you simpletons/ Bitches get mad when they learn more ‘bout the inner him/ My life’s been fucked since the sound of a gunshot/ Drop a bomb at a 7 Eleven, kill y’all in one stop/ Killing for a cure, while y’all paying for some loving/ I murder for the fun of it, shooting while your running/ I’m dumping while I’m gunning, steady laughing while you crying/
Should’ve known better than to bet against a lion/ So best advice to hide all the women and babies
Cause whoever I aim at is pushing up daisies/

(Crocker Verse)
/I dig your smile and your walk, there's something calming about/ Sets me out to ease, something charming about it/ I love how you love me, there's something honest about it/ Cynical as I am, I'm a kid when around it/ Luck's bottomed out, bout to buy some cartons now/ Chain-smoke til my throat bleeds my esophagus out/ Bob James on repeat, zoned to Nautilus now/ Mirror cracked, staring at who I'm targeting now/ Reach for the phone, when it's best that I shouldn't/ 'Cause how I really feel don't reciprocate what you put in/ You see what I could, not the box that I'm put in/ Open up your heart and I pretend that I look in/ But I'm down, so I call, with selfish intentions/ Conversation, you're elated, look happy to listen/ I know where this is leading, now, wish that I didn't/ You know, true quote, I hope you never forgive this/

Stereotype

First started rapping just to deal with my issues/ Didn't know where it would go, but now look what I've been through/ Different crews of different hues, with my paper and pencil/ Pressure to succumb, to rock club instrumentals, Got to see the real, guns, gangsters, & drugs/ Nickel bags of flex and different caliber slugs/ Affiliations, rankings, and the families within/ No business, but we'd drink, get high, then we'd spit/ At the point it was three, far as beats and the rhymes/ But what I wanted, they didn't, we couldn't keep it in line/ Up to now no shows, and it's spring of '09/ Four years, no album, nothing to show but the time/ Save for battles in the P's and a few in Atlanta/ The Apache on Tuesday, just beating they ass up/ By now I know the culture, and it gave me identity/ But nothing's come of it, 'cept conflict and memories/

Novelty don't dawdle/
Your clock ticks...time's borrowed/
Find your pride you swallowed/
Fire your shells...or follow/

/Started booking gigs, shit pay, or whatever/ With my producer's band beside me, first shows did together/ I miss it, we were clever, even covered my single/ Do the set, drink some beer, kick back, and we'd mingle/ They got offer from a label, Bandit mentioned my rappin'/ They really wanted them, but figured, fuck it, a package/ Band balked, broke apart, and I felt it was tragic/ Left to myself, recorded "Crocker is a Bastard"/ Label started booking, on paper, impressive/ Though with each show I did, I stated feeling the pressure/ Did Jersey for a buck with Kronkite on probation/ Did Mill Springs, clean, no cursing or raging/ Eve of Thanksgiving, trekked up into Nashville/ I was brok, they ain't promote, no gas, at a standstill/ So I crashed in my car, Kronkite in the backseat/ To catch a morning MoneyGram and drive back on a tad sleep/

/Now the Sessions/ Muta Scale, and Crock's Audible Palindrome/ Underground Transmission, my people are proud of him/ Just a dollar and a dream, no budget or nothin'/ Just Lovelorn Records and these shows with the Gunmen/ Could've failed, should've failed, every instance afforded/ But I'm here, give a damn, if they tried and aborted/ No Minstrel, Sambo, just my life & bravado/ A beat and a pen and a smoke and Moscato/ They try box me in like overnight is the motto/ But I knock 'em out the box like cues from D'Amato/ No gimmick, no dance, no ceiling or filter/ My b.s. standards are not open to pilfer/ Call me what you like, crucify as you see fit/ But don't ever compare to the rest of that weak shit/ If it means less sales, I'll re-up on my Ramen/ And continue in my role of hypothetical problem.

Bastard Team Verse

Winged tip mutilation machine/ We the shit, like we birthed from outta latrines/ Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream/ I'm at home with your wife pumpin' her cream/ My confidence mean, like it left me and formed it's own person/ So I only diss him/ cuz he's the only one worth it/ curtains, I'm cold as George Gervin/ Absolute arrogance, like I'm so certain/ Public perception, like my public erection/ Whether up or its down, they still gettin' the message/ P tells me chill, you're too big in the britches/ That's like tellin' Ron Jerm he's too big into bitches/ Why pinch hit, when you Babe Ruth rappers/ Start throwin' missilesand Beirut rappers/ Scribble and they scrabble, but they just dabble/ When I step in the booth, son, they lay out towels/ Talk shit, like I work sanitation/ And smile at all of yous, I can stand the hatin'/ The Crockness Monstah, word toBoot Camp click/ Mythic Scottish beast, like I do that shit/ Bastards, baby, no Alfalfa/ They Buckwheat, I pump speed, please look out for/ The Carolina Cauldron, fuckin' team is disgusting/ Chew mouth open, son, every session's a luncheon.

Week 21 The Game Don't Stop

The game is the game, either accept it or not/Ain't never gonna stop, be here when you not/ So I play it how I know, work the angles and such/ It's supposed to be hard, never painful enough/ Cats shameful with bluffs, ain't got no value/A like is a lie, and a lie will out you/ Come and you go, they'll forget about you/ Fame is a chance, but a career is doubtful/ You're disposable, they can live without you/ You're popular, son, what can last about you?/ Sick flows for days, tired of throwaways/ And the same ol' same don't know that they're lame/ Denial is a burden, that's built for the weak/ And a trend is a time that eventually cease/ Now I ain't meek, but I know better/ And I ain't money, but my flow cheddar.

/Best believe is it's Kronkite/
/Best Believe it's Crocker/
/Know that we the fryin' pan/
/The rest of y'all are water/
/You're make believe's make shift/
/The game makes martyrs./
/Y'all too short-sighted, son/
/We aim farther./

Week 10 Rhinoplasty Rhymes

(Crocker Verse)
Morally bankrupt, bereft of gems or the jewels/ That was the last thread and I'm fresh out of spools/ So I glide through the graveyard sampling characters/ Picking out traits, building a caricature/ I don't know what man, but something that's pleasing/ Something that they'll notice and they'll say that I needed/ Ever look at your script, and then tire of the treatment?/ How the leads painted ain't at all how you see it?/ So I'ma rewrite and pull from those who have passed on/ Take the best of them and then I'll put my new mask on/ Those who wanna judge and say it won't last long/ I'm not emotional, I just relate to those sad songs/ You do it too, just make an effort to hide it/ I ain't mad at cha, man, we call that survivin'/ Even thinkin' surgery with the help of a doctor/ Wait, who am I kidding? Damnit, I'm Crocker/

(Bridge/Hook)
/And I don't know what idea you had/
/But that ain't this and that's too bad/
/Drag off a smoke and push my roof back/
/Fiddle with a pen and try to make my truth last/

Week 16 Song of the South

Another stab at the outlet, cultivating the output/ Tired, romanticizing the outlook/ Where the hell do you go just to show 'em you 'bout that/ Tryna put South Carolina up and on out that/ Money put where my mouth at/ Bitch I bed of you doubt that/ Got beef, place where the sow at/ Speak like we're harmless, like we still on some farm shit/ Like that fuck flag where's all of our hearts sit/ Like a blonde on Tosh is all we are/ Like we're ten points away from being fucking retard/ *HUH HUH* kiss my ass and I mean that/ I ain't you bitch and I'll be that/ Verse worsen here, we persevere/ Perverse inner workings choke and surface here/ Crocker, son it's Spartanburg in here/ Ain't close to my level, even purtnear/

Why So Simple?

(Verse 1)
I find myself through a bottle and amphetamines/ Zoned out, closed up, anticipating weathering/ Son, it's Stephen, can we speak about redemption?/ I'm on pins and needles, frozen in suspension/ Backyard, Victoria, working on a cigar/ Pen in my hand, man, devising up my next bar/ Out and about, they asking 'bout my head scar/ Others, bout my music, ask if I'm the next star/ D's in the basement, mixing up the medicine/ I'm on a stage, loud, bitching like a reverend/ 'Till the next club, politicking like a candidate/ Bandit's in the back room, playin' with a mandolin/ Plotting out the next move, area we canvasing/ Tryin' for some net worth, scheming on the back end/ Take turns on the soapbox, speakin' on our hate of/ The puppets on the radio and how they try and play us.../

(Hook)
Why so simple?! Why so simple?!
Oh...Oh!
Why so fickle?! Why so fickle?!
Why so simple?! Why so simple?!
Oh...oh!
Why so fickle?! Why so fickle?!

(Verse 2)
/It’s a cold world, so you better bundle up/ No socks, no shoes, no Daddy Warbucks/ Took shit promised to the center of the heart/ Being told the game’s over before I start/ That shit hit you like bricks if you ain’t ready/ I want to make it rain, surprise, no confetti/ I’m racing for the money like my name is Andretti/ And my lines stay heavy, smooth like I’m riding Chevy/ Hands stay steady, right on track, never leftie/ The rest are going backwards like Go!, set, ready/ Just really know how hard I want to /And I’ll do anything besides sell my / And I can put it on life, you count on / Like I put on for Hip Hop, instead of rap/ And I guess that’s why all the others are wack/ I’m fact, they fiction as a matter a fact/ 

*Repeat Hook*

(Verse 3)
/Now...Look at the doggy in the window/
/Another cute mutt that's impeding on your kinfolk/
/Singing along to hoes and endo/
/Wonderin' why in the hell should I sit for?/
/I said "Shit, ask Rosa"/ Or any other pioneer or dope composer/ They say "Naw Son, spark that doulja"/ "Write another joint that ride for me and my soldiers"/ I respond with "Read a book son, find some composure"/ "Learn about culture and looking for closure"/ Told me I'm a a square, "We can't bop to this"/ "Man, shorty won't rock or gimme wop to this"/ "My box in the back won't knock to this"/ "Man Crock, no offense, but this a crock of shit"/ I said "Son there's more than being on the block with chips"/ They say you piss in the wind, but can't stop the rich/

Meade, Speed, Weed

(Verse 1)
/Blue Moon draft, that too...eh?/ Fuck it, slide me that and my Newport pack/
/Hey everybody! I'm socially awkward/ Like a groom & a groom at a Protestant altar/ 'Feez, Was Jesus an Emam?/ Hair like mine? I mean, shit, uh, KEG STAND!/ I rock the party while your girl's gettin' naughty/ Then I rock her body 'till she's glued to the potty/ Hey DJ! The fuck is a dub-step?/ Nevermind...I think that's enough yet/ White people...W.T.F.?"/ Coupled with the "X" that shit's making me sea sick/ Smash...bet you believe yet/ Who everybody bites, but nobody respects/ Heat, you feel the degrees yet?/ Thumb to the knuckle, you feel my degrees yet?/

(Hook)
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/

(Verse 2)
Meade, you know: "Drink," like preferably beer/ Or "Burr" if you prefer, but I think that that's weird/ Add XO, Adderall, and I'm gravy/ Max Bigaveli, start feeling wavy/ Tune into the Factor and I scream at the TV/ Like that bald motherfucker can actually see me/ Uh, I meant "The Shore," see my girl J-Wowsers/ Copyright, Kronkite, put my Bic to the Bowser/ Slang so hard that I'm seemin' incredulous/ Bread with my wine, my swagger is Methodist/ Like...guess who's back...again/ Crocker's back! Yeah, no, that's him.../ Like "Fist pump bros! We don't love them hoes!"/ And I'm too fucking poor for a HMO/ If I put this out...does it make me slow?/ (Well...does it?)

(Hook)
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/

(Verse 3)
Who likes beer pong?! You like beer pong?!/ I like a fat ass and a beautiful clear thong/ Joe Rogan stoned, eating a deer dong/ A.D.H.D. meds adorning my beer foam/ Five-Percenters teach "The majority's ignorant,"...not that that will play to your sexual benefit/ In fact, try talking, respond with some confidence/ Show her that you listen, man, pay her some compliments/ Ay, Mitch Daniels, you look like a corpse/ Pale as all hell, with a mouth like a horse/ I mean...Satellite! Back cup and it's over/ Here's to hoping your mom still looks good sober/

Too Close For Comfort Lyrics

Started innocent, talk and what have you/ Friends for awhile, not a thought to grasp you/ I was doing me, you were doing you/ You were spoken for, they pursuing you/ I was on the sly, and we just conversed/ Tryin’ to clean up, tired of doing dirt/ We’d hit the clubs, maybe blow a few L’s/ Dinners, alcohol, sharin’ stories as well/ I’d give you a glimpse of my glorious hell/ You’d deck me out, ironed shirts with lapels/ Cologne, sweaters, sophisticated the tale/ Khakis, pea coats, looking flyer than hell/ Dating my mans, hell I met you thru dude/ Now, it’s bump n grind, on the floor, in the nude/ You’re not the one for me, nor I for you/ But the sex was too good for me to just be through/


/Two many drinks, too close for comfort/ But it feels so good to touch ya/

/Too many times I’ve tried to neglect/But it feels so good to touch ya/


Do they know, do they know/ See there’s another missed call/ Prolly found the wrapper, and he ain’t touched you at all/ Every time I speak to him, I think of your curves/ Doing a slow grind on me, going to work/ Paranoia keeps creeping and I think my boy sees it/ Every time that I greet I see him start swinging/Beating my face in and hearing him screaming/ Over and over, your name he keeps repeating/ Just one more time, and your man’ll catch us/ In his own house, being a bit too reckless/ Baby don’t tell me you love me, just indulge me/ With carnal knowledge, my appetite is bulging/ If he finds out, the consequences are endless/ Knowing neither one will ever forgive us/ Just one more time, and I swear that we’ll end this/ But for right now, let me drown in your senses/

The Devil Is Dope

/Sicker than 3 kids, 2 cups, 1 priest/ At Penn State dressing small boys up like Chun Li/ The devil is dope and I’m slicker than linoleum/ As I stand atop my podium, mouth secreting opium/ Got the nod from Misses Reagan, errbody yellow cakin’/ Dare you try stop, that’s quite an undertaking/ Come now before accident happens, this actually rapping/ I kick dope bars, I actually trapping/ Tie off 'till your vein burst, and feel your vein squirt/ Then that rush hit the brain then you're hittin' paydirt/ Smash! Sick as midgets fisting chickens/ Then bathing in it's blood, voodoo, singing hymnals Christian/ Fuck bars, I write bricks, pure Bolivian finest/ Pounding on my chest like a simian primate/ White devil, white devil, best watch what you come with/ The white devil is dope but that's fucking redundant/

Holler if you need it, warp needles to pieces/ Pure as the steeple that’s atop a cathedral/ O.D. ‘till you're feeble,  their portions are meager/ I got enough stashed you’ll be geekin’ till Easter/ Lucifer askin’ God to pull tight on the tourniquet/ A cavalcade of dopamine, ask,and I’ll furnish it/ Test not, know better, no cuts in the formula/ Or bleed out, see now, I had reason for warning ya/ You’se lightweight, I know better, stick to your flex bars/ See the real, read the real,  bitch it’s carved in my flesh scars/ You’se a chump to a freak, just a bump to a Ki/ You’se alotta things kid, but not fucking with me/ BeetleJuice, BeetleJuice, say my name of wax/ I rap, there’s tracks laced atop my tracks/ You’re dope like that muffin, not enough that it matters/ I’m so fucking dope, that real dope should be flattered/

LVLRN feat. Krosswordze, Lindsay Keane, & Feather Fly Focus

(Crocker) / Buh buh bastards, what the motherfucking blood clot?/ Informer! Been talking shit since my nuts dropped/ No weed, just speed, I'm ski'd from the feet/ Impede then concede, cause they see what it be/ They try lead then they leave, son believe that it's me/ Squeak then they teethe, when I breathe and I speak/ Lovelorn Records, Daddy Warbucks tapped out/ Wu Version 2, know your role, we got it mapped out/ Gee...Golly...Willikers/ P.E. Number One, John Dillinger/ Got Queens, Kakalack, Got Philly & The D/ They fill me with conceit, we deal on the beats/ Keen with the speech, it's bleached in the teeth/ Word heave till I'm green, piques, piques then you cream/

(Krosswordze) On beat/ It's the veteran's mood on a song/ Street/ But so cleverly subdued on a tone/ Better move for me "homes"/ This is food for the dome/ Done wrong now I'm levitating in a zone/ Regardless/ I'm landing on target/ No matter the bars fit//Nobody's gonna match my status / Not on some car shit of far shit or even some star shit but/(Allen I, couldn't match my practice )
 I'm on my feet like a run-away slave and it's driving me crazy/ (They wonder what it takes to beat him)/ I figure the sun rise when I right one line/ They want it dumb down/( But nigga I can taste my freedom)/
 For the fact that I rap as an older dude/ I let the verse get a hold of you/ Take control of you/ In the rhythm I'm gonna kill them when I hit them with a written/ That's what Lovelorn supposed to do/

Week 25 I Need A Therapist

Hi kids, did you know I'm a nihilist?/ And for three years the gleam in my iris has been for Miley Cyrus/ Spat with a flow that I swore to G-d was Midas/ Then they cancelled more of my shows than Christopher Titus/ Just dated nine months, happy for the stamina/ But then the broad left me for a fireworks store manager/ Said I was insensitive, that I'd pissed away the magic/Then I responded with, "Uh...Crocker Is A Bastard?"/ Guess it's back to gettin' hammered, snortin coke from plastic baggies/And havin' unprotected sex with post operation trannies/ Send my ex pictures of us fucking in the fanny/ In my Ninja Turtle jammies, just a hamming for the camera/ Hit 'em with a smash, a little onomatopoeia/ And on the sly, drop that I contracted gonorrhea/ JK, at least, I wanna say I think so/ But for now, I'ma get back to this hooker's ass and my quest for finding Nemo/

Week 18 Dr. Evil's Hairy Uncle Twins

/Here's another verse to go over your melon/ With more bars than the home of all predicate felons/ Spit like quarantine be my definite dwelling/ Either I'm getting nice, or my etiquette's swelling/ Why be humble? They don't get it/ Like a diabetic with a Willy Wonka ticket/ Like shit, when I spit, I should hold some crickets/ Cause by the 8th bar, I know, there goes attention/ Dumb hook, slow beat, there's ya a club hit/ But I won't, ya'll suck, and I'm probably dumb shit/ But fuck it, I spit coke, with a side of some Pepsi/ Killing wack off slow, terminal Hep C/ Makes no sense, why try see?/ It's like a list of emcees on MTV/ Hell, that could be me if my joints were hooky/ But I'd rather snort meth and go raw dog Snooki/ Then after I nut in her, straight eat her cookie/ Bet a mill. on the Steelers and go meet my bookie/ (Laugh) Imagine that!/ Like to shoot Billboard and then imagine rap/ Rest in peace G.U.R.U., she ain't what she once was/ Heard the radio, started throwing my lunch up/ The same campaigners, try leading the caucus/ And that shtick tires quick, Andy Milinokas/ So here's some fresh dope for you to put in your ventricle/ So lend a quick ear to the return of the lyrical/

Week 26 My First Date With Casey Anthony

Something, something, something; Mohandas Gandhi/ I'm so hip-hop, I got singles from Blondie/ Don't even wanna write, hell nothing inspires me/ Swag so hard, my deodorant's tiring/ To the listeners, here's you a stand from me/ I would fist pump Casey Anthony/ Lovelorn Records, I'ma build me a canopy/ On a bridge, and I'll throw shit off just for calamity/ I know what you're thinking: My real flow slacking/ But who really gives a fuck son? Milquetoast Mackin/ If you're poor and vote Republican, you are a tool/ Citibank, Merrill-Lynch, you conspicuous fool/ You speak with the zeal of indigenous rule/ Here's my nuts, kick, belligerent mule/ Caleb, am I making a smidgen of sense?/ Fuck it, my brain's limp like an impotent dick/ Watch it burn on your lips like a syphilis clit/ It, I mean my spit, it's some intricate shit/ After Week 52, I'm playing the back/ But till then, it's gonna hurt, like a labia graft/ Punchline, set-up, I prevail often/ And have your broad talk to G-d, Michelle Bachman/ Take the first "R" out of Crocker, whaddya got?/ The verb and the noun, ask your girl how I rock/

Week 31 Acrimonious Apogee

Never smoke a cigarette in jest, son I'm the best/ Or damn near close to.../ B, I'm so boastful to be so local/ So Spartanburg like I could be better/ But my ignorance is a hindrance to my cheddar/ Lactose intolerant, volatile acknowledgment/ Bottle full of promises, swallowing my consciousness/ Bag ridden irises, conjuring my viruses/ Jesus Christ it's time that I Pontious Pilate this/ Guess it's back to philandering, more psyche damaging/ Lovelorn Records, my people's, managing/ B.S. One, Muta Scale, The Manifesto/ More coming from nothings, watch hand: Presto!/ Leave it where it is, keep it where they know you/ There's no going back, not to Chernobyl/ But from me, bet there's more bars, just watch me/ My time ain't up yet, Muammar Gaddafi/

Week 36 Not This Again

/I purposefully burnt myself the other week...on my arm/ So tired of turnin' the other cheek/ Gripped in the thro's, here goes another show/ Repeated viewings until it all explodes/ Nobody noticed the burns, it's kinda funny/ My disposition, well, it's all sunny/ Let it go, let it go, I can't when you won't bury it/ Downtown, parade, casket, horse-drawn chariot/ I'd stand up and scream, just for the sake of screaming/ And say "This is what you get for dreaming!"/ Make it dimmer, I need it, I'm a Baptist born sinner/ Hungry, no dinner/ Tell my people I love 'em and I'm sorry/ It would never be flossin', flash, or Ferrari's/ It should've been more, just couldn't get it together/ L'Chaim, here's to hopin' that never forget 'em/

Week 24 Yuga Fury

/Bastards, motherfucker, this is nature versus nurture/ Angry since a toddler, defecating Gerber/ You can rest assured of, we're nothing like you heard of/ You're a flea, I am Flea, go and get your work up/ Weeding all the flakes out, spitting cups of Pert Plus/ You're Harold Camping son, you could never wor(ry) us/ Brett, I, uh, represent the Burg bruh/ Never put the mic down until I incite a murder/ Of, crooked politicians or voyeuristic clergymen/ Or hopefully the capital...yell "EVERYBODY HURRY IN!"/ Or, "Hurry Up! Hurry Up And Die!"/ And that'll represent me till I scurry through the sky/ Far as South Carolina go, I only native worthy/ I am just that confident, and you recognize it surely/ Ignore me if you like, but you can't deny the rep now/ For me to even vocalize it, seems to me a step down/ 

Money Cat

Bands, racks, man, fuck that/ I get pussy broke, in the scope, I get your baby: run that/ Charm disarm, get her all up on my arm/ Be tellin' me my tongue fulla filth and flarhm/ She put a tickle on my pickle, wanna tug on my yarn/ Watch her get a little nimble, start singing me a song/

Lookin' for a tip, I tell her "easy on the makeup."/ She thinks cause I'm a Crocker, that she's about to cake up/ I tell her, it's us, before my bread will break up/ Click them heels Dorothy, bout time that you wake up/

Benjamins? Nada; Grants? Holla; Jacksons? Wander. Lincolns follow/ Penny pinchin', henny sippin', bet I swiped the bottle/ I see you thirsty bitches, gon get a glass of agua/

Tell my money kitty that my Camels run a 5 spot/ Keep her on the iLok, later hit her with the cyclops/ Scheme up on her cabbage, put it into my pot/ I'll holler pretty lady, I exhausted all your time clock/

Week 34 4 Real Gouda

/Full of coulda, woulda, shoulda, then I cut it till it lacerate/ Subtle, mumble, muddled in the mire then I exacerbate/ A tete with the day, so I can make it to the night/ Assured the cure is in the blur, unnerved, I pray it's right/ I hate myself, I hate I failed/ I hate that wack rappers are gonna live to tell the tale/ That the real will be dispelled, dissipate up into hell/And that stupid motherfuckers bank accounts will probably swell/ Like...Fuck Rap Music/ I didn't know money was license to act foolish/ And Fuck You................./Jesus was a fake name; Born and died a Jew/ Muslims didn't do it, we'll be a third world soon/ Mormons wear special drawers, I'm higher than the moon/ Another shot of Bouka, then I'm carving out her womb/ (No Catholic Church...Word to Ghani Gautama, Bitch)

Week 35 Broome High

My last will and testament: weed, speed, and mescaline/ And a glimmer of a notion, that most of you'se irrelevant/ If it wasn't for your mix, you'd sound like shit/ Pound the same ideas into your weak ass spit/ Like: "Money, Bitches, Weed...Man"/ "I'm such a fucking G man."/ BOO! You're killing me Smalls/ I spit flint, ground into to grit, to make calligraphy ya'll/ Hieroglyphs in a inch of my writ forms a symphony ya'll/ Beethoven deaf, catch wreck, death sent for me ya'll/ Gargle napalm while I lit up my cigarette/ Feel that bass drum and piss 'em off like the President/ George W Perry, Michelle Palin.../See what I did there? Ah fuck it/ Comatose Crocker, the comeback cracker/ Forty-seven staples and a magnum wrapper/

Week 24 Yuga Fury

/Bastards, motherfucker, this is nature versus nurture/ Angry since a toddler, defecating Gerber/ You can rest assured of, we're nothing like you heard of/ You're a flea, I am Flea, go and get your work up/ Weeding all the flakes out, spitting cups of Pert Plus/ You're Harold Camping son, you could never wor(ry) us/ Brett, I, uh, represent the Burg bruh/ Never put the mic down until I incite a murder/ Of, crooked politicians or voyeuristic clergymen/ Or hopefully the capital...yell "EVERYBODY HURRY IN!"/ Or, "Hurry Up! Hurry Up And Die!"/ And that will represent me till I scurry through the sky/ Far as South Carolina go, I only native worthy/ I am just that confident, and you recognize it surely/ Ignore me if you like, but you can't deny the rep now/ For me to even vocalize it, seems to me a step down/

Imagination

I roll with the impulse, the impulse guides me/ I long for the normal, but the normal's beside me/ Or rather bereft, I only feel it in steps/ And when I stumble, then I tumble, then it's onto the next/ I think about Uncle Robert, all his brother's had left/ So he drank, tried to hold, and put one in his head/ Met em at the gates, either heaven or hell/ I pray that it's the former, that his pain had dispelled/ I think about Adam, died banging a flag/ In and out of juvie, rage masking the sad/ Remember we was young, were inseparable friends/ You were still too young, what a regrettable end/ I love you lil cousin, put that on our niece/ I shoulda went to your grave, I just didn't believe/ Couldn't bring myself to see, you at negative feet/ Shannon wiping tears, I woulda wished it was me/

/For every blunt rolled, I wish I'da passed/ For every pill popped, I wish it would last/ Wish Mom could look and crack a smile when I pass/ And not worry when I'll crash and if tomorrow's my last/ Not look into my eyes and be reminded of Dad/ So she wouldn't have to hide another sigh when she laughed/ Wish I didn't love him, never knew he exist/ That my name wasn't his, that I wasn't his kid/ I envy all my friends that never knew of their father/ If it's gone, you never know, no memories haunt ya/ Don't dwell in your brain, and continually taunt ya/ Like Dad, not again, goddammit you promised/ Ain't picking up the phone, start praying he's coming/ Like what's more important than your boy who is suffering/ For the umpteenth time, as if it matters or something/ What is this time, your high or busy with fucking/

/ I imagine being Mom, growin up like she did/ Her momma working two jobs, her daddy is lit/ He's another pint in, then forgets where he is/ Grandma 's getting pissed and it again goes to shit/ Sees her grandmother and that woman is skizted/ Committed down state, pilled up to her lips/ Visit after visit, she eventually goes/ Never heard much after, though I imagine it's cold/ Turns a teenager, she fights and get's high/ Can't blame her there, it's why I never asked why/ Graduates, get's a job, works her way up the ladder/ Her momma left her pops and remarried thereafter/ Vietnam Vet., another victim of history/ Left his heart there, tried to fill it with whiskey/ So Mom picks him off the couch just one more time/ Carries him to the tub,fights the tears in her eyes/

Week 33 A Little More Down Time

The fuck do you want from me?, if I got, I got it honestly/ Like they didn't write the song for me, see me an anomaly/ Friends say that I'ma make it, I'ma put us on the map/ Like the cities gonna love me, gonna put me on it's back/ Like I put it on my chest, black ink, see me rep/ Instead see the stress accumulate with every breath/ Everyone that's backed me, encouraged me a club hit/ I just shook my head, said I'll never do the dumb shit/ People say I think I"m better, where's my competition/ Someone  as consistent, pens intense and pensive lyrics/ Gives of you his spirit, expends his sins and makes you feel it/ Like I never woulda guessed it'd get redundant as the realest/ I'm sick and tired of crowing, when ain't a motherfucker listening/ And if I ever got the crown, I'd probably go and take a shit in it/ Same thing I had wanted, is now what I take to task for/ Carolina's greatest burning loosies on your back porch/

Week 40 Guy Fawkes Was A Catholic Terrorist

New millennium isolation, apathy, & and cynicism/ over dramatized confessionals, that bend your ear to attention/ Big Brother spies,  and yet we scoff at the mention/ Scream Illuminati, but still constantly listen/ To these acts with monosyllabic lyrics/ Embalm my soul, woe, and pretend that I get it/ Hope, change, rope, hangs/ Swing low, sniff cocaine/ All the makings of a has been that never was/ Never lightened up enough to have tried and measured up/ Idols that divide, the kool-aid turpentine / turnikit tie offs work till it you  feel it jerk inside/ Pacify the masses, slower than molasses/ and pick out pretty bouquets that might adorn my casket/ Watch the idiocy induce my own hara-kiri/ Immolate like a Buddhist with a Communist nearing/ A Marxist Gnostic, for I seek refuge in no one/ Dig up the Bolshevik Lenin, the peace one's ho-hum/ The lost caliphate , rebuke the magistrate/ I might prostrate but  still openly exacerbate/ Beaten as Joshua, as the Romans lacerate/ Or as special as a fair skinned Shiite who lives to agitate/ Namaste to the five percent, to the rest find shelter/ John The Revelator prophesied of my Spector/Sermon at Deer Park, Sermon at Temple Mount/ Both aged 30, suppose the difference now/ I wish a Mazdayana wake, leave my bones for the vultures/ To symbolize the life of what's become of my culture/ For people like Markoff who haven't the slightest/ Wears a wave cap and baggy clothes like its righteous/ Peace to Clarence Thirteen, ye are Elohim/ Higher than Seraphim, skied in Medellin/ 

Climb To Denial

Inside I see a life that I’ll never reach/ The world will never hear of me, it’s no conspiracy/ It’s just the side that mirrors me/ Is just a bit prettier, than me and all my heresy/ It’s not a secret, but its tucked away in the open/ Figure for all my faults, you might not even notice/ Dreams aren’t tangible, so I turn cannibal/ Shuck and devour the light within fore I what happened to/ Hope’s a precious thing, some take it for granted/ But hope’s  all I have for me to paint my canvas/ A vagabond of the arts, hop lilipad, lilipad/ All in the hope for me to scribe my Iliad/I’m a long-shot, no Bon Jovi hook/ Mumble up to God, kinda hope that he looks/ Mom passes Xanax, says to cope with a book/ So I burn a couple chapters, lace my blunt with the soot/  

 

The ladder is for suckers/

Unravels into nothing/

Rather live vicarious

And stare at the chariots/

The ladder is for losers

Battling contusions

Of their own reality

Oh reality/

 

No Medicare, so it’s sugar pills/ Fantasize bout the steel of a how a Ruger feel/ There’s a cure all, I’ll sure fall/ On the Brim rose path, in another deterred stall/ But then the drive don’t turn off/ Going nowhere fast as I continue to churn raw/ To try and succeed is a conundrum to me/ A paradoxical box that shows nothing to me/ Man that success would be something to see/ And without the thought of that, well what would I be?/ Homicide of dream happens all too often/ By unequivocally scared, that cower at lofty/ Goals, tell Santa all I want is his coal/ So I can shield from the cold as well as keeping it stoked/ That fire, that desire, to put my nose to the grindstone/ And rip away at tissue for the chance that I might grow/

Additive Free Addiction

/Hello doll, yeah you of the porcelain ilk/ The silver tongued fox supporting my ills/Ignoring the stills, frames of fright and flight/As I ignite my plight, another passage of rite/ The song I crow, another row of oats/ I’ve sewn and must forcibly chew, ignoring that you/ Must endure, but selfishly I skew/ My view to find my self once anew/And again without end/To no measure to your displeasure/ As you search for some way to tether/ Our emotions just a tad bit closer/ Put your head down and continue to soldier/Like I’m your cross to bare/ ‘Till I’m back sauced up and bare/ You tear up, at a loss to share/ Hold me, as if to exhaust my fear/ So I walk to the sink for a splash of reality/ Words ringing true, forgettable a formality/

/Ask for assurance, I bring disturbance/ Seems that it’s worthless, not worth the purchase/ Emotions converging, lookin for service/ I’m barred up again, so the pot you are stirring/ I explained the baggage, then you claimed without asking/ Prone to relapsing, I told you it’s tasking/ Out of control, lacking the traction/ You smiled as if that was the attraction/ Now you proclaim your strength I am sappin/ Once my guard, now left me open to tackling/ Weary of all the love that I ration/ Fearing, the trap door is collapsing/Told me it’s now or never for action/ I laugh and lay prone, whatever, your yappin/ Say that mechanism is sad and I’m passive/ Tried callin bluff, now my chips she will cash in/

/ I’m picking thru verses, she’s steadily cursing/ Finds my bottle after an of hour searching/ Says if this works, then where’s focus on me/ As I study sixteens, I’m hopin she leaves/ Says I never sleep, so how can I dream/ Clouded my means and shrouded my schemes/ Can’t vocalize love, so I express it through ink/ Poems in patois that I’m hoping’ll sink/ Into her conscious, reassure her the promise/ Of commitment made that I intended as honest/ It’s not the drugs, it’s shield I clutch/ That keeps her at bay, and holds me up like a crutch/ Locked in the bathroom, reciting a prayer/ She learned as a child, to keep away all her fear/ Recall a song she wrote, a few weeks back/ Somber the tone, sent a chill up my back, it said/

Blue Brew

/Spit with a swagger that’s so precise/ Kick back with a calm overcome with vice/ Awake by dusk cuz I shun the light/ Keep the booth padded cuz I’m dumb with mics/ Off my shit a lil’ bit but hey who isn’t?/ Say it’s religious how I convey a sentence/ Lonely at the top, don’t complain of distance/ They wear scarlet letters cuz they a shame to spitters/ I do my one-two, crack a brew, and they through/ Deceased to exist better act like you knew/ Pre-existing condition, yeah,  I spit till I’m blue/ Say I get it jumpin like kangaroos/ Picasso Crocker, I’ma abstract artist/ My flow toxic, bring ya hazmat garments/ I’m soo brash, please beg my pardon/ But you couldn’t wear stripes if your name was Tarzan/

 

Introducing the bane of Rap/ Rush inducing, cocaine at that/ Say fuck me, more like fuck you/ Keep jib smacking, ur girl get run through/ Ain’t I?... some kinda spectacular?/ With my wild, un practical vernacular/ The Hollister prodigy, I leave em awfully/ Cut up, fucked up, that’s why they call for me/ Ye of little faith, be the first to go/ Go Serch with flow and Fred Durst a hoe/ You should bow your heads and call me Mister/ The nerve, playing checkers with Bobby Fischer/ Comparing Zack Morris to Dustin Diamond/ Views been skewed, not the some alignment/ If I was Simon, ya’ll would’ve done kicked out/ Just cause you high, don’t mean you piffed out/

 

 

Cooler than Miles, Dizzy, Louis, and Blue Note/ Twitch when I spit like I suffered from two strokes/ Sid Vicious proved that you could never be too dope/ Young son of a bitch, try and you’ll lose hope/ Pressed button ups, ripped jeans, and sandals/ A vandal with handles that’ll doused ur candles/  Conflicted, afflicted, and lyrically gifted/ Sift thru simp shit while I’m spittin sick clips/ Damnit Bandit, they don’t understand it/ Artistically, I’m just not of this planet// 1^st Hansel & Gretel, now onto sum new shit/ Tired of the confusing, rappers translucent/ The new Rick Rubin, hustle like Russell/ Try me for the tussle and get out muscled/ Stephen baby, smoother than C.L./ Rock like Pete and do me damn well/

Politics & Prejudice Pie

So what the hell's gonna happen when we all go burn out/  Ashes to ashes, won't you melt my urn down/ When I leave just keep the music and the memories/ My flesh is the lesser, all it did was hinder me/ Peace to those close who made a friend of me/ Who recognized there was never a pretend to be/ Sorry for the cynicism, that's just me/ Thanks for all the criticism, I let that be/ These verses & this city dwarf me/ But support me, bet that the pavement ain't ignore me/ Lended me a crutch, when I's struck with a limp/ Been a couple stops, they were abrupt and they bent/ Mentally, physically/ you never end up what you intend to be/ Resentfully some times, I sit and ponder the past/ Take a quick drag and then respond with a glass/

 

 (You) [*Don’t Understand*] /What true passion will take/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*]/ The sacrifices you’ll make/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*]/ The best of you it’ll break/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*]/ And what’s left of you stays/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*]/ What confusion can do/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*]/ What illusion construes/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*]/ The many uses of you/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*]/ And what in the hell you are doing to you/

 

 

/Corruption, seduction, money, and scandal/ Prostituted morals for sum cash in a satchel/ Fear, infighting, and perception of value/ Of one-self, brings problems that are nothing about you/ Wanna jump the gun, but your scared if you stand out/ So you blend with the crowd of emotional handouts/ Now it’s a contest of who’s got it the hardest/ Instead of kind words, you play competitive martyrs/ All the while suits start molesting the market/ Economy dwindles, and you forget how it got there/ I take a breath, and I stop, stare/ …..How in the hell do you not care/ Congresswoman shot right out in the public/ And everybody acts like it’s sensitive subject/ There’s that amendment you covet/ Dearly beloved does it feel like your brain took a scrubbing/ Imagine the rich one percent creating diversion/ When between us and them, whose pockets are hurting/ Bailouts to keep huge corporations a rolling/ Uh, I think my capitalism is broken/

 

 

/If Obama is Muslim, umm….why would he hide it? /Cause when YOU think Muslim, you thinking Al-Qaeda/ Imagine being hated for the God that you pray to/ Then YOU turn around and ask yours to save you/ Hypocrisy is limitless/ I should I know, I make camp in the tenement/ So much time spent fingering treason/ When it’s a long walk on back to Eden/ Days like these, when I bask in the seasons/ Cause they change on time for a actual reason/Never point a hand or do they call me a heathen/ And give a damn less if I’m Crocker or Stephen/Yeah,  I take comfort in that/ Never a crossroads or a juncture for that/ It’s the simplest pleasure, that’ll keep you in check/ One free from creditors or the rules of a debt/

Big Words

Carolina Crocker, I come handy with chapstick/ In case of my success, and you’re compelled to go ass kiss/ Lovelorn Records, on my pinky and brain tip/ The competition gassed up, but baby they ain’t shit/ I am not worried, and neither should you be/ I am Kool G Rap and his first piece of loose-leaf/ Heard the others rhymes, and they didn’t behoove me/ Big word, big word, this where you lose me/ Bastards, ain’t another crew in the dirty/ That deserves our distinction they just ain’t as worthy/ Holler, you heard me, flow riotous spit/ A Robert Blake Beretta with violent clip/ Mal-nourished but I flourish off the doubt they cast/ I have insatiable hunger, they ain’t amounting to scraps/ These a mountain of raps, I beg of you scale em/ I mean it’s insurmountable but who am I telling/ Big word, big word, try and keep up kids/ Hit hard, goofy name, Crocker and Butkis/ Smile but you know that I’m not to be fucked with/ If you spit dope, then when I do is pump bricks/ Bully on the beat, I’m coming for lunch pails/ And that cartoon money, that you write in your duck tales/ Bet I make magic, word to Christopher Sweeny/ And I get all in her mouth like a Mystikal beating?/  Ain’t I a stinker?/ Just fooling around, this is just how I tinker/ But I’ma stop now, lest you say that I’m rude/ Cause momma always told me never play with your food/ Indulge escapism,  your entitled to that/ But reality is I haven’t a rival in rap/ So come now, your death knell, were you concede the defeat/ Big word, Big word, I mean Stephen’s a beast/

Week 22 The Missing Speech

Now we're bombing Libya, helping out the rebels/ Working class and college students wanting something better/ Tiring of the tyranny, I hope Obama's sincere/ Cause if it's from the heart, I almost wish that I'da went there/ Love and admiration, tell hell with all the politics/ Sick of suit & ties after prominence that's posturing/ Then wanna speak for God, Jesus Christ, Or Allah/ Agenda laden sons try and fake the role of Fah-Jah/ Congratulations Egypt, stood up for their freedom/ Shouts out to Tunisia, they wouldn't take it either/ Couldn't speak up for the people for fear of the policing/ A right we take for granted, as if they'd come and seize us/ Sad that in this country that corrupt precedes a leader/ As soon as one has parked, they soon forget that there's a meter/ Staring out the window, pretend the view is scenic/ Half the time I hear a poignant thought, I wonder if they mean it……/ Now they killed Osama, that only took a decade/ Think of all the lives we lost, think of all the mess made/ 

/Governing the people, looking through the peep hole/ 4 more for the patriot, no more for the steeple
War will keep us together,... alive/ Until we reach the end where all my brothers die/ And I thank god for the militants/ Praise Allah for they ignorance/ I try to drown them out/But the water just keep on lifting them/ And the fire keeps us burning/ And the crooked keep on earning/ I gotta couple charges/ I should learn to quit burning them/ My life is like a chess game/ America's like a cess pool/ We don't go hand in hand/ But what else am I do/ So I kill another cell before I go to hell/ With another funny drink, should've saved it for bail/
As the rest look at me like "another bum who smells?"/ My country' tis of thee, as long as that shit sells/
/So I wave off the anger as another lonely teen/But I grew up in a country that won't let me free/



 

Week 28 Hand Me My Monster

Bastardly fashioned, dastardly lashings / Beat 'till I'm blue, smile actually passive/ Masochist tailored, factually addict/ Spawned coke residue, laughably tragic/ Monkey on my back is savagely rabid/ Smile, smile, smile passably manic/ Pop another pill again, conjure up my will again/ My debt crowd the net like middle of Wimbledon/ Feels like I've spat every bit of the phlegm in him/ Hell if I leave, they'll be brimming with ten of him/ Sour grapes, wine, and cheese/ Can we just get back to the rhyming please/ Can I just buy back the time in threes/ Or have I beguiled time to leave/ Catharsis on the way, then I don't know/ Like what in the hell should I go on for/ M-Seven-M to the solo shows/ I wonder where the hell the good promo goes/ Starting at these pictures, like history changes/ Staring at these pictures like they're visibly tainted/ Mountains into mole hills, memories languish/ And here's another verse that made misery famous/ When I say Pity You Say Party/ Now when I say Pity You say Party/

Week 30 Gunmen Tribute

(Verse 1) /So hard to the find the words that replicate the original/ Either life is a game or one hell of a interview/ Same questions keep affecting, time, time, and again/ Feel disaffected, (that) kinda naked where it bleeds through your skin/ Shuffled all around since I could remember/ Only months that I treasured were June and December/ Three Christmas mornings, between the various parents/ Never thought about it much, but I'm apparently wary/ Buried Adam, Matt left, moved away from the others/ Pined for my Father, but I stayed with my Mother/ Struggled with the book and the word that they'd preach/ Go behind, fact check, had me down on my knees/ The redeemer paid the ultimate and gave it all up/ Or is that a lie to, and Romans made it all up?/ Gave a Jew a Greek name that is faker than fuck/ But never question, bow your head, and just say it's enough/

(Verse 3) /Is it really worth the pain and tribulations you face?/ Contributing to the images and shit that they say?/ Making it thru the ridicule and procuring your place/ Obscured your but a blur in the populous race/ I guess from the shit that I've experience, I feel a greater purpose/ But that's a feeling, as I've found to be true, most feelings are worthless/ Speculate, perpetuate, while I'm skimming the surface/ Guess I'll figure my truth when they jerk on my curtain/

Week 11 The Story & The Bars

/Been a long time coming, patience a virtue/I'm fly and I'm sick, like I suffer from bird flu/ Scared to take chances, worry they'll hurt you/ I overcome, it's just something I work through/ I've had shows with just ten motherfuckers/ So I got up and rocked ten motherfuckers/ Hell with you think about Crock motherfuckers/ Just understand I won't stop motherfuckers/ Naw, this more than a gimmick/ This is more than words put together in limericks/ Or some cliche strewn about in a sentence/ Or a bullshit adage used to push you to finish/ This is miligrams of codone, stuck in the bed/ With forty sum staples, off stuck in my head/ This is death threats, drug deals, luck had done fled/ Couple guns pointed, D's surrounded by Feds/ 'Fore I could blink, he's looking at seven/ That's real life, I would never embellish/ Was there in the court, when they gave him the verdict/ Gave my brother a hug and then we got back to working/

Week 27 Smash

/ Give a fuck for what they said it be, white devil, leprosy/ 2nd Kings, 5 Verse 27, step with me/ Rearrange your plumbing like a hysterectomy/ And I wonder why the never check for me/ The Nation said Yacub had created us for weaponry/ Pigment left a cleft in me, genetic heresy/ And since the Caucasian is genetically recessive/ Maybe nature tries to correct it with depression/ Higher than white suicide stats/ But predictable as white suicide raps/ In the name of the father, the son, and holy spirit/ Maybe poly-theistic/ Maybe not, who am I question/ Just another born of a Constantine lesson/ I just do my one-two, and try keep my head up/ Even though things is eating at me on the dead up/ Guess it’s easier to deal with money and security/ And a lover reassuring you, in spite of all the scrutiny/ All of my emotions in the middle of a mutiny/ Lord, what to do with me/ My brother’s got a family, I just got a grudge/ One I cant stop from raking in the mud/ So I go and grab my dawg again, to take another loss again/ That hopefully we gain from, get some people talking, then/ I’ll build another wall within, take another fall with sin/ Like maybe this is all pretend/ So for my next lover, careful what I feel for you/ As I build another cross that I swear is built for two/

Week 29 Withdrawls In Newberry

All in my head, that's all where I stay/ I think, I don't think, I'm at a loss at what to say/ Everything I love, I go and take it for granted/ Pound it into dust, wipe my face with the granite/ Work open heart surgery on this canvas/ No sterilizing, an infection can manage/ Guess I plead for sabotage.../ Guess I fiend for that barrage.../ They tell me lighten up, as if I don't get it/ Like this is all an act, I just need the attention/ Like more than fucking fifty of you pay it a listen/ Yeah....this is all for attention.../ Is there where I stall at?, plateau out/ Where life says time, take the asshole out/ Work job here, job there, fall into obscurity/ Drink up, drug out, friends aren't even sure of me/ Trailer in the cut, smells of urine and liqueur/ Wood panel walls, in need of some fixtures/ Mattress on the floor, ashtray is beside it/ Food on the floor, with the laundry and wiring/ Die of some disease that bleeds out slowly/ So I feel it every day, like a could right o'er me/ And I’ll do it alone......./ Yeah, it'll do it alone/ Sounds fantastic, true asshole fashion/ Just another round of some white trash static/ Write till I’m catatonic ‘tween punching a clock/ Swallow gin & tonic’s, regurgitating the rot/ Swerve, jerk another nerve into to a knot/ As if I’ll find a random word that’ll serve me a stop/ God if you hear me, the joke’s getting old/ Attracting dust mites, maybe gathering mold/ Blather on and on, incoherently rambling/ Now either life’s bad or my sanity’s scrambling/ Or having a tough time with my vanity managing/ Or maybe it’s all just the man in me’s scampering/ Teehee, teehee, Crocker is emo/ Watching Rome burn as I fiddle with Nero/ Impetuous, incredulous, formulating exodus/ Nurse another cigarette and then wrestle with hesitance/ Beat a dead horse, like there’s life left in it/ Soon It’s gonna end, just give me one more minute/ Purse my lips into a grimace while I swallow my Guinness/ And redefine addiction and paying a penance/ Stewing on the seeds and the place where I lost em/ Somewhere between here and a bar down in Austin/

Week 13 Ode To Rappers

Fuck letting up, I'm up too high now/ Year old clothes, but son I'm fly now/ Made too many kites, they stay won't tied down/ I'd speak about rap, but I'd just sigh now/ I'm twenty three years, but I sound like I'm 4-O/ It's Sherlock Crock, in "Where Did The Real Go?"/Faking optimism, like maybe there's still hope/ But truth be told, it's the kids that I feel fo/ I'm saying, it used to mean more right/ Nows it's but a shell like a flag with torn stripe/ Hand me the pistol, I'ma rock her to sleep/ Hear her last words, "I'm bringing Crocker with me/ Have a lil scuffle, watch her jostle with me/ Try as she might she not toppling T/ As she lay in my arms, she tried coddling me/ And with her last breath, said the problem was me/

I Hate Rappers/ Word To Pack FM/ I Hate Rappers/ They sad as sin/
I Hate Rappers/ They a tad too dim/ And with my ink pen/ I'ma tattoo them/

I Hate You Rappers/

You fucking suck/

I Hate You Rappers/

You fucking suck/

I Hate You Rappers/

You fucking suck/

Like to cut out your tounge

And put it next to your lungs/

Brown & Denver (Verse & Hook)

(Intro) /If this my last rhyme, just wanna say what's up/ Brought up in the gravel, with the spit & mud/ Script was kinda shit, but it was us/ Pieces of a family, rinsed in blood/ Heavy water dilute, what can you do?/ Always been the type to just stand and stew/ Sifting through the shit, sort a plan or two/ And eat my heart out, like a cannibal/

(Hook) /So carve yours out and we'll dine together/

/And say a lil prayer bout the time and weather/

/And shine a light up and out when you find forever/

/I said shine a light out when you find forever/

(Verse)/ This town's baring down, and the time is creeping/ Business been leaving, it's all bereavement/ Speak as if it's scenic, but who'd believe it/ Rage against the silence, quietly screaming/ Fuck culture, what culture, our culture is corporate/ Generic, non-descript, vanilla, & boring/ How to quell the unrest, keep em sedated/ The American way of the American layman/ Duh duh duh, duh duh duh/ Get my farmer's tan up and register my gun/ Or totally scope hoes that's down to fuck/ In Mom's Nissan, bitches'll suck/ Rep. the Pub's or Dem like their pubes came in/ Like Pro Choice Or Life is why my bank is breaking/ Boy your attention is ripe for taking/ If it's dramatic, anyone could break in/ Understand the point I'm making?/ I'd blow my head off, but even I'm conditioned/ By the frame of my religion that forced submission/ If I had the nerve, I'd get my noose a cinched in/ And pop a bunch of pills just to ease the tension./But for all my cynicism, I think G-d'll listen/ Even though I’m a goy, gentile born a Christian/ So paint your soul whole, and start a fire/ And say your peace like it’s Edison’s on the wire/ Raise up a stink like you’re burning tires/ And expel what’s expired, gon’ reach up higher/ Tell em that you’re tired of the sires and liars/ Down shit’s creek knee deep in mire/ That’s it’s time a pauper took the king’ s attire/ So either eat a magazine or gon ‘head retire/

Marxist Muzik

Ran I need more beats, heat that'll force streaks/ Awkward like barbecue in Cola. from Maurice/ Bars UT like a whore's teeth, Bey treated with more bleach/ Spit jihad like Gabriel had informed me/ Man kick's dog when it steps on the porch/ Dog leaves, next day, same thing as before/ Moral of the story?/ Hey Rihanna, what is it? you bored?/ Andre bounced, Big Boi is in neutral/ So the Dungeon Family turns & brings out Future?/ Word to Cam', no computer computin'/ I mean sure, there's high, then there's fucking Medusa/ Shyne found Ha-Shem, Loon found Allah/ Mase: Christ, Puff said Ciroc hu Akbar/ I'm skid' with G-Dep in the back of a cop car/ Railing powder cut with the ashes of 'Pac ya'll/

(Hook)
/Egg in the skillet brain, man, this is you/
/Running in place like elliptical's/
/To do anything else, it'd be a miracle/
/Steady claiming I'm too lyrical, claiming that I'm too lyrical/


(Verse 2)
/Same bat time...same bat channel/ Active rap animals shunned  from all of the cameras/ I'm just a hop, skip and a jump/ from when i pop the clip in and I dump/ I got this, hot shit , better watch if I'm in the front/ Exits get blocked off , it's best to be not soft/ The recipe, next to me, is ecstasy's hot sauce/ My flow is a must have, know to give blood baths/ Watch as I bust ass ,if my hands do not touch cash/ The situations thicker than Black Dynamite's mustache/ But what's that , tough task/ Answers I just pass/ This is hard knock rock, y'all little faggots just cut class/ All that goon talk, it appears to be just trash/ When I start my part, it's all retarded, will brawl regardless/ Black Nathan Drake uncharted/ Hunt rappers down like I was Saul of Tarsus/ Just to get all them off the market/ I'm on the road to Damascus to kick some asses /and I'm enhanced with all the world's latest advances/ome asses /and I'm enhanced with all the worlds latest advances/

Save Me A Spot (Verse) - Ghani Gautama

No degrees, guru, or a pastor, or imam/ No shaman, no priest, master, or deacon/ Apostle, I might be, but a martyr like Stephen/ Paul, pick mamup your stones, cause I think it's the season/ 1, 2, mic check, mic test, I left/ I bet, if I step, they'll wish my death/ Think I'm too big for my britches/ Say my vocab comes off as offensive/ That shit is ridiculous, it must a merit a witness/ Denying me the throne as if this was the tempest/ Feeling Zarathustra, I doubt that they'll listen/ Like what's important kids? love or tradition?/

Angels With Dirty Faces

/Twenty minutes till the show, pulling hard on this smoke/ Funny see the roads where they lead and where you go/Sometimes I wish my brother would let go and watch me flow/ I wonder if he'd smile, wanna stop me, say it's dope/ I'm Dylan in my dreams, singing like a rolling stone/ Harmonica a wailin, death is screaming hold the phone/ To me that redefines the definition of shalom/ Chaos that feels controlled, in a moment all your own/ I wanna die on a soapbox, screaming that they know not/ Curmudgeon as an old pot boiling on a stove top/ I just wanna say my piece, bout how I'm never gonna find no peace/ Whether, weed, women, or speed, never be release that I'm gon need/ Like death that greets ur mother after years you seen her suffer/ The calm that washes over, shed a tear, and say you love her/ All the time you spent to be her peace, be her comfort/ It kills to see her go, but even more to see her suffer/
/We all fall short but some of us don't recover/
/Then our wings begin to wilt, thoughts of flying take us under/
/Think of what we were,then take on pity as a lover/
/...Angels With Dirty Faces


/ Like my uncle after money, after prison, he had nothing/ Came out a decade later and he smoked a piece of something/ Robbed of piece of mind, took that stimulant to hug him/ Guess that fact he didn't snitch, didn't mean that peace was coming/ Like my father's mother, who carved a life up out her beauty/ Everybody used to fawn, tell her she should be in movies/ Her vanity was peace, reassurance of her status/ A house, a couple sons, and a husband, she was magic/ Till she discovered he was cheating, the seams were now unweaving/ That anger mixed with hurt, fueled a way for her to even/ So one Sunday after service, she confronts him in the car/ Reaches in the dash, as he sits and stares in awe/ She pulls a pistol out, tears well and start to fall/ Looks him in the eye and then she fires below her heart/ As if to say, in a most vindictive way, you took my peace of mind, but you'll never take my heart/

The Battle For Your Attention

Sum low fidelity heat courtesy of Logik/ Spartanburg to Southside, the Professor & Crocker/ The lesser will object, dwell on the contrast/ But that’ll dispelled with a hail of my bombast/ Hit em with bomb raps, the hydrogen ilk/ Kid think ‘fore you step, let your vitamins build/ Living in inception, wan stifle the real/ But these are real ills with sum frightening stills/ Truthfully, I’m eulogies ahead of you kid/ I’ve killed more dreams than the movies could build/Bars fulla dopamine like Peruvian fields/ You Johnny Depp blow, just a movie for real/ I let go of life in pursuit of my goal/ No job, no degree, just these dice that I roll/ Mother disappointed, Father disappointed/ Whole time with a rhyme, like you sure that is poignant/ Feelings disjointed, I’m off of my axis/ Building a name that you link up with bastard/ Hell, sometimes I ask if it’s tragic/ Then I snap back, relax, and go nurture my habit/ Stricken cataracts, but I’m moving with passion/ Don’t know where I’m going, but you bet that I’m mashing/ In my 91 Honda everyday on the road/ Out hittin up the crew and cultivating these flows/ Guest spots, shoots, press, shows, and the tapes/ And all with no budget, this is straight off the faith/ From respect and friendships, son can you say the same?/Getting mad shit accomplished based straight off your name?/

And fuck your lil crew, they’re a joke to us/ Piff, Smoke, Puff, your're but a toke to us/ Death took a vacay’ and eloped with us/ Then he handed me his hood and said hold it up/ Get toe-tagged and bagged, fucking with me/ Career struck matched and ashed, it’s nothing to me/ And sure I’ma afraid, of your spandex jeans/ Does your mom know you stay Tampax clean?/ Putting on a high heel sandal show/ Walking out with a gay-guy camel toe/ Feel this for for real like patch of Braille/ That your whole life sounds like a massive fail/ Either you can lie or comply with your mind/ But I’ma lay it out truth line after line/ Give a fuck for trends or the signs of the time/ Just understand bitch, Carolina is mine/

Stephen's Fort Sumter Sing Along

/Spartanburg bitch, by now it’s redundant/ But old school smooth like a satchel of hummus/ That old school reach like Dikembe Mutumbo/ Still bout as ugly as the actors in Gummo/ Another battle rap for you to tack on the list hon/ Joint for R. Kells to play iffin’ you’re pissed on/ I’m coming for the throne, give if a fuck who is watching/ Illuminati, Masons, somebody stop me/ You better sacrifice every virgin that’s left/ You’re gonna need the supernatural to put me to bed/ If you hated Pac, you’ll despise my ass/ I’m white, afro centric, and twice as loud/ Straight from a place known for the Klan & the Mills/ Both basically died, but any interest in pills?/ You like Lori tabs? I love Lori tabs! / And fuck window panes, we got wholesale glass/ Ranked last in the union in education/ And first in AIDS transportation/ Dumbest of the dumb, sickest of sick/ A raging hard-on, I’m a belligerent prick/ Vyvanse & Viagra, I’ma fuck her till she’s bleeding/ Think that’s oft-putting, I’ma fuck her still she’s seizing! / The Hills Have Eyes just peek at my populous/ inbred! And we’re gonna fuck your metropolis/

/ Don’t ever come here, lest your handed a pass go/ Paying ten dollars for coffee and I’m the asshole?/ And fuck rap music, I do hip-hop/ You know make real music and watch that shit flop/Intelligent moderate liberal white trash/ Can you say Oxymoron?/ Now Oxycodone?/ Now which one did you know?/ Now who has the problem?/ Tomahawk chop, Chief Jay Strong bow/ B Movie threat, Man you a LawnMow/ Mr. Sandman, bring me some speed/ So they all sing along like a rerun of Glee/ I could speak on the recession and how my chips are failing/ But I’m more interested in gagging Nikki Haley/ She likes tea parties, how bout tea bagging?/ Okay…that was too much?/ Tried breaking us down, now we’re so building/ You nice? You LIE, Senator Joe Wilson/ Um…my swag is so fresh, it’s stupid/ Naw forget all that and just leave “stupid/ Born up in Whitney, but I’m Park Hills raised/ I’m country, I’m urban, I’m scarred as Seal’s face/ Son I’m gonna hit em where the asterisk hurt/ And touch the whole world, no Catholic Church/