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Trendsetters & Bedwetters

by Lewis M.

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All of y’all frail…
Tellin tall tales…
AI writes your raps.
Nigga’s souls is for sale.
Y’all can’t leave a mark
on the champ’s face.
Algorithms ghostwrote
your whole existence. Rampage
on the sham fame niggas
poppin champagne on the gram.
Unconcerned with aesthetics.
Don’t cater to vultures. Get it?
See, this game? Fuckin lame.
I’m past chasing fame. Nigga, dead it.
Chasing trends? I’m chasing chins
to uppercut with a vengeance.
Snake niggas toe the line,
don’t wanna fuck up the bag.
Can’t walk with broken spines,
they slither across the pads
of MPCs used to make
the beats they drool on.
Can’t even call it spitting.
So, when I say “I pray for you”,
take it passive aggressive.
Watch what other rappers do,
copy, paste, and print it.
When you xerox a xerox 50 times,
then what you’re getting
is a blank page eventually. Fraud…
The best part of your shit
is when a nigga press pause.

I ain’t playin no games,
drop the controller.
I’m taking down names,
shots from the holster,
Don’t care where I aim,
I’m hitting what’s in the way.
Better hope it’s not you,
I’m bringing it to ya face, dawg.

I don’t trust y’all niggas…
Kvetching bout the culture,
tap dancing on landmines,
attempt to crossover.
See, I only wanna rap…
Y’all beg whites for respect,
not knowing they ain’t gon
give it to you anyway… BET.
Hardly any of y’all
niggas gon harm me
when half ya listeners
is just a bunch of fuckin bots, b.
Rapping for an audience
full of closeted nazis
solely because you confirm
their assumptions about the lot
of us, nigga. It’s got me
considering the logistics
of me catching a body…
Then thinking, “wait,
I ain’t gon beat that case.”
So, I should prolly
take this rage to the page.
Yet, they stay giving me pills
to keep my barring at bay.
Dealing with shifty and shade
show promoters…
who view me as a means
of fulfilling a fuckin quota.
So, until further notice,
I’m keeping it strictly ILL.
I’m on ONE like the amount of
good Ghostbusters films.


Fake muthafuckaz
cosplay as trendsetters…
Take off the Supreme,
you’re all a bunch of bedwetters.
Flashing all that cash,
I ain’t impressed, my nigga. 
Tragically, goofies think
flexing replaces personality.
Seen it all before, you ain't
the first, I can promise you.
Knocking at your door with
a hurst, body got exhumed.
You fuckin zombies,
all your idols are false.
Go back to stumbling towards
any style with a pulse.



released March 3, 2023
Written by Lewis Morris
Produced by Lewis Morris
Recorded by Fen Rotstein
Mixed by Fen Rotstein and Lewis Morris
Mastered by Dereck Blackburn (Quiethouse Recording)


all rights reserved



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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