Searching for purpose since the age of like two below twenty,
Tupelo honey tasting razor blades to chase the days,
I eagerly anticipated dissipating into dust,
Trust this is the only outlet participating,
Worthy of work, if nothing less, then nothing's left,
Under stress, but aren't we all, some of us run to death,
Some of us saunter and wander wondering what it was,
None of us know it or knew it nothing but nothing much,
Seeking a sudden rush, maybe sneaking suspicions too,
Close encounters skeleton closets all this just isn't you,
Maybe it once was, I'll never know so who's to say,
Only exposure is what was given, written, rue the day,
I grew to say the things I thought and fought and often dreamed,
It's all of me, some of it symbols, some of it saw and seen,
All of these things and, all of it means, well....
I guess it's up to you, nothing new but utter truth,
Suddenly something such as suffering sucker proof,
No rush enough to prove, wondering who is who for number two and under who,
I believe it when I see, but maybe even not,
Only assumptions some of them something some we leave to rot,
Some of them came and some of them stayed, not all or most,
Call it close, but that’s all perspective, subjective, saw a ghost,
And, I am hopeful, quoteful open most to show and prove,
Effort feels indebted, v vendetted all that’s owed to you
Hold this too

whatgoesaround

Something far from the old me,
Same me just a different day now too,
How to, a guide to the misguided
Fly shit abide with, about to,
Well, hell we heard that once more,
Through the side window opposed to the front door,
Had a slight sample, a taste now we want more,
If we didn’t spend it in a minute what the funds for?
Uh, I could tell you or show you,
The new you the same as the stain from the old you,
And now that you know all the games that you go through,
Can put it in play all they say and they told you,
Or, keep you head in the sand,
Improvise how and whys now instead of the plan,
And you heard it before but it’s better my man,
So I’ve said in the past now I’ve said it again,
Uh, it’s like history repeats,
Far from it, but miss me with the speech,
Traverse trails and distance with the feet,
Until we see a sign that the ends within our reach,
False pretense, pretend that dreams end,
This once repeated since preteen for seasons,
I mean when it seemed grim but seas bend,
To these whims that these friends believed in,
Uh, only me and these mentions, these missions,
Ambitions and listens, so listen, this vision was written,
What’s living’s within them how little we know from what is and what isn’t
Uh, and I told you all before, what’s so was all allure,
We go pro and grow within our core and then show what’s ours and yours
Until ghosts, it’s all a bore,
Well a bore and abhorrent the pain is the same and the places we store it,
The blame and the shame and the names they lay dormant, found fame in our stains then the more that we wore it,
Morbid, that’s perception, I’ll take it,
Learn life in these lessons or fake it,
I assure, all these sessions I’m naked,
Aware that they’re sacred escape it or grave dig, 
And, to winners the spoils,
10 down when you enter these doors,
Report live from the center of wars,
When I’m penning these scores from the phlegm to the pores,
That’s that, plus them too,
Not surprised by the evil that men do,
And we survive with a piece when the rents due,
Set a sight aside to provide what they’re into,
Uh, and I told you again that it’s owed and it’s in,
Take a no for a spin, just know, that’s the mode that I’m in,
In the coldest of winds till it’s over and ends ,
I set aside and absorbed all I could stand
Look alike and not saying shit like the foot clan
Provoking open hand smacks like it’s over due,
And I’m the best to say it cuz I said it so you know it’s true

foot clan

Chasing, whatever it is that inspires the chase,
Amuse-bouche the looped truth just to let them acquire the taste,
Hide your face, climates change, nothing now is quite what it was,
And endings rarely equate to what they would be at rub & tugs,
What's up with us, it's a never-ending unanswered question,
Sought in a every sentence and in the end just advanced with less than,
But I'll still ask them all till in the end disaster calls,
Intent intend to master falls, and then attend to scratch my balls,
Look, the only thing that’s coming this summers a bummer,
Maybe heat stroke or a to be broke, stretch a c note till it’s steam rolled,
Your self-esteems low, and that’s honestly properly placed,
My sense of humors strictly obscenities, mockery based,
Awkwardly face the five of you give it what I’m inspired to do,
Live it or livid die a few, is it or isn’t time to prove,
Hindsight, I’ll tell you I’ll when today becomes tomorrow down the line,
Blood of my blood flesh of my flesh offer to give a pound of mine,
My cities a desolate wasteland, dystopian in fact, 
Aftermath of mother nature, and provoking an attack,
Hope to be back to life, reality to whom it may concern,
A few may take a turn, much more content to let it burn,
Certain savagery, nothing is promised after me,
Tough to respond to casualties, suddenly conquered casually,
Added we, divide amongst ourselves, that’s the saddest fact,
Oceans of preconceived notions, intend to shatter that,
Brratattattatt, onamona fond of what’s on a face,
Refer before request I implore, something that I erase, 
Hide your face, climates change, again let’s bring it back to that,
All that’s left living what’s left of it, nothing after that


Maybe, doubt it though, frigid baby powder flow,
Concrete is cracked and it cries, maybe a flower grows,
Powdered toast, bread is on the rise, not really, sounded nice,
Fred told me not to cuff the mic, that’s surely sound advice,
Down to die, we drown in lies only buoyed by breath,
Search for purpose, or purchase ask me who am I, next,
Said it though a time or ten, revisit when I rhyme again,
They told me before I embraced it, so face it, that I am him,
I do this in my off time, leisurely, not a brag it’s worse,
Afterwards, what’s after words, I had to purge,  it’s Baxter nerds

onamona

We byke, and we might be better than ever,
Been putting letters together since playing def jam vendetta,
What’s wetter, my jumper or stacking syllables,
The musics still in motion only thing lacking is visuals,
They’re pacisifists by day, moonlighting acting as criminals,
It sounds good at the time but what’s left then after your principles,
Avoid the scuddlebutt, find worth in where the silence falls,
Embrace the pace, avoid the race, there’s beauty in the minor flaws,
I tried to told you, the moments find you where you are,
So wherever the time and place the futures seldom very far,
Same for the past though, we miss what makes the here and now,
Like this came from the past and future for you all to hear it now,
Presently present tense, I’m seldom still impressed by this,
My music gives the impression its concocted by pessimists,
That’s more than accurate, I was before and after it,
As were those that I learned it from, I studied them and patterned it,
It’s paint by numbers now, I fall into the same routine,
This food for thought for starving souls who feast until the tables clean,
Maybe it’s maybeline, I make it all up as I go,
Been at it since before my birth so now it’s probably all I know,
Where do we go from here, who do we do it for,
Promise you I’m truly yours, these tunes are more like movie scores,
These bruce lee bars* are proof we spar and prove these scars are who we are,
Or who we were, it’s all a blur, the faces fade they’re few and far 
Between a dream and all that seems, I pick and choose,
The path and paint these portraits made of mes and all my distant views,
It’s only me, that’s not to say that it isn’t you,
These pieces of my predecessors, those before that did it to
Hidden clue

(thems fighting words)

Maddox McCool (produced by Big Lo)

I’m less satisfied with scattered lies, and with the need to categorize,
See all the steps and think ours differ sadly the same pattern applies,
The laughs and cries and sad goodbyes, failures falls and sacrifice,
The paths revised but half the time, rinse and repeat and rationalize,
After I’s, what’s left to reflect on,
What’s left of what’s left, I’m,
The patron saint of impatient waits and great debates and raising stakes,
Grazing on them as well a fortune tells of fortunes, well,
I’m forced to sell what’s more than yells, of course in spells and tortured tales,
It’s the one you knew then knew of nothing I knew me once before,
Aspire for something more beneath these bars like underscores,
And I’ll be on my way, okay, the great decay of futures past,
Demeanor of patina cracked and crumble still pursue the paths,
Through the laughs or looking glass, perspective paints a portrait too,
So what you think of as yourself is often made of more than you,
Of course it’s true, and often not, I’m less acquainted as I grow,
The sand is piling, still a few things are left that I have to know,
But all I know I need to know is made of all I know I don’t, 
So most I’m missing’s probably distant, made of more I probably won’t,
Realize is lacking till it’s over, or probably never will,
Sights unseen beyond a dream and feelings that I’ll never feel,
Perhaps they’ll bring me back, insert these quarters, maybe try again,
Stumble through this same old game and miss my mark and die again,
A silent end, where whimpers never tingle ears to make them real,
I wonder with repeated views if all still has the same appeal,
I came to kill what’s left of all that’s left of what left I left behind,
What’s left of that, I’ll maybe I’ll kill when time comes round a second time,
Or when I press rewind, all of what’s left is mine,
I’m still in debt but fine as long as all these letters rhyme

nightmares (produced by Big Lo)

Well, salutations, congratulations we made it to,
What seems to be the end, a few things left to say to you,
Where do we go to retrieve all the useless paid in dues,
Or get the time back  investing views and perusing taken 2’s,
It’s slightly different than the end I had envisioned,
But still we’re going down kicking, it’s sickening fighting a system,
That led us to the brinc and fed us less than you would think,
Investing less in humans, sink the rest that’s left in food and drink,
I tried to make the most, but never knew quite where to start,
Lighter than the stiffest board surrounded by those scared of dark,
How long’d it take to learn so much and yet it’s still so little,
Chasing the horizon only then to find it’s just the middle, 
It’s all a blur, really that’s all it ever was,
The parallels unparalleled, if only them instead of us,
That’s wishful thinking, and all that led us to let us lie,
Little left to linger of edifices we edify,
Head is high, morale is low,
The pessimisms valid though, 
And stumble towards the stragglers that’s left to ask us “How’d it go”,
They’ll tell the tales we told to whatever replaces us, 
That leave the footprints on what’s left of all of us that’s laid to dust,
Made of mush, the bones allow to animate potential puddles,
And all we are in the end assorted existential struggles

Raptor

Fortune and pain,
End goal, unfortunate aim,
Set a sight on sights unseen, unknown torture that came,
It’s a product of proselytizing,
Also, ostracizing,
Reflecting often in silence,
I’ve been, alone in thought so long my thoughts become companions,
Slip inside to hitch a ride and leave this life abandoned,
Standing, on all ten, connect to two, combine and carve a path,
Leave a trail through speech and tails the likes of which are hard to match,
Pardon that, for which I’m unaware may hit you where I never meant to,
A sin I’m certain I’ll send you,
A time or twenty-five, life repeats, I promise that,
Clinging to what hinders like it’s Lazlo with the haunted hat,
On or at a time and place footprints I found I left before,
Dogs of reservoirs, settle fors of course, or metaphors,
What’s left is yours, I’ll make for me a time I’ve never known,
Linger with these letters at my leisure, better left alone,
 
  
Seems selfish, even expounding now when no one asked,
Or asking for advice aware that no one knew or knows the path,
Apologize a thousand times,
I know, the problems we’re facing amount to a mountain of mines,
Counting the time, until we’re close enough to touch and taste,
I find it funny how the space it seems it suffocates,
But nothing waits, we make the most of what we’ve lost before,
The cost of war recycled becomes a cause du jour,
Where did we leave it,
before we left and..
Do we believe it,
Or face and finally see it,
I hope, they see a worth in those of whom they seldom see themselves in,
Can guarantee it, but if it’s not this life what else then

xavier thunder dumplin

Birthed from deep within the bubbling bowels of Bay County Florida comes a phenom of auditory excellence the likes of which the universe has never seen nor heard. A being brimming with such breathtaking talent and ability that the greatest of author's words could not help but fall stories short in their description of all that he is, was and shall be. Baxter Dashingrod cannot be adequately described as words have yet to be created that come close to sufficiently summing up all of his characteristics and capabilities. He has burst onto the scene not unlike the Kool-Aid Man barreling through a brick wall, announcing his entrance with a slightly more melodic and extended Oooooohhhh Yeeaaaahhhh. Dozens of world renowned recording artists who wish to remain anonymous have been blown away by his verbal dexterity, technical proficiency, otherworldly breath control, Pulitzer Prize worthy wordplay and lyrics, piercing blue eyes, extensive fanny pack and WWF action figure collections and vertical leaping ability. One Grammy Award winning musician was recently quoted as saying that, The breaths he takes between bars are leaps and bounds better than anything anyone else has ever thought to create. He turned down offers to enter the NBA draft, join Barnum & Bailey Circus, defend the WBF Heavyweight boxing title he had yet to receive, and become the first human to drink a Capri Sun while juggling 24 24kt gold chainsaws atop a unicycle on Jupiter all before the age of 9 in order to pursue this groundbreakingly revolutionary career in music. Through all the accolades and honors he insists that he is only just getting started and that the future may in fact not be capable of containing all that he soon seems intent on doing and there is little doubt that libraries will be erected in futile attempts to house all that is written about him in the coming days, months and years. Each word glowingly positive no doubt, but still somehow woefully insufficient not unlike these.