Ciaran Mac - Good Evening - Produced by Disco

Im getting tired of this long division, talking with a touch of wisdon,
fire into politician chicks until I fuck the system, 
lucky chicken crossed the road by hoff an inch a truck had missed-him,
stunned and grinnin', sorta like a bad-joke, worth a listen. 
Your burd can birth a kid and nurture it with stuff its given,
even if your in two minds about it like a tough decision,
but ive had enough of this, am bumpin every word i've writtin,
kiddin , but if ye'v nothing to stand for ye shoulda stuck to sittin. 
If yer tired of this cancer-ridden land we live in plan a bit, 
demand to hiv a plan to make the planet different.
Or ye could sack it give-in, patch the single-handed mission,
catch a glimpse of madness as ye dance within the acid-trippin.
Pass the spliff, advance a bit, get back ty chillin,
laugh it aff and drap the daft demands of manufacturism 
cause yer styles dead like Maggie Thatcher is and am a tad better than yer average kid
at managing to mask a rhythm. 
A thought of quittin, nah a'l just go with it. Rubbered-fucked poet with another rough flow to spit,
Out-of-luck, blown it, but about to shout over, step round it, stop moaning, speak now and get noticed quick.
I lost the written, found it in ma sober head, put it back together but surrounded it with open-ends.
Now I've got a script-unfinished and I won't pretend it is, go with it till its wrote again. 
So what's what?
Shoulda hit the soft spot,
Coulda been there sooner, he was lookin for a lost-plot.
Never found it, there was fewer than his pops-thought.
Would'a kicked around if he just knew enough to shot-lots.
But hes got crops, grew em in his maw's-loft,
when the cops knocked, troubles brewin' in the crock-pot,
now hes fuckin fumin' like a hot-box, stupid cause he got caught,
and the nights ruined like your cock-blocked.
But who's who? Runnin from the screw crew, 
stumpled in the rush and now hes muddied up his new shoes, boo-hoo, 
fuckit but these cunts are gonna doo you, put you in the cuffs and hit and hurt ye till your too-bruised.   
So you choose, give up now, or push through, be a trooper and resume up-out of pursuit,
used a route to get ye oot, fuck bow-ing down and boost with the loot because ye do-know-how,
That's how ye do. 
A thought of quittin, nah a'l just go with it. Rubbered-fucked poet with another rough flow to spit,
Out-of-luck, blown it, but about to shout over, step round it, stop moaning, speak now and get noticed quick.
I lost the written, found it in ma sober head, put it back together but surrounded it with open-ends.
Now I've got a script-unfinished and I won't pretend it is, go with it till its wrote again. 
Tired of the double gins, flying from a couple spliffs, chillin with ma chick, she's sitting higher than Repunzal wis. 
Am on another script, writing for the fun of it, love to spit, son a settin' fire to these other kids.
I've wondered if I tried to come to fuckin grips with life would I survive or pay the price for all the stuff I've did?,
but if I died it wouldn't be suffice to cover shit, rubbered prick, tick-list somthin' like a tonne of bricks-weight,
the states-bad, sad-faced happy kid, band-aid plastered on ma fan-page rapper spit, bland taste, back-stage pass, 
mates chappin spliffs, dafty. Hands up-off ma pad mate, sacrilege.
Fuck the averageness that half these battle-actors writ, don't play with slaggin-matches ciz ye might end up in bandages.
And a have a list of things I'd rather tackle, which a mastely base on acts that I actually see as challenges.
I thought of quittin, nah av got another plan. Rubbered-fucked poet but I'm stoating with the upper-hand.
Am in luck, know it cause I focused on ma goals and can, show for it. Moan ya prick I hope ye try ty stoap is man.
I lost ma head and found it when I smoked again, wrote an end to all of this balony then a broke ma pen.
Now av got ma shit all finished and a don't intend to quit, so am rippin up the whole event.
A thought of quittin, nah a'l just go with it. Rubbered-fucked poet with another rough flow to spit,
Out-of-luck, blown it, but about to shout over, step round it, stop moaning, speak now and get noticed quick.
I lost the written, found it in ma sober head, put it back together but surrounded it with open-ends.
Now I've got a script-unfinished and I won't pretend it is, go with it till its wrote again.  

Go With It(Prod. Sound Thief)

Free Download @MOONGAZERstudios

http://www.moongazerstudios.com/#!yoshi-riot--ciaran-mac--see-a-way-arou/ckj2

YOSHI RIOT & CIARAN MAC - SEE A WAY AROUND

Wee dub I done of Big Baby Gandhi - Been a Villain which was produced by Hot Sugar.

Been A Villan (Big Baby Gandhi/Hot Sugar Dub)

Boggin bits, produced by Andy Martin, Featuring Loki. 
CHECK OUT THE VIDEO HERE..
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHNYrn21XiI

Ciaran Mac - Boggin Bits Ft.Loki (Prod. Andy Martin)

(Lyrics)
Its that Multicoloured camouflage,Pocket fulla sabotage,
Thin wrapped bin bags, Skin graphed battle scars.
Black Stars and red moons, Doin' ma nut in, Stuffin' the head wounds.
Stuck in a test tube, Citric acid, Passion fruits a drip of sadness, Simple madness,
Smiley faces with a glimpse of malice.
Into callus acts, Shittin' in yer cabbage patch, Livin' lavish, diggin' hidden passages Within the flats.
Deep routed and steep footed  Asleep luicid, dreaming, Breathing the sweet musics discreet movements.
Leavin' even-Stevens, heathens causing seasons greetings, Weepin' willows, grieving widows
Deeper than the feats beneath us.
Trees are leafless, And the bushes are burnt.
The skys grey, acid rain, Fumes in the dirt.
Dirty harry with the vallies and the tool in his shirt,
Not even testing second guessing or per-summing at first, 
He's just,
Jumped in, Has Tough skin The roughyin',
Never hud love for nothin' But puffin.
Didn't need friends At weekends And pretends  He spends Maste a thum drunk With his cousin, Justin  
Sitting in a multicolored overcoat,
Smoking coke soda Till hes sober on a rowing boat, 
stoned and broke, Broke in at the opening of boring soap-opra stoating over Saying Ola to a polish bloke.
Tony Jones heavin' lit Hes steamin' on a roller-coaster Eating toast and flora Sleeping with a Rita-Ora poster.
Shits being slower Than usual,Ode to the screw-balls,Shows in the pupils,Stolen the Peugeot,
New flow Old still at it though Black and gold patterns on ma ragged, silk satin clothes,
Scattered stones Planning out a path Towards the hazard zone,
Got it twisted Nah a read it backwards Like a palindrome.
Am at home, Feeling like am on another planet.
Rubbered bandit bro, heavy lit a tonne of granite.
Understand its no stress to me A fuckin manage
kick about in Multicoloured Spandex lit yass its The strange kid
On his eighth spliff Of the day shit,
Stay sick whether am on a stage and am wasted
Or taking the straight piss Blatantly shameless 
Replacing these fake pricks Names on yer playlists
Its mr makeshift rap-style token poet,
Tactile hands on hats off Over throwing,
So stop yer moaning,before a drop column Oan yer noagin'
am known for reigning in a place Where it is always pouring, 
a called thismorning Left a message an ye Didny get it, 
Or if ye got it when a seen ye then ye never mentioned,
Cause a suggested we wore multicolored matching vests and Ran the length of earth
Before we worked upon A lasting friendship,
Until the acid soaked land has Got our soles corroding
stare at Yellow Sulfur smoke Which Coats a Multicoloured ocean,
Couldn't say a seen it comin But a hud a notion,
covered in dust from the explosion, long beholden.
what kinda looks lit tie dye on a grey sun,rays shun earth Because he lied back in stage one,
See the sights No lights in the same slum
and it turns night when the days come.
Look at me with multicoloured eyes And a snakes tongue, 
split second ty spit venom Or play dumb, 
Hit, the Mute button, great effort Paid off
shit, the colours Were all cut from the same cloth,  
Am In a rut interrupting ma ain thoughts, 
could a, couldye fuck Shoulda stuck to the day job, 
who'd a ever loved such a lucky mistake, got camouflage on  Show these cunts what yer made of.
Am In a rut interrupting ma ain thoughts, 
could a, couldye fuck Shoulda stuck to the day job, 
who'd a ever loved such a lucky mistake, got camouflage on  Show these cunts what yer made of.
Multicoloured...

Multicoloured (Prod. SunDogs)

Let Em Be (Prod. Steg G)

Multicoloured [Jo Darc Remix]

Multicoloured [Blackinson Remix]

"Gimme A Second" Produced by Ciaran Mac
Cuts by Kutz Cobain
Mastered by Konchis

| RAINY DAZE | OUT NOW |

https://ciaranmac.bandcamp.com/album/rainy-daze

Gimme A Second (Cuts By Kutz Cobain)

Hamz X Kid Robotik - GUCCI (CiaranMac RMX)

Written by Physiks & Ciaran Mac
Produced by Konchis

@physiks_er
@ciaran.mac.9
@konchis141

Physiks X Ciaran Mac - Goosfraba (Prod. Konchis)

RA!NY-DAZE OUT NOW @ http://ciaranmac.bandcamp.com

Ciaran Mac

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