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fka Reggie

by Lewis M.

  • Digital Album
    Streaming + Download

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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    The "fka Reggie" album in CD form, yo!!! For people that want the physical copy! Pre-Orders will come with a digital download of the album when it releases, and also an invite to an online listening party!

    Includes unlimited streaming of fka Reggie via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 7 days

      $9 USD or more 

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  • T-Shirt/Shirt + Digital Album

    This design is the one that is the primary and official fka Reggie t-shirt. Comes in a variety of colors and sizes. GET THIS ONE TO SHOW THE HATERS YOU GET THE VISION. When you order, tell us what color you want. (comes in white, silver, light blue, kelly green, pink, yellow, and red, and more)

    Includes unlimited streaming of fka Reggie via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 10 days

      $25 USD or more 

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  • Sweater/Hoodie + Digital Album

    This is the official hoodie for "fka Reggie". If you buy this, all your dreams will come true, assuming your dream is to wear my face on a shirt. BUY THIS TO LET THE HATERS KNOW THAT YOU GET THE DAMN VISION, YO. (comes in white, pink, sand, light blue, sports grey, irish green, blue, red, and more)

    Includes unlimited streaming of fka Reggie via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 10 days

      $30 USD or more 

    You own this  


  • Hat + Digital Album

    This classy and dope snapback proclaims what we already know... That Lewis Morris iz indeed tha illest. Hat is made to order. Will usually ship within 5-7 business days.

    Includes unlimited streaming of fka Reggie via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 7 days

      $15 USD or more 

    You own this  


VERSE 1 (Lewis) Six albums deep, Only know the hard way. Probably why I'm bad at taking compliments. Let it fade from my memory. Pats on the back becomes slaps in the face, and their smiles drip cyanide, teeth like razor blades. I don't even know when I started wearing this fuckin mask nerfed my confidence, left it humming in the background. Dumbing down the shit makes me glow from a distance. So, when niggas big league me, I'm expected to sit and listen. Don't get it confused, I know I'm fuckin ill. Your shit doesn't enthuse me, I could easily kill whatever beat you put in front of me. Let it be known my sole mission is to be the one they talk about after shows when I'm on the bill. Whether it's five or five-hundred, my shit finna knock. NAH. I'm busting down doors, fuck asking for my spot. I'm taking it. Fuck this waiting shit. It's all I got. That humble shit? I was faking it. But that shit stops here. Attack the beat like we got a problem. I'm goated with a loaded revolver for a mouth, kid. Shooting like I’m MJF. Gave ya boy a live mic, something they'll surely regret. Not asking about the next, I'm right now. The present. Done letting dummies confuse my potential, peruse my credentials, and write me off with dull pencils. The same ones they stabbed their eardrums with. It’s mental. How the fuck they even listening? They can’t hear me. They don’t want to. They know the voice of God is scary. Feel that rumble deep in their chest. Alanis Morrisette in Dogma is my energy. Better check ya heads. Piles of plaques and trophies stacked in my closet right next to the cure for my depression. Nigga, stop it. I seen the mountain top, Ya boy’s lived in the squalor. So, more things motivate me than just another dollar. Y’all mortgage your soul, concerned only with pockets. Both sides ain’t talkin. No corpus callosum. Must be why I’m hostile nod my head to bullshit y’all treat like Gospel. Can’t sit, and watch. So, Consider this a warning… I’m coming for it all. The propz, the respect, whatever. You’re entering a brawl. When the fuckin bell rings, you best conjure up some magic, kid. Whole world’s in flames?… Well, I’m here to add to it. Motherfuckas. VERSE 2 (Cliff) Views from my on top of u fools so astounding My branches growing faster then roots I prolly need grounding Might extend an olive branch outta petty but u respect it But im getting more recognition then these niggas got records I be far outta town and some how I’m still runnit Ya mouth ya still running it an I cant be mad I’m probably third person funding it There’s something bout humility My lack of it is fueling me Should be pruning leaves just to keep my tranquility U might be a top pick an still be emka okafor Mean while ill be gracing covers u niggas been jonesing for U need em im the reason calling me hoobastank Even when I lose it its coming back like a boomerang My ego is Eddie Murphy, im maxxmillian u can’t hurt me Im not a goat im a god I jus be acting kinda quirky Im not a god im a god, put some blessing on my health Plus I like my odds like I’m betting on myself
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)
VERSE 1 (Lewis) I know what I should be. I know where I should go. My heart doesn’t trust me. The blood it pumps knows. Grew up near a cemetery. So, when I breathe, I inhale deeper than necessary… Exhale to celebrate being unburied. No known wisdom came attached with any scars I’ve ever gotten in my life. Brings me back to staring hard at the mirror tryna conjure a different nigga in its reflection. Lessons fell upon some deaf ears too busy ringing like my phone drifting to voicemail. Familiar string of people tryna reach through the void veiled around me for a tiny spark of the fire that’s inside me raging for a decade, dimming down until it's hardly visible. Guess it's expected for getting older to treat the voice I had my whole life with the coldest shoulder. I used to think misery made for better poems. Pricking skin til it bleeds is like casting Rosetta Stones. Language of weathered suns. Spoken through shredded gums. Tongue native to where we stepped over bodies to make bodega runs. Daily prayers begun them days where the sun ain't come out cuz I was beneath it, but I still heard its hum. CHORUS (Maryann) Rain is heavy. So am I. Always been. I don’t know why. I don’t mind it on my skin. Dance in the downpour within. VERSE 2 (Lewis) So, they gave me an umbrella. Told me to use it everyday to feel better. Sky in forever fall, this was how I’m ‘sposed to live. No downpours, but no sunshine. Constant overdraft, my ink runs dry. Voice shrivels into a whisper, my bars are a confession my lips refuse to dignify. Shuffle past many faces, familiar spectres, aware but disaffected. And, they’re all using the same umbrella. Buzzards circling overhead, so I grit my teeth. Keep this umbrella up, or else I’m bout to be a feast. I can’t stop this thing from eating me alive. So, I’m willing to deprive my entire life from the fuckin sky? What the fuck? It’s plain to see that my aim is to understand the pain I endure expecting gains, only finding shame for tolerating bullshit. I ain’t at no pulpit preaching, I’m just tryna reach the culprit. Aware that when I do, it’ll end up being a mirror. Ain’t recognized myself, it’s some random fat nigga staring. We both shed a tear when the sky begins clearing. A tiny peek of sunshine waltzes through grey. Maybe that means even though I was born brain broken with my aunties chain-smoking, and my mom’s pain soaked into pillows… The fact that I’m here in spite of the terror is something I would see with this umbrella up. Fuck…… CHORUS (Maryann)
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)
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
VERSE 1 Learned my dad died from a newspaper clipping. Moms broke it to me with her eye makeup dripping. Remember staring at the picture conjuring a vision, his face was always blurred, speakers blaring George Clinton. Always listened to funk, then go home to Kirk Franklin. No melodies raining down, I don’t know if the sound of soft sobs coming my moms could ever substitute my own that never came. The tears, like his face, would always fade. Never given an inch to be anything but habitually scrambling for epiphanies life refuses to gift to me. Nigga died on a Sunday. Found out on a Wednesday, an hour after the fucking funeral already ended. Aunt Jackie came through, brass knuckles on the ready for the cracker-ass heifer that ain't even bother to tell me. Mom’s words, not mine. Waited for the grief to hit. But, it never did. It was better hid. CHORUS X2 Memory will bring him [Back to life] Hold on to the feel. Letting go of the real... The tragic shit that smacks me [back to reality] Can I let him go? Guess I'll never know. VERSE 2 Maybe I never knew the nigga. Ruffle through my past, tryna get a truer picture… creeping through the white noise, like it’s 1990’s cinemax. Thousand miles of static swirls around the vintage ash that they stashed in a box, with a picture of face scotch-taped to the top. Auntie handed me a vial of ash, it's all I got. I saved the newspaper clipping, but his face is faded. Wife handed me box of scraps, so of course I'm jaded. The memories feel distant. Like somebody else lived em, and I'm just touring the visions. don't recognize myself in em even though I hold his face. It’s anonymous to me. Think back to golden days putting together all the pieces that explain why I ain't never shed a tear for the man despite the pain. Cried every single one as a kid wondering if I'd ever see him again when he was breathing. So, maybe that's the reason. Damn.. I can't help feeling ashamed laid up with my lady going over baby names... [back to life] Thinking what I'd do, knowing it ain't gonna be Lewis Jr., that's the truth. Moms called me Reggie after my middle name, cuz hearing my dad's only ever brought her pain... [back to life] Now, that pain is forever, nigga. CHORUS X2
VERSE 1 Catch me in the library studying, bloody prints all over the pages. Ran straight from grade eight where niggas sharpen their blades if they see Southside niggas stroll leisurely to history. Caught me in the hallway. Six of em, with gritted teeth. Iverson Jerseys, Air Forces, and fitteds… Surrounded as I clutched “Captain Underpants” in my gripped fist. Just a nerdy kid into professional wrestling, Metroid, and Batman. Guess I should’ve prepped for this. First week here, I saw some girl get stabbed. Blood all over the stairway, surrounded by laughter of preteens nonplussed by death and tragedy. My real education started at the scene. Let that set the tone, the bottom of expensive Nikes crashing ‘gainst my dome in the halls during class, but I guess no one was home. I navigate the mess of legs and feet. Made it out, and ran like the Ice Cream man was down the street. Didn’t stop til I got to library lookin all tore down… Busted lip, imprints of Air Forces on my First Down. Librarian too busy on eHarmony to notice. Adrenaline got me feeling like I’m floating. But, fuck… I dropped my Captain Underpants book, and I know they got it. Next period, I go to math class, and I spot it. This nigga dangles it in front of me, and chucks it in the trash, says “dig it out, pussy”… That’s when I snapped. Blacked out. All I remember is swinging thinking about all the moments that led to this, it was vicious… The bullies, the torment, used condoms stuffed into my locker, suicide notes started and never finished, my cries getting dismissed. All of it was coming out in each closed fist, colliding like asteroids against this nigga's face. When I came to, I saw the nigga terrified, with a scar from his eye to his chin, in a puddle of his piss.
Laugh Lines 02:10


My name is Lewis. Lewis Morris. But, for a long portion of my childhood, I went by my middle name... Reginald... REGGIE. Lewis and Reggie existed at deeply opposite ends of the spectrum that is me. My first name Lewis is from my father. Not wanting to relive the pain of her past relationship with him, she called me by my middle name. Reggie was meek, quiet, and humble. A child of the autism spectrum, he was mostly in his own head, imagining movies and tv shows starring him. He’d also imagine music. He would have entire albums in his own head. But, he never put pen to paper. He never expressed any of the fireworks happening inside of him.

When he went to middle school, the teacher referred to him as “Lewis”. This was the first time I didn’t correct them. I made a choice to be “Lewis” for the first time. During this point, I was also going through changes mentally and emotionally. I became more confident, and felt more power in my voice. As I grew up, I gradually began to leave Reggie in my rearview until he basically disappeared from my field of vision. But, I lost sight of where I came from. I let relationships and friendships I nurtured for years die in an instant. I no longer recognized myself, as Lewis, Reggie, or otherwise. A year ago, I started going to therapy regularly for the first time. It made re-examine my past, and it’s deep ties to my present.

And, thus began my search for Reggie. I found him in my music. This is that story.


released March 22, 2024

Guest starring Rachel Dunbar as Ms. Dunbar

All tracks written and performed by Lewis M. (unless specified otherwise)
Produced entirely by Lewis M.
Mixed & Mastered by Omega Filth
Recorded entirely at The Record Co.
(except tracks 4, 7, 8, and 9 recorded at Casa De Fen)
"Ms. Dunbar" skits written by Rachel Dunbar

Recorded & engineered by Chris Rogers (track 3, 4, 11, 13, 14), Lexi Blair (track 5, 6, 11, 12, 14), Dan Moffat (track 1, 2, 3, 4), Fen Rotstein (4, 7, 8, 9), and Devin Ferreira (track 10)

Cover art by Pulp Prints


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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:
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