DAMORTE [ ROUND 1 ]

Nunca Mueren

Nunca Mueren (feat. DJ Kaef, Wantnofame & Zamoranobeatz)

Startup

Tu Forma de Quererme

Cookin Mama -  ONESHIT

Inspired by The Dream of Rhonabwy, this surreal rap follows a young man who falls asleep on a rug and wakes inside a chaotic dream of his own family system—every relative, trauma, and expectation taking absurd, exaggerated form. Everyone in This Room Is Me is a tender and wry journey through legacy, identity, and the strange, healing laughter that comes when you realize you don’t have to play every part.

“Tell me about your family.”
Which one? The loud one? The vanished one? 
The one that only shows up in dreams where the wallpaper sighs?
They said it wasn’t therapy, just a ‘constellation session.’
Put the mat down. Close your eyes. See what appears.

Spoiler: it’s always Uncle Arthur trying to reheat beef.

I lay on the rug with a headache halo,
Half a Greggs in my chest, heart soft and shallow. 
Dream slipped sideways, curtains blinked,
Woke in a room that reeked of drink.
There’s Dad—or was—grumbling in chainmail,
Telling Alexa to “bring more ale.”
Mum’s in armour, scrolling her phone,
Likes a grief post, sighs alone.
There’s a knight in the oven, roasting pride,
And Cousin Kay live-streams the ride.
Merlin’s in the hallway burning sage,
Talking about chakras and council tax rage.
I ask, “What’s this?” 
They say: “Your legacy.”
I say: “It smells like fear and celery.”

Everyone in this room is me—
Dressed in roles I didn’t choose to be.
Echoes in my spine, names in my teeth,
Laugh like Dad, blink like Auntie Neith.
This isn’t a dream, it’s a family tree—
With roots in guilt and bad TV.

They pass round trauma like mashed peas,
Uncle G spends twenty minutes on 5G.
Says Arthur’s sword was forged in cash,
From someone’s divorce and a cymbal crash.
Nain (my Nan) says nothing, just stirs her tea,
I look in her cup and swear it sees me.
There’s a baby crying in reverse,
And someone’s arguing with a haunted purse.
I try to leave,  but the hallway folds—
Each door a rerun of stories told.
Mam says, “Don’t you dare walk away,”
But her voice is mine, on delay.

You can’t outrun what sits in your chair.
The stories get up when no one’s there.
Say the name and the table shakes—
You’re not the break, you’re what it makes.

Everyone in this room is me—(Rho, the son, the ghost, the key.)
The hero, the villain, the cup of tea,
The voice that says “don’t look at me.”
I wasn’t born—I was cast in the scene,
Of a dream that dreams of being seen.

Dad stands up, points to the fridge,
Says, “Son, that’s where we kept the bridge.”
I laugh, then cry, then hide my face,
He hugs me hard in a stranger’s place.
Guinevere’s sobbing into the toast,
Says, “We all miss someone the most.
”The wallpaper peels into faces known,
Every pattern’s a voice I’ve outgrown.
I say, “I don’t know who to be,”
And the table whispers, 
“Just be three—The child, the now, the one who sees.”
And I breathe for once without disease.

Woke up on the rug, tea gone cold,
Phone at 2%, stories old.
No thunder cracked, no choirs sang,
Just a headache and a seagull’s clang.
But I walked different through the street,
Less armour. More two feet.
Didn’t call Mam, but I hummed her song,
And smiled when I got the lyric wrong.
Legacy’s not a crown, it’s a grin—
That says “I’ve been through it, and I’m still in.”

Everyone in this room is me—
But I don’t have to play them endlessly.
I set the table, cleared the plate,
Waved at grief and said, “It’s late.”
I’m not the knight, the king, the mess—
I’m just the dreamer. 
And I said yes.

So yeah. It’s weird.
But I think I’m okay with weird.
And if you ever wake up at a table that feels too crowded to breathe—
Try laughing.
That’s what got me out.

Everyone in This Room Is Me

*****G-FUNK/R'N'B*****

♫♪♫└A FUNKY CALI BABY♫♪♫

(*$*)Real G-Funk & Gangsta Dope(*$*)

L.A/Bay Area Representz 

CALI BOUNCE HOMIE

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