Trilla from Athena (prod. by Corto S)

prod. by Benjha

Straight shooter
Strange flow
Bruised finger
King Kong
These pandas chewing on bamboo
For too long
Under the shade of trees
A breeze like winning bingo
Tomorrow different day,
But I’m staying here though

Clouds of smoky viruses
I can only see low
Explosions in the sky 
Crouched beneath the green smoke
King sits in exile
Sends letters to his people
No answering though
This is just how things go 

Approach like a tarantula
She’s walking on her tiptoes
Wishing the floor would creek
Sneaky like hunting seasons
Loaded rifle points the sky
Birds snapping like dorritos
Sweat swept off the forehead
Some sins make my eyes flicker 

The blood iridescent spills out ,
the color‘s crimson
Another one down,
Exclaims, feels nothing for no reason
The graves won’t fill themselves
The bodies come and fill them 
The digger in the booth 
A cypress and his mistress
Pretends he’s solving crosswords
Instead he’s watching porn 
Until he’s interrupted by the ringing of a phone
There you go
Caught between an orgasm and a silence that was gold
Keyword is it was


Bruised Finger King Kong (prod. by Benjha)

Detective on a case
Scan the place like a hoover
The victim’s resting place
Body stinks like a sewer

Stain on the carpet
Even darker than glazed cherries
death in her stare
as alluring as wild berries

the wind moves her hair
as she lays in the ground
it’ a sign from above
that she ain’t comin back

the clouds won’t part
and the stain in her blouse
fills my vision with blood
as the crowd goes wow
 
I can smell the blood…

The killer on the loose
Calm collected like snooker
Most secret hiding place
Frying chips on a cooker

Old painting on the wall
Shows hunters in the winter
The steam is rising now
Water drips from his fingers


Hunters in the Winter (prod. by Benjha)

Fantasies, mansions, white wooden fences
Blue inclinations got me dreaming of laced spliffs
Far away places world in my mind
Taste in my tongue
Starry night I fly by
Wind dries my eyes, 
Flow like southern comfort
Cold in the winter
Slowly zip up my coat
Drive by the suburbs
Look out at the streetlights
Feeling serene 
Even softer than knee caps
Whisper a secret
See how she breathes now
Slow down the pace
I can hear her heart beat loud
Electric like stingrays
Exchanging smoke signals
T.V in the background
Plays cartoons with ninjas
One day this city will empty like envy
Where are the people?
The places are fading
Fish swim carefree
In a blue water tank
Hotel lobby smell
On that depressing vibe
Spread marmalade
Making no sound
I’m counting backwards
To the finishing line
early morning wake up sun in my eyes
taste the lemonade carbonated with ice
like how the bubbles explode in my mouth
like how she smiles when I’m feeling her out


Head Movies (prod. by Corto S)

prod. by Benjha
words by Corto S (aka David Sampethai)
Somewhere out in Hollywood or maybe in Las Vegas,
Ziggy ‘s at a party
in a garden or a terrace.
There’s an artificial lake with its sailboats and umbrellas,
Ziggy drinks champagne smokes cigarettes,
Escapes some.
Agents and executives are circling him like fruit flies or like bats:
Blood of a star in demand; 
All Ziggy ever wanted was to play his guitar
There’s a price to pay when you reach sky high
Fantasies play out in his mind
That later when it’s quiet
He will write
The lights shine brighter inside
Thoughts swim like eels in his mind


Awkward (prod. by Benjha)

Athens 20-11 (Angry Bars)

Project with my dude Benjha on the production

Introspective Detective Mixtape (prod. Benjha)

The lord of the trap
Keeps his eyes on the prize
Catch him once sleeping
It will never happen twice
Live his life kind of militant
To get out of the grime
Phone’s been ringing
Days turning into nights
Avoid the police 
Like avoiding crocodiles
Money piling up
Fingers getting paper cuts

We swear allegiance to the boss,
He’s very smart he’s very strong.
We’ll do his chores and wash his feet,
We’ll sing him songs and brush his teeth.
We have no souls, just aspirations,
The deeds get worse get better payment.
We do as told, but we run schemes,
Cunning, stupid with a twist.

Sidekicks running shallow schemes,
Making enemies with ease.
They can’t even trust each other
They would try to sell their mother.
Looking for a sign of treason,
Smells like it’ s that snitching season.
Keeping notes and taking names,
There is no trust in this game.
Words by David Sampethai (aka Corto S)

Snitchin' Season (prod. Benjha x Corto S)

Pilgrims’ need for control,
Got them sending off drones,
No excuse real enough,
To send death from above,
Acting out like they’re God,
Probably there’s no God,
Killer birds rule the skies,
Burning men like they're mice
(words by David Sampethai aka Corto S)

Drone (prod. Benjha)

Little Bobby likes to smoke,
His eyes get red,
His throat gets shore.
He takes one puff
Too high to talk
He takes one more
And then moonwalks

After all the pot is gone
Little Bobby gets so bored
Gets a crave for that Mary Jane
Pockets ringing, full of change,
“Hey there Bobby can I paint your portrait?
Expression on your face is too disappointed,
Something in your sad eyes that I need to capture,
Runs along the theme of a misplaced rapture”.
(Words by David Sampethai)

Little Bobby

A song about 21st century explorers and youtube safaris

Corto S

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