1. |
Ego Birth (feat. Cliff Notez)
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2. |
Expiration Date
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3. |
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VERSE 1 (Lewis)
Uhhh
Van Gogh
Masterpiece
Or at least Luther Vandross
Classy like gouda and toast
The shooter's aim's precise
Flow is too nice
Can't book me
Cuz ya boy keeps raising the price
The market demands it
Inflation... Ascension...
Nothing but anthems.
Spittin that canon
Typa music they're debating on a college campus
There's only one motive
And, that's to make dope shit
When the bass hits, I need to feel it in my chest
It gotta rattle my ribcage and shake whatever's left
of my soul that I haven't sold to my student loans
Couple grand in the hole
Still ain't stopping my flow
I'm relentless
Remember how they tried to prevent this
Thick fog of gravity to halt my ascension
Push past the molasses
I'm here to make classics
Sped through the wonder years
Met the world, now I'm Savage
Let it bang
CHORUS X2 (Haasan)
Let it bang
Let it bang
When you got the sauce
They try to treat you like a stain
Let it bang
Let it bang
Big gold Diamond Dallas
Dancing on my chain
VERSE 2 (Jesse)
Like a poster waiting under the rim
Tree and Lewis motherfucker
Yes we at it again (again)
Operation thru the static and wind
Blaze the cannabis till animus sinks
Canon is sick
Damn
Almighty cheap coffee while I body joints
Garden of blood sweat and tears like a Tommy point
Here's Johnny Appleseed peering thru the door
Palm around a hatchet and a gut full of rappers souls
...Damn
So it goes
Prose translates to a lob on the pick and roll
Head trips
Metrics of sorrow
Ball when I rap
Cedric Ceballos
Beyond cold
Flow skull and the crossbones
From the anchor where the whole road's potholes
Your fan base is the number letter bots bro
We on top on some double headed honcho
BRIDGE X2 (Lewis)
I don't want nothin
To do with it
If it don't move me
Bass knocking
Until I'm woozy
Didn't choose me
Showed up at the door
They can't refuse me
Handcuff myself
To this game
Tree and Lew
See
CHORUS X2 (Haasan)
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4. |
No Umbrellas (feat. Maryann Murray)
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5. |
Vision (feat. Tim Hall)
03:26
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VERSE ONE
Nah…
Y’all cats don’t get the vision.
Wrong lenses,
no sense of mission.
Busy tossing stacks
into a well. Niggas wishing.
This rap shit saved a nigga’s
life when he was itching
to grab on a belt,
hang it high from the ceiling.
Gang Starr was the first joint
to aid in the healing.
Now I am on a path
to make the kind of songs
that helps young niggas
feel a little less alone.
If you ain’t tryna touch anyone,
what’s the point?
That’s priority uno
when I’m making my joints.
Let the kick drums anoint.
Still chasing that dragon
of the first time I heard “Moment of Truth”.
So, imagine…
It’s 12 year old Lewis
with a Gamecube controller.
Dave Mirra BMX 2.
Guru’s voice takes over.
First time I felt a song
talking to ya boy.
So, right then and there,
I made a choice
to bring the mothafuckin noise.
HOOK (2x)
Y’all cats don’t get the vision.
Ain’t just beats and rhymes
I’m tryna chip in.
Tryna be what saved me
for anyone that listens.
Let the beat of my metronome
guide my ambition.
NAH….
VERSE TWO
They say it’s lonely at the top,
but I’ve never been.
Type of shit some niggas say
when they never win.
Born at the bottom,
and ya boy’s been climbing ever since.
Been here so long,
my ancestor’s fossils demanding rent.
Got me reminiscing
about fictional accolades…
and think why I ain’t
resort to the “click-clack” and “SPRAY”...
I can’t really call it.
Maybe it’s depression
or existential exhaustion
where even waking up feels like
stepping into a coffin.
Crooked busted buck teeth niggas
ain’t ‘posed to fuckin smile.
Mean mugs are what’s on
the menu normally. Gutter child
raised in the slums, so
whatever roasts you throw at me,
I promise that I’m numb.
You can’t say shit meaner
than what I’ve thought about myself.
So, perhaps…
ya boy’s destined to go from rags
to slightly better rags.
I ain’t willing to suck up
to crackers to secure the bag.
Maybe the basement ain’t so bad.
Maybe I’ll make friends with the rats.
They get me.
But nah….
CHORUS (2x)
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6. |
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VERSE 1 (Myles)
I like to walk as slowly as possible
Eat pomegranates with a spoon
See dying everyday as optional
What am I living to do
I'm a needy ghost
I need a decent dose
Being seen exposed
Peep the recent post
Another awkward pose
Indeed feed the folks
I took the Concord coach
So I could see the show
Eye on the mountain
That I'm climbing
Eye on the ocean
The tides rising
Till I'm 86'd
I am fine dining
Hand speaking
I'm signing
I will die rhyming
VERSE 2 (ToadStool)
Tryna find a way to find way out
Rhymin since the days I was playground bound,
I'm raised now
Not too concerned with ya two cents
Fuchsia swirls on the Stool's blend
Suture nerves till my cruel end
The way I move pens like
Spilt milk
Buried alive
Snakes in the line of sight like Kill Bill
Fury entwined,
Further the rhyme with that ill will
Surgical lines for purging they spines
Emerging with a purpose to find
Searching for words to lurch
In shadows when the earth will decline
Certainly further demise
But it's murky in the works of my mind
It murders me to think this certain search
Of person defines
My own purpose to climb
Straight up outta the hole
Been about in the fold
Ya clout is worth the same amount
As those mountains of coal
I feel the weight of the world
Acting like Atlas's clone
Back bone snapping tryna
Capture the hope
CHORUS X2 (ToadStool & Lewis
And we ain't never seen the same sights
Hoping for a copasetic moment
On the this late night
Right
Wander heaven with my eyes closed
Tryna see it inside of myself
And break the spiral
VERSE 3 (Lewis)
Parabellum when I spit
Letters written while at war
Keep my focus on the art
Let the robots keep the score
Nothing changed but the weight
Rusty boxcutter raps
Got the Snopes on the ready
Niggas never utter facts
Alarm set for 6
Don't wake until it's 10
Early bird gets the warm
Late bloomers get the win
I don't give a flying fuck
Bout what the radio airs
I only make the shit
That I wanna hear
Yeah
Real G's move in silence
Prolly explains why
There ain't shit about me quiet
Oh yeah
There no denying
That I am pariah in some circles
I'm fine with that
They talk shit behind my back
And then claim they bump my tracks
When its face to face
Used to beg for validation
Nigga bought an MPC
For the clout, and now it's waiting
In the closet while collecting dust
I promise
It takes all of my arm strength
Not to deck niggas
Calling my music content
Fuck the nonsense
CHORUS X4 (ToadStool & Lewis
VERSE 4 (Lewis)
Y'all bitter
Corrupt rhyme spitters
With a clutched nine milli
Stashed behind smiles given
In the aisles I'm sitting
At the rap shows
Half the reason why
I'm always posted in the back rows
It's facts tho
I come off as an asshole
I don't buy your vibes
You're suspicious
I don't connect to the diatribes
You're shitting out that exit wound
You call a mouth
I see it crystal clear, dude
I ain't buddy-buddy with
Y'all niggas, and that scares you
Now you're fearful
Eyes darting back & forth
Like the cops are at ya door
With their body cams off
Now, you're tryna beg and reason
Cuz, when I get the mic next
You know a mausoleum
Is the property you're leasing
Oh yeah, speaking of squalor
Got the blogs politicking
Cuz, the business up here
Is based on who's cock you're licking
As far I'm concerned
it's crystal clear that it's not their's
My gas tank says
That I got years
before I'm hitting E, nigga
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7. |
Psychic Hotline
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8. |
Casualties of 4th Period
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9. |
Trendsetters & Bedwetters
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10. |
Overdraft (feat. Terry Borderline & Paul Willis)
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11. |
Unwelcome (feat. Brandie Blaze)
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12. |
Map of the Stars (feat. Steph)
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13. |
Laugh Lines
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14. |
Twenty-Two (feat. Sassy D'Estany)
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Lewis M. Boston, Massachusetts
Lewis M. is a boston-based (and Providence born) poet, beatmaker, and MC. He has performed at the Apollo Theater in NYC,
The Smithsonian, among many other venues. His beats retain a refreshingly simplified approach to hip-hop production that harkens back to the boom-bap of the 90's while remaining fresh and new.
To inquire about purchasing beats, contact him at:
Lewis.Morris@flatlinepoetry.com
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