1. |
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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
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2. |
Expiration Date
02:27
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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. |
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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)
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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
03:31
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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
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8. |
Casualties of 4th Period
02:09
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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.
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9. |
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10. |
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11. |
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12. |
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13. |
Laugh Lines
02:10
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14. |
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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
... more
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