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/