producer: MMac

SHITdreambeautiful[at]gmail[dot]com
SHITdreambeautiful.com
twitter: @SHITdrmbtfl

mixed: Rob 'Muneshine' Bakker
art: Brett Lindzen [ knapsackwax.com ]
.
SHIT!
I tried committing suicide listening to Macklemore
But I was too fat to hang from the chandel-ore
Michael Hutchence…Back against the bathroom door
Italian tan leather wrapped around my adam’s apple core
Pants down to my ankle socks
Slapping knob to latin whores with their panties on
Wanting their salads tossed
I tell them pass the thong, salad tongs and a fork
Screaming ‘Ariba’ like Tito Santana ‘fore he was El Matador
Rasslin’ broads like Andy Kaufman slapping Lawler
A rabid dog sharper than Hugh Jackman’s claws
I’m royalty like Wes Anderson’s Tenenbaums
I’m kind of a big Kim Deal…Cannonball
My brain’s banana bruised
A dented can of corn deeper than Handy thoughts
Just ripped the bandage off my two brand new implants the size of basketballs
Jack-o-lantern large
I got implanted to better my beauty pageant score
Halloween themed, but I look fat in orange
Walking the San Fernando Valley with a cattle prod
In a tank top, bronze tan and Richard Branson blonde
With three shemales thinner than Mickey Avalon
Who claim they’re models, but are more Rick Moranis hot
You can drop a roll of quarters in their camel paws
One dated David Lee Roth…Panama
A mad rapper who really isn’t mad at all
A wack rapper who’s career is in a casket, locked
A laughing stock
With Alzheimer’s 
One dated David Lee Roth…Panama
A mad rapper who really isn’t mad at all
A wack rapper who’s career is in a casket, locked
A laughing stock
With Alzheimer’s 
Manic depressive
Shaving my head cancer bald
A cracked actor squatting in an abandoned barn
A Richard Avedon portrait of an atom bomb
Fuck rap
I’m maxing out a stolen Mastercard on a laptop and a Serato box
Then become a no-talent, play button pressing
World famous DJ like Candace Cameron
Playing dance-y songs
To kids who like Calvin Harris
And take drugs that make Calvin and Hobbes look like Cameron’s Avatar

Tyler Perry’s gonna make me a millionaire
Tyler Perry’s gonna make me a millionaire
I’m going Hollywood, and I don’t give a million cares
No.No.No
I don’t give a billion cares
SHIT! dream.beautiful
.

SHIT! [D-Sisive x MMac] | Tyler Perry's SHIT!

producer: MMac

SHITdreambeautiful[at]gmail[dot]com
SHITdreambeautiful.com
twitter: @SHITdrmbtfl

mixed: Rob 'Muneshine' Bakker
art: Brett Lindzen [ knapsackwax.com ]
.
SHIT!
In a rented car listening to Nelly songs
Elbow on a dented door
Smoking green Leprechaun
High as fuck
Open 40 resting on
My set of testicles the size of tennis balls
Parked behind a white cruiser with the engine on
Remembering when my mama told me I was better off
In a cemetery or behind a wall of metal bars
So I ran away like Benatar
Cherry Bomb
Or was that Joan Jett?
I don’t know
SHIT!
I just popped a Molly Shannon, now I’m soaking wet
Cold and drenched
Alone, broke and fat
Reading Clockwork Orange in a bowler hat
I sleep in shit, but dream beautiful
Doing yoga in Rick Rubin’s studio
Braiding his beard while listening to monks chant
In some other language I don’t understand
SHIT!
I meditate until my head escapes
And I levitate without a reddish cape
Life gave me lemons, but I don’t like lemonade
I’d rather eat meringue until the zipper on my denim breaks
Born to lose
Born to fail
Born to smoke boulders and snort snowy rails
In a boiler room spewing toilet humor
Touring the universe on potpourri and moldy shrooms
Dating an imbalanced lady with father issues
And baggage filled with Xanax and a box of tissues
Who loves me if I’m broke or if I’m stupid rich
Loves me if I’m Hammer broke or Mark Cuban rich
Lauryn Hill poor or Shawn Carter paid
Belly flopping with Beyonce on a haunted lake
Swimming on the wrong side of the caution tape
With talking alligators who sound like Thomas Waits
I dream beautiful when I’m not awake
When I’m not awake I don’t beg for pocket change
When I’m not awake I order the lobster plate
When I’m wide awake I don’t know how lobster tastes
When I’m wide awake I feel a monster rage
I cannot explain like Magic Johnson’s weight
With your way of life, I cannot relate
I’m a potted plant without a pot or vase
On my last leaf and Mother Nature forgot to rain
Heaven bound in Buddy Holly’s chartered plane
Listening to Richie Valens sing Donna’s praise
So fuck the world until the condom breaks
SHIT! Dream Beautiful
.

SHIT! [D-Sisive x MMac] | TennisBallsTesticalls

from the project Desolate|The Mixtape. available March|29|2014. 

producer: Muneshine 

recorded by Bronze One after eating Brisket Sandwiches from the Black Camel. Toronto, Canada.
lyrics
Underground 
Below the gridlock 
Underwater 
Swimming with thin sharks 
Ribcage exposed silhouettes through black t's 
Cocaine-crack chic 
Adam's apple'd drag queens 
Dancing 
Dancing with swan grace 
Baryshnikov pirouettes on stage before a standing applause 
Caucasians with harsh taste 
Who frame canned soup, but will never swallow canned food 
The elite sparkle 
The scum rot 
Dreaming of London palaces from slum blocks 
Slumdogs barking up the wrong bark 
While the sophisticates die like rock stars 
Drowning in bathtubs 
Splish splashing in bubblebath suds 
A thirty-eight year old playwright with stage fright 
A cry-baby 'cuz he wasn't raised right 
Bitch! 
. 
I'm from the town where they build you up to break you down 
. 
Tupac was a ballerina 
A fan of theatre 
With tatted features 
A ballad screamer 
A shattered dreamer 
Who wanted every leaf of lettuce in his salad greener 
Now we follow fabricated photocopy 
Emotionally damaged avocado rolls with no wasabi 
Singing Aubrey melodies every fourth bar 
Opening slot 
Instagram photo op 
Painted nails 
Open toed sandals 
Spilling soda out the Coca-Cola can hole 
Cornball 
Corn starch 
Corncob 
A mashed potato who was born soft 
Not the outer space, turbine'd type of OutKast 
The Urban Outfitter type of outcast 
White boy guitarist by the campfire 
Strumming Bob Marley covers till his hands tire

D-Sisive | Odette

producer: Muneshine [ soundcloud.com/muneshine ]

from Desolate|The Mixtape available 05|30|2014

Peaches|AA XXX [the original]: http://tinyurl.com/pwjbsb4

www.DerekChristoff.com
twitter|instagram: @DerekChristoff
www.DesolateSound.com
www.DesolateShop.com
www.facebook.com/DerekChristoffStuff

D-Sisive | AA XXX [peaches cover]

producer: MMac

mixed: Rob 'Muneshine' Bakker
recorded by Tim 'Timbuktu' Wallace @ FUN, Toronto, Canada.

www.SoDesolate.com
twitter|instagram: @DerekChristoff
www.DesolateRadio.com
www.DesolateSound.com
www.DesolateShop.com
www.facebook.com/DerekChristoffStuff
.
Posing with rotten goons
Smoking like a college student
Smoking like a barbecue with rotten goons and prostitutes
On Jarvis in an aqua blue jogging suit
An Argonaut
Tits sweaty like a sauna soaking jaundice through
The armpits of my under shirt
Yellow like a Boston Bruin
Thighs rub below the nuggets in my jockey blues
Walking a cocky waddle in two polished shoes
On some…
Who the fuck you think you’re talking to?
Robert who?
Fuck the Globe, Post, Sun, Star and Johnny Stewart
Toss in Gawker too
Every wrong I do is front page Toronto news
You can’t stop this big dog
I’m Marmaduke
With two bloody paws in the pockets of my Orfus Road Armani suit
You really, really, really…
Really, really, really, really, really thought that bullshit your columns spew
Would stop my movement
Wake up and smell the coffee, goof
I came to sop up the St. Hubert’s sauce and stop the choo choo train
Derailed
I’m Don Cherry meets Kevin O’Leary meets Mel Lastman in a pot of soup
And I’m a broth too hot to swallow
So don’t follow me with all your spoons
Surround me in a parking lot and shoot me with the cameras I walk into
I’ve got better things to do than to talk to you
I’ve got better things to smoke
So, unless you got a rock or two on you
I have no quotes to offer you
Get the fuck off my lawn, you douche
You got until the count of two
And I’m high on rocket fuel
With a loaded rocket launcher ready to burn like the cock of Bruce
I don’t need advice or a talking to
Fuck rehab and fuck Dr. Drew
Big Macs, Whoppers and lasagna noodles
Baba Ganoush, cheesecake and chocolate mousse
On the same table I arm-wrestled the Hulkster through
I’m on thin ice
Fuck thin ice
I death drop on thin ice
What would Brian Boitano do?
Triple axel
Oksana Baiul
Elvis Stojko
I own Toronto
.

*note: i pronounce Stojko like that intentionally. you're not smarter than me, Gary.


D-Sisive | Ian [Rob's Song]

producer: Muneshine

mixed: Rob 'Muneshine' Bakker
recorded by Tim 'Timbuktu' Wallace @ FUN, Toronto, Canada.

from the album Jonestown 3: The Dream Is Over | http://thedesolatecollective.bandcamp.com/album/jonestown-3-the-dream-is-over

www.SoDesolate.com
twitter|instagram: @DerekChristoff
www.DesolateRadio.com
www.DesolateSound.com
www.DesolateShop.com
www.facebook.com/DerekChristoffStuff

D-Sisive | [un]Answered Prayers

producer: Anonymous Twist

mixed: Rob 'Muneshine' Bakker
recorded by Orin Isaacs @ Orin's Basement, Toronto, Canada.

from the mixtape: Knoblich|The Complete '08 Comeback Special : http://thedesolatecollective.bandcamp.com/album/knoblich-the-complete-08-comeback-special
-
I recorded this song in 2008 while working on Let The Children Die. The instrumental was an interlude on an Anonymous Twist album. Sometimes a piece of music can instantly own you. This beat did and I wrote the song right after my first listen. It was already part of a released album, so I knew I couldn't use it. I included it on the mixtape, Knoblich|The Complete '08 Comeback Special.

The lyrics were inspired by events I dealt with after my father's death. Betrayed by my sister and her husband-with a repulsive hunger for money-I was forced to battle with a grotesque dark side. I still don't know who won in the end. I borrowed some elements and wrote this mostly-fictional verse. You'll hear more of the real story on my upcoming projects.
-
www.SoDesolate.com
twitter|instagram: @DerekChristoff
www.DesolateRadio.com
www.DesolateSound.com
www.DesolateShop.com
www.facebook.com/DerekChristoffStuff

D-Sisive | Don't Be

producer[sample stolen from]: Dead Man's Bones

mixed: Fresh Kils
recorded by Fresh Kils @ The Kilzone, Toronto, Canada.

*Unreleased.
-
This here was my original angry|sad|jealous anthem. I was terrified after watching Anvil, the documentary. Afraid I was watching my future. If you haven't seen the film, I suggest you do. What fed my fear was noticing familiar neighbourhoods. It was filmed mostly in Toronto, but Lips' [Anvil's lead singer] house looked extra familiar. When the film was done, I did some online investigating|stalking only to find out he lived two streets away from me at the time. I was living in a basement at 390 Glenholme Ave, where I wrote most of my earlier "comeback" material. My future was closer to me than I thought.

I used a sample from a Dead Man's Bones album, along with vocal samples from the film. When I released it for free online, I was contacted by a known Canadian publicist who basically told me I was dumb, she was representing Anvil, the producers knew about the song and they were thinking of suing me. I was being sued at the time and didn't really give a fuck. Three years later, at a New Years Party, a friend of my girlfriend's introduced me to a fan. He told me he was Lips' nephew and loves this song. I asked if his uncle ever spoke about suing me. He laughed and said "No. He thought the song was cool."

Don't know what else to say about the song. It's dated, but I still feel the same frustrations. It still speaks loudly to where I'm at. I'm hoping things change soon. We'll see.
-
www.SoDesolate.com
twitter|instagram: @DerekChristoff
www.DesolateRadio.com
www.DesolateSound.com
www.DesolateShop.com
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D-Sisive | Anvil

producer: Moss

mixed: Rob 'Muneshine' Bakker
recorded by I don't remember. Somewhere in Toronto, Canada.

*Unreleased.
-
I call this The Lost Song because, honestly, I don't remember a fucking thing about it. I don't remember writing or recording it. Nothing. I do remember it's an Obie Trice song I loved a lot. Moss, the producer of this song, and I worked on a few songs together. All amazing. I'm pretty sure I heard this beat and had to crush it. And crush it I did. It's rare I go in on beats just spitting. This is one of those rare moments. I think I'm going to do it more often.

A few weeks ago I received a Twitter notification from Chase March, an old friend [one of the first journalists to ever write about me], saying he played this on his radio show. I remembered the title, but didn't remember the song. I asked him to send me an mp3. It's pretty fucking insane that I can't remember a single detail. But, I guess it's bound to happen when you write 300 songs in a few years. A couple will get away from you. 

Now I'm inspired to write some 'I'm better than you' verses. I guess I'll go do that.
-
www.SoDesolate.com
twitter|instagram: @DerekChristoff
www.DesolateRadio.com
www.DesolateSound.com
www.DesolateShop.com
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D-Sisive | Let The Buzz Begin [The Lost Song]

producer: Arkeologists

mixed: Norman Krates
recorded by Norman Krates in his Den, Toronto, Canada.
-
Alan was our first attempt at The D.Ark Tape, though we didn't have an album title at the time. I kinda feel this was the first The Reunion Tour, though I feel The Reunion Tour is the only The Reunion Tour. Does that make sense? 

It always starts with me eating a Subway sub and Norm rolling weed. Then he'll get up, turn on his machines and pound away on the pads - chopping up a sample. By the time he's programming the drums, I'm already 10 bars into a verse. That's the way we've always worked. Produced|Written|Recorded on the spot...released the next day.

The file on my computer says this was made on October 31|2011. We met up to knock out a few more songs [Nothing, Mr. Romance] then drifted. In 2013, the assorted cold-cut and rolled kush reunited to create the classic, The D.Ark Tape. And Yes...I called my own shit a classic. I call it that because it's better than everything. I've done that a few times. I'm sure of that. What I'm unsure of is if kids still call weed Kush. Do they?
-
www.SoDesolate.com
twitter|instagram: @DerekChristoff
www.DesolateRadio.com
www.DesolateSound.com
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D-Sisive | Alan

Wolves = D-Sisive+Muneshine,+Ghettosocks,+Timbuktu+Bix.

producer: Bix

mixed: Tim 'Timbuktu' Wallace
recorded by Tim 'Timbuktu' Wallace @ FUN, Toronto, Canada.

from the album Wolves | http://wolvesofrap.bandcamp.com/album/wolves
-
I'm a pretty big Weird Al fan. A childhood hero I never abandoned, unlike most groups I grew up listening to. I will always check new Al music, but couldn't give 2 shits what Aerosmith are up to. Yankovic has staying power in Christoff Village.

I lost my mind when Funny or Die released a trailer for a Weird Al biopic, starring Breaking Bad's Aaron Paul. Patton Oswalt's Dr. Demento made it a masterpiece. I sent the link to every friend I have and, sadly, was not met with my own enthusiasm. I felt alone and cold.

Myself and the Wolves boyz were working on our album at Timbuktu's studio. When we're not writing, we're laughing. Shit talking. I remembered the trailer and pulled it up. The boys loved it. They got it. They got me. I can't remember who's idea it was, but someone suggested naming a song after one of the lines from the trailer. We all agreed and made one of my favourite songs. The Wolves album kind of fell on deaf ears, which is a shame because it's pretty fucking amazing. The link is above. You should check it out and buy it.

And watch the Weird Al biopic trailer here: http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/3231da28bb/weird-the-al-yankovic-story
-
www.SoDesolate.com
twitter|instagram: @DerekChristoff
www.DesolateRadio.com
www.DesolateSound.com
www.DesolateShop.com
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D-Sisive with Wolves | The Weird One

producer: Muneshine

mixed: Rob 'Muneshine' Bakker
recorded by Tim 'Timbuktu' Wallace @ FUN, Toronto, Canada.

from the album Jonestown 3: The Dream Is Over | thedesolatecollective.bandcamp.com/album/j…is-over
-
When I was young, I'd spend a lot of time either at my brother's apartment in Barrie, or my family from my Mom's side in Sudbury. Both containing the word 'bury' and the perfect setup for a buried|miserable joke. I was never miserable at either, so a joke like that would be a lie.

Regardless of which destination, the 85 Oldsmobile travelled up Highway 400. One thing I always looked forward to was seeing Canada's Wonderland. As the mountain started to appear, I'd stop whatever Aerosmith album I was listening to [most likely Pump] and stare in amazement. The sight of that mountain was powerful. The visual would become even more epic if a car was in motion on one of the roller coasters you could see from the highway. That lead me to 'I wonder if a car ever flew off the track' thoughts. Or 'why doesn't Wonderland have a Haunted House? They should get a Haunted House. I'd go everyday.' A pretty ridiculous thought. There's no way I could afford daily visits. I didn't even have a job. I was 10...and a fucking idiot!

Today, even though I'm old and my roller coaster tolerance is diminishing with every passing year, I'm still in love with amusement parks. Wonderland is more corporate looking than my preference, but she was my first. The carnival is my paradise, hence this songs third verse.

I wanted to recreate my Wonderland|highway experience. Approaching the mountain at 100km|h. I'm terrified of motorcycles, but they do make for good imagery.

Come to think of it, I can't come up with a single buried in Barrie|Sudbury joke. Can you? 
-
www.SoDesolate.com
twitter|instagram: @DerekChristoff
www.DesolateRadio.com
www.DesolateSound.com
www.DesolateShop.com
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D-Sisive | November

producer: D-Sisive
lyrics: D-Sisive & Stu Stone

mixed: DJ Lethal
recorded by someone in Los Angeles.
-
I met Stu Stone at an EMI Music Publishing party, early 2000's. EMI President, Michael McCarty introduced us thinking we shared the same personality and would click as friends. He was right. We shared a love for wrestling, comedy and music. Our romance was instant. My love turned to groupie when I found out he was the voice of Chuckie in My Pet Monster. My brain exploded when I realized he played Ronald Fisher in Donnie Darko. He went back to LA, where he lived, which made me sad, but we stayed in touch.

One afternoon I received a phone call from Stu about a project he was working on with Jamie Kennedy. I was a huge fucking fan of The Jamie Kennedy Experiment. I was down no matter what it was, but when I found out what it was...WHAT?

"A rap song with Bob Saget. We want you to produce and co-write with us. We're shooting a video for it. It's going to be featured in an MTV show we're developing called Blowing Up." Wait. Did he just fucking say BOB SAGET? Everything went slow motion. I didn't believe him, and didn't until I spoke with Jamie on the phone.

I wasn't much of a hands on producer in the sense of pushing the buttons - still ain't - but EMI bought me an MPC2000 to figure out. I turned on the machine and put something together. It wasn't great. I used the snare from Eminem's Haile's song. Intro'd it with the opening from NWA's Straight Outta Compton. I was no Premier. I put my headphones on and wrote a two verse song from a first-person Saget perspective. Bob was hardcore. Not giving a fuck. This was before Entourage, or any of that shit. Stu told me I could get as rugged as I wanted. In those verses were "the illest motherfucker in a cardigan sweater" and "I got a cock like a donkey, hard as a rock|and a trigger finger itchier than chicken pox." This was years before The BOOK, so my skills were...well, yeah.

I sent the lyrics and a demo to Stu. A month later I received a copy of the song. Only a few of my lines were used. Stu and Jamie re-wrote it from their perspective, which fit perfectly with their show. Hearing Saget rap my donkey-cock line became the highlight of my life. The show came out and the video was released. Cameos from George Lucas, John Stamos and Terry Crews blew my fucking brain.

Today, only two things bother me about the song. One, I wish I made a better beat. That's all I was capable of then. And two, in my version of the song, I had Saget quoting Jay Z from 99 Problems. A police officer pulls him over and he says "Cuz I'm young and I'm black and my hat's real low?" I would have passed out hearing Bob Saget say those words. Other than that, I'm proud this is a part of my legacy, even though most of you don't know about involvement. During Saget's roast, they edited a montage of his work to this song. I teared up watching it. A beautiful moment. I'd love to work with those guys again.

Watch the video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1B_n9YaAMmg
-
www.SoDesolate.com
twitter|instagram: @DerekChristoff
www.DesolateRadio.com
www.DesolateSound.com
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Bob Saget:Jamie Kennedy:Stu Stone | Rollin' With Saget

From the mixtape: The Great Mr. Nobody [available September 16|2014]

Music Hijacked from: Hilltop Hoods ft. Maverick Sabre's Won't Let You Down [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X6G2fzPTwOA ] 

Artwork: Justin 'Chokeules' Lepine [@chokeules ]
Producer: Cam Bluff
Mixed: Rob 'Muneshine' Bakker
Recorded by Tim 'Timbuktu' Wallace @ FUN, Toronto, Canada.

YouTube[subscribe]: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmuexclqlFs

Huge thanks to Hilltop Hoods for permission to use their masterpiece!
-
The final scenes of my biopic
The curtain call
Thousands fill the church parking lot and the boulevard the church is on
Singing the words of my early songs
Over claps and military stomps
Leaving shoe prints in the churches lawn
The hearse parks
Pallbearers in pyjama pants emerge
Carrying my coffin through the churches doors
Footage of me projected on the churches walls
I’ve never been to church at all
But I stole a bible from a motel in Montreal
So chances are…
I won’t be napping on a cream cheese cloud
I’ll be burning where the serpents crawl
A sinner in a box who never served The Lord
Open the casket
Slow reveal
Jonah Hill
Pale skin…Black rims…A black toquoe
Sweatpants…Black t-shirt…Haring tattoo
Fuck a black suit
I ain’t wearing dress pants to my death dance
I’ll go shopping when the jet lands
Teardrops on a stone-face
Blown noses for an overweight dreamer from Toronto who wrote pain
And chose struggle over a diploma in an old frame
Should have been a dentist
Then get another letter from fan telling me I brought sun to their cold day
You ain’t thanking your dentist, son
No way
I may be broke in the pocket, but I’m so paid
Fuck Colgate
All I know is song
And I’m a keep writing till I’m Jonah in a hole
And as long as you’re with me…
.
I'm feeling like I got a target on my wardrobe
The Public Enemy logo on my torso
Behind a closed robe
Belt, noose knotted on my waistline
But I'm still a raisin on the grapevine
I remember Marvin Gaye used to sing to me
[Oh, things ain't what they used to be, oh no]
I let the Pac records on my transistor speak
Christopher Wallace thoughts...Will is weak...Pistol screams
[Hey yo Big! Hey yo Big!]
Crawling out the basement till the blisters on my fingers bleed
A state of mind I'm imprisoned in
I'm just a rapper in an iPod to you
But I'm Derek in the skin that I'm living in
Since I was a little kid
Whispering "Fuck The World", but too timid to middle finger then
Now I'm Too old to live again
Spitting on my reflection
Regretting I ever said..
.
Another lap in the rat race
In last place
Double lapped
Crawling in the fast lane
Can't afford to fill the gas tank
Too proud to hitchhike to the gas station
A dad in a young man's game...
Fuck those kids!
.
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D-Sisive | Jonah Hill [topHoods:Hijacked]

From the mixtape: The Great Mr. Nobody [available September Something|2014] 

Music hijacked from: Beck's Loser [ www.youtube.com/watch?v=YgSPaXgAdzE ] 

Last verse hijacked from: N.W.A.'s 8 Ball [ www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ofiMiCDBq4 ] 

Artwork: Justin 'Chokeules' Lepine [@chokeules ] 
Producer: Beck, Carl Stephenson & Tom Rothrock 
Mixed: Rob 'Muneshine' Bakker 
Recorded by Tim 'Timbuktu' Wallace @ FUN, Toronto, Canada. 
- 
In the time of chimpanzees 
I was an ostrich 
On the CN Tower, wearing aviator goggles 
With the parachute off 
Swan dive in the Sky Dome 
Land on third base and ask Lawrie for a ride home 
Under|Bonnie Raitt|ed...Giving you something to talk about 
The Illuminati the Illuminati gossips 'bout 
And you better watch your mouth when God's around 
I'm never in the mood to monkey bar around 
Two left feet on the dance floor, breakin' 
Listening to Kenny Loggins, Hash browin' with the bacon 
Feeling gigantic like Andre in Legoland 
High kicking like Glover on Letterman 
Banned in America...Banned in the Netherlands 
Trying to get love from the kids like Neverland 
Jesus juice with Feldman on the ranch 
Chillin' at the Grammys with Webster on my lap 
. 
I wrote a letter to the president 
I wrote a letter to the prime minister 
And the letter said… 
There’s a new sheriff wasted on aggression 
With two loaded weapons in a holster on my denim 
A scrambled egg brain 
In a Reagan mask, addressing the nation in a Chretien impression 
A French Canadian with a hall pass 
White, dressed in all black 
Posing for the camera like Diana in a car crash 
Tabloid fodder 
A flamboyant father 
A man with a talent that can’t support his daughter 
With fanboys hanging from his every noun uttered 
And youtube haters who should have drowned in mustard 
Stupid motherfuckers, double-parking by a hydrant 
Nodding off, staring at the inside of their eyelids 
Haters on me for the title I'm holding 
Eazy E's fucked up and got the 8Ball rolling 
. 
Forces of evil in a bozo nightmare 
Trying to fall asleep 
Wide awake in a night terror 
Trapped in the body of a baby in a high chair 
Dick Clark...Dropping balls in Times Square 
Fuck Seacrest 
A Dunkleman regret 
A devil's reject with two Dom Deluise breasts 
Guy Fierri in a 69 Chevy 
Drunk driving 
Taking bites from a pile of spaghetti in his lap 
Turquoise jewellery shining 
I'm too Slick Rick 
I'm ruling the asylum 
Ladi Dadi...Leaving studio's blazed 
LV sweating, rocking Coolio braids 
- 
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D-Sisive | Bozo Nightmare

Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aKxQPRMymxE&feature=youtu.be
director: iLLvibe [ http://www.illvibemusic.com ]

From the mixtape: The Great Mr. Nobody
Instrumental: Earl Sweatshirt|523 : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FYnWt...

Mixed: Rob 'Muneshine' Bakker 
Recorded by Bronze One in his basement. Toronto, Canada. 
.
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.
The land of the ugly
A savage with a habit from the land of the ugly
Envied by the famished and the hungry ‘cuz we’re chubby
The fat and the husky stand tall
Our shadows shade the land of the ugly
Asthmatic and gasping
Bad skinned and laughed at by the handsome and lovely
In fantasies, the handsome’s in a sandwich I’m crunching
The ravishing is lunchmeat in the land of the ugly
We dance to their screams as they pass through the slicer
Dance to their screams as they pass through the grinder
The meat tenderizer
An array of spices and freshly baked kaisers
Fermented ciders and tasty appetizers
Satisfy appetites in the land of the ugly
We never go hungry in the land of the ugly
We live forever in the land of the ugly
The land of the rancid and tubby
The Lena Dunham’s and Pugsley’s
Costanza’s and Bundy’s
The extras
The last picked
The last kissed
The fat kid on the seesaw
The bland and the pudgy
The kings and the queens of their castles
The quacks and the ducklings
The land of the ugly

D - Sisive | Land Of The Ugly

The basement. 1997. Alone in a room. Looping open instrumental parts with a dual cassette player. Recording verses on a tape recorder. No microphone. You can hear the room. Verses written for yourself. No fans. No studio. No engineer. No interest. No manager. No booking agent. No strategy. No music journalists. No bloggers. No industry. No grants. Nothing to lose. Everything to prove. aboyinaroom.

The basement. 2015. Alone in a room. Ripping instrumentals off YouTube. Recording verses on Garage Band. USB microphone. Pantyhose stretched over a clothes hanger. You can hear the room. Verses written for yourself. A few fans. No studio. No engineer. No interest. No manager. No booking agent. No strategy. No music journalists. No bloggers. No industry. No grants. Nothing to lose. Everything to prove. aboyinaroom.

Follow D-Sisive:
twitter|instagram: @DerekChristoff
www.SoDesolate.com
www.DesolateRadio.com
www.DesolateSound.com
www.DesolateShop.com
www.facebook.com/DerekChristoffStuff

D-Sisive | Violent J

I made this in my bedroom.

Lyrics: D-Sisive
Instrumental: Pacewon|I Declare War

Follow D-Sisive:
twitter|instagram: @DerekChristoff
www.SoDesolate.com
www.soundcloud.com/dsisive
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Home is where my heart beats
Where my coat and my hat hang
Where the haters aim spit at your batwing
Cuz every hater is a rapper with a rap name
You will never hear of
But in their bedroom mirror
They see Kanye in their camo Foot Locker thermal spitting
Whatever diarrhea they had written
To whatever Chief Keef beat they had sitting on their PCs
Combine the two and get a feast of fucking feces
Between choruses sung with weak harmonizing
Through autotune, that sounds like a fax machine dialing
A fax machine played on 93.5, and…
This is the toilet where I swim
Home is filled with class clowns
Where Drake Graham says ‘mans’ and speaks Bakardi Slang now
Where we actually believe we’re on the map now
But the planet only wants to hear one of us rap now
I don’t care if DJ Trap from Idaho
Played your shitty Chief Keef dub on his college show
At 5 in the morning, when Idaho-ans eyes are closed, and…
Smiling and snoring, dreaming about their shite recordings
Your genetics aren’t designed to blow
Your genetics are designed to mop up Taco Bell’s dining floor
And dream of one day climbing up that high promotion
Putting cheese on beef till you retire, holmes
Home is where the buffalo roam
Rap about the Rolls Royce then take the bus alone, home
In old, torn Hulk|Mark Ruffalo clothes
Runnin’ tings…
But couldn’t book a Buffalo show
Call a sports bar and book a Buffalo show
Poster Walden Galleria letting Buffalo know
The king of Cheektowaga’s on Buffalo soil
Performing his hits while all of Buffalo’s home
Yell at the soundman cuz his muffled, dope quotes
Aren’t loud enough for the bored Buffalo ghosts
“Prices slashed at Lockport’s Gambino Ford
Free hot dogs for the kids!”
Home is where my heart beats
Where my hat and my coat hang
Where yesterday’s news ignore their toe tag
Spending their whole day remembering when
Stuck in 1997 when their 12inch was pressed
And won’t accept nobody wants to hear their record again
They’ll never be the center of attention again
I don’t mean to be mean or disrespectful to them
But it’s hard to be respectful when you’re better than them
And you get dissed like you’re the reason their relevance is dead
Grampa forgot to take today’s medicine again
A shattered lightbulb
A dim lit star
Melted ice cream
A 6” God

#aboyinaroom

D-Sisive | 6" God

lyrics: Derek Christoff
producer: The Arkeologists
recorded @ The Haus Of Atanas : Barrie, Ontario, Canada
mixed|mastered: The Ghost of Dusty Rhodes
-----
Your piece of the pie is your piece
Like my piece of the pie is my piece
If you eat your piece faster than I eat mine
Don’t feel entitled of a bite of my piece
That leaves me with less pie, and that’s unfair
You’d feel like dogshit if I ate half of your pear
But I don’t want your bruised, supermarket fruit
Dude, I’m a slow eater
Sue me, Sarandon
There you go again…
Sneaking looks at my pie
You got a nine to five
You can buy another slice
I’m starving, broke and bleak
Please, leave me alone with my dreams and my coconut cream
But bwoyz like you got the hotty head
Cuz you got a couple muscles and a hockey stick
And a bimbo who doesn’t know the alphabet
Or how to count to ten
Cuz nobody told her how to get to Sesame Street
And don’t forget…A loaf of bread
A container of milk and a stick of butter
If you can’t remember, I’ll write it down for you
Don’t be embarrassed…It’s only a list
You’re good enough and smart enough
And dog-gonnit, people like you
They have to
We’re Canadian
It’s polite to
We’re Canadian
We don’t like truth
We like sunny days and riding bicycles and haikus
We shake the hands of those  we lose our minds to
We congratulate who we lose our fights to

Goodnight, sweet Gabriel
You’ll feel better in the morning
Promise 

Imagine if FACTOR pulled the plug
Imagine if MuchFACT said…
“Ahhhh…That’s enough
You strawberries have taken advantage of enough
No more deli trays
No more fruit platters from us
Who will still be standing up
Who’s gonna Au Revoir and pack it up
If a fudged budget gets shredded and tossed in a dumpster
Tell me…does anybody hear?
If the government stops paying for your art
And you have to front the bill…does anybody hear?

We all held hands when the music died
We all held hands when the music died
We held hands and cried when the music died
We tossed flowers in the flames as the instruments burned
In the funeral pyre

Played by Carlos Santana…


D-Sisive | The Manifesto [producer: The Arkeologists]

written|recorded|released: 04|25|2016
recorded at Haus Of Atanas | Toronto, Canada
instrumental: Goodie Mob|Cell Therapy

I feel the sky falling on my haircut
I try to run away, but my electric chair is stuck
In mud
In the unfinished basement where the mayor once
Inhaled a nightmare
In front of a pair of thugs
With camera phones recording like paparazzi reporters
2-faced informants with chainsaws in the forest
I fell asleep in the mess I promised I’d sweep in the morning
Facing temptation without Jesus on my shoulder
Satan braiding my hair while I sit between his inner thighs
He promises Eurythmic dreams for the soul that lives inside
My Temple of Doom
A human Hotel Waverly
I’ll rent you a room
But there’s no checkout at noon
You are here forever like two records by Wu
You cannot escape
The goons by the gate
Are deranged and psycho
Norman Bates with blades
Cyanide in Jigga’s lemonade
I’m a suicidal donkey with no Pooh to guide me straight
A rocket from the future with no fuel to fly to space
I close my eyes to the morning harmonizing of the chirping birds
The period ending my sentence of disturbing words
Hours away from reuniting with my worshippers
Grinning so wide that the curving hurts
Escorted from my prison cell to another living hell
Blowing kisses to my loyal children that the system failed
I wish them well
To my blank generation – I am Richard Hell
French kissing the reaper, but don’t kiss and tell
I shoot until my pistol melts into an acidic gel
All over my palms, knuckles, fingers and my fingernails
Jones
Lit cigarette
Exit through the prison fence
Jimmy’s on parole until he sins again
Sinning is subjective
Sinning is the singing of the devil
Not sinning for a sleeping bag in heaven
Is as sinful as sinning for the hell of it
Sinning for the hell of it
Sinning for the hell of it
Slob Opera
Abort your tortoise eggs
Orville Knoblich’s back to run this dumpster on Pistorius legs
Slob Opera is religion
Slob Knoblich is me
Slob Opera is religion
Slob Mob is we

D-Sisive | Pistorius Legs [slob opera]

@derekchristoff
#slobopera
#slobmob

written|recorded|released: 04|28|2016
recorded at Haus Of Atanas | Toronto, Canada
instrumental: GZA|Liquid Swords

I was a laughing stock
The joke of the open mic
Trying to find a gimmick that would disappoint Obie Trice
Carrot Top 
With a tickle trunk of cinderblocks
Prop repellant
Nobody wanted what I was selling
Dodging alcohol bottles and watermelons
Yelling at security…
Who the fuck brought a watermelon?
Still, I hit the stage like Apollo’s cheek
After Drago’s left hook
Rest In Peace | Apollo Creed
I never threw the towel
Instead, I used the towel
To wipe my saliva, blood, vomit, mucus, bowels
Slices on skin thinner than Karen Carpenter
Rap to me was Mary
I was a frail carpenter
The son of a genre that changed me like two nickles
With hunger to pen poems that pierce like shooting pistols
Bang!
Shot through the heart like Richie Sambora
I wanted to fly like Riche Valens in Iowa
Orville Knoblich is the ostrich with broken wings on my shoulder blades
Fueled by rejection my life and songs contain
You could never walk a mile in my laceless Vans
The greatest from my country, but still walk it a nameless man
Roddy Piper staring through a pair of Ray Bans
At an industry that sees Rocky Dennis in a plague mask
If they see me at all
So fuck ‘em till they jizz blood
Keep signing Drake clones singing over synth drums
And wonder why the world laughs at the leaf like a clever meme
Another row of empty seats in the mezzanine
Here’s something to think about
The more you know
NBC
I had a deal with EMI in my early twenties
They gave me an MPC to learn to use
All I wanted to do was rap
Not loop a sample
But was told it was beneficial to learn to produce
So I sat in the office and taught myself how to chop
When in walked Greg Nori – lead singer of Treble Charger
He asked the then-president...
'What’s up tonight?'
Was he going to Lee’s Palace for Buck 65
The president replied ‘I’m not sure I really get it’
That’s when Gregory said something that opened my eyes
He laughed and said… 
Nobody really gets it...but, it’s where everybody’s going

D-Sisive | Rocky Dennis [slob opera]

producer [sample stolen from]: Sigur Ros

mixed: Rob 'Muneshine' Bakker
recorded by Tim 'Timbuktu' Wallace @ FUN, Toronto, Canada.
-
This song is my baby. My peak. What I consider to be my greatest verse. Every new verse I write, or have written, I go in with the intention to crush this one. I never have.

The stolen Sigur Ros song is featured during the end of the James Franco film, 127 Hours. The music completely blew me away. Made the visuals super fucking powerful. I had to write something to it. I got home [40 High Park Avenue-my then apartment] and headed straight to my computer to search the soundtrack. Bought this of iTunes and started planning. 

The verse had to be powerful. Had to match the mood. Had to be epic. I've never spent as much time on a verse as I did this one. It's fucking ridiculous, but I think it took me longer to write this than Jonestown 2 in its entirety. I spent 2 weeks on this, which is unheard of for me. What made this extra special is it was recorded in 1 take. The final recording was supposed to be Tim's microphone level check. The levels were fine and I kept going. Evidence of this is my friend, Kyle Lundie's "fuck" response you hear at the end of the song, right after the paper crumple and booth door open. It was fucking intense.

The song was listed on Strombo's top 100 songs of the year for whichever year it came out. 2011? 2012? One of those. And a year or so after its release, I received a photo on Facebook from a fan, Chris Hall [who has since become a friend], of himself and a fresh tattoo he had just gotten of the words If I Live To See Tomorrow across his entire chest. The photo was so fucking overwhelming it brought me to tears. I talk about it in my song [un]Answered Prayers, which is also posted on this page. I hope you like it.
-
www.SoDesolate.com
twitter|instagram: @DerekChristoff
www.DesolateRadio.com
www.DesolateSound.com
www.DesolateShop.com
www.facebook.com/DerekChristoffStuff

D-Sisive | If I Live To See Tomorrow

D-Sisive|Jolly Good Fellow (prod.MettyTheDertMerchant)
From the album: Run With The Creeps
Available on iTunes November 15.2011
#Creeps
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D-Sisive | Jolly Good Fellow

buy my shit: https://slobopera.bandcamp.com
twitter|instagram|snapchat: @derekchristoff
youtube: youtube.com/c/DerekChristoff

1. Gary [introduction]
2. Dogtooth
3. Fuck Richard Attenborough
4. Fuck Paul Molitor
5. Brad's Dad
6. Rupert Pupkin
7. Fuck Bobby McFerrin

D-Sisive | The Foolish Follies Of Fatty Arbuckle [august2016]

lyrics|music|artwork: orville knoblich
vocals recorded @ Haus Of Atanas | Toronto, On.
for chris hall

slobopera.com
twitter|instagram: @derekchristoff
buy my shit: slobopera.bandcamp.com
orvilleknoblich[at]gmail[dot]com
.
Today…
I killed a politician
Sent shockwaves through my city
Councilor anonymous murdered by a solid citizen
With no priors or charges
Only one shoplifting warning from a Barrie, Ontario Wal Mart
Nothing to crystal ball this moment
Nothing to crystal ball this moment
Told the Sun…
	“blame it on the wrong side I woke up on”
I wasn’t influenced by a movie
Or a song or novel
I’m not a moron, so save the scapegoats, your honour
I’ve read Salinger like everybody else
And I love The Beatles like everybody else
And have bad days like everybody else
And criticize you and your mistakes 
When you and your mistakes float to the surface of the sewer
Where secrets are through with being safe
Where your secrets are Super Dave swan diving off the CN Tower
Without a fucking parachute to safely land his two shoes
On the roof of Union Station
Come on!
Come on!
Fuji Hakayito
Evil Knievel
Don’t frown at me to feed your ego
Be grateful imagining is legal
We’ve all shot a man in Reno in between our ear holes
Don’t pee on me and call it rain
Don’t show me Heath Ledger and call it Jared Leto, chico

Today…
I killed a politician
You just haven’t found the body yet
An insect Mandarin
A lip injected bandit in a vintage leather jacket
And skinny denim pants because his shins are thick as cactuses
Police caught me at the Coffee Time
At Dupont and Lansdowne
A doughnut decorated crackhouse
I ignored and kept my hands down
Pulled up my camo pants and ran out
Zig-zagging to avoid the speeding bullets banged out
Fuck Tackleberry and Bobcat
You can’t protect me from the evils of the wrong path
I’m too old to right my wrongs
I’m too cold to find some warmth
I won a few fights, but lost the war
Still
I refuse to cry behind these iron bars
Today was the day when the drugs stopped working
A slob opera
Stained blood on the curtain
Today was the day when the drugs stopped working
A slob opera
Stained blood on the curtain

D-Sisive | Coffee Time At Dupont & Lansdowne

lyrics|music|artwork: orville knoblich
vocals recorded @ Haus Of Atanas | Toronto, Canada.
for chris hall

slobopera.com
twitter|instagram: @derekchristoff
buy my shit: slobopera.bandcamp.com
youtube: youtube.com/c/DerekChristoff
orvilleknoblich[at]gmail[dot]com
.
Today…
I killed a politician
Sent shockwaves through my city
Councilor anonymous murdered by a solid citizen
With no priors or charges
Only one shoplifting warning from a Barrie, Ontario Wal Mart
Nothing to crystal ball this moment
Nothing to crystal ball this moment
Told the Sun…
	“blame it on the wrong side I woke up on”
I wasn’t influenced by a movie
Or a song or novel
I’m not a moron, so save the scapegoats, your honour
I’ve read Salinger like everybody else
And I love The Beatles like everybody else
And have bad days like everybody else
And criticize you and your mistakes 
When you and your mistakes float to the surface of the sewer
Where secrets are through with being safe
Where your secrets are Super Dave swan diving off the CN Tower
Without a fucking parachute to safely land his two shoes
On the roof of Union Station
Come on!
Come on!
Fuji Hakayito
Evil Knievel
Don’t frown at me to feed your ego
Be grateful imagining is legal
We’ve all shot a man in Reno in between our ear holes
Don’t pee on me and call it rain
Don’t show me Heath Ledger and call it Jared Leto, chico

Today…
I killed a politician
You just haven’t found the body yet
An insect Mandarin
A lip injected bandit in a vintage leather jacket
And skinny denim pants because his shins are thick as cactuses
Police caught me at the Coffee Time
At Dupont and Lansdowne
A doughnut decorated crackhouse
I ignored and kept my hands down
Pulled up my camo pants and ran out
Zig-zagging to avoid the speeding bullets banged out
Fuck Tackleberry and Bobcat
You can’t protect me from the evils of the wrong path
I’m too old to right my wrongs
I’m too cold to find some warmth
I won a few fights, but lost the war
Still
I refuse to cry behind these iron bars
Today was the day when the drugs stopped working
A slob opera
Stained blood on the curtain
Today was the day when the drugs stopped working
A slob opera
Stained blood on the curtain

Coffee Time At Dupont & Lansdowne

slobopera.com

After a 2 year hibernation, I woke up in a world completely foreign to the one I fell asleep in. The air is cleaner. Accents are thicker. Fabrics are brighter. Bullets are plastic. Bologna is free range.

Will this new world accept my wet boots, grey hair and wrinkles? Well, the old one rejected my cheap moustache, glasses and winter hats, soooo… Fuck it.”

xxoo
Slob God
.
Today was the day when the drugs stopped working
The buzz disappeared to feed pigeons in the park
Blindfolded
Trying to find religion in the dark
Slob…
God blocked me on Facebook
I woke up with morning breath that could kill a zombie
Stronger than a gorilla
Rest in peace to Harambe
Dick out to get the piss out
Empty, awake and driven
Grabbed a can of Pepsi and ended racism
Grabbed two beef patties and filled the microwave with them
Then waited a minute
My brain started singing…

Today is gonna be the day that they’re gonna throw it back to you
I don’t believe in anybody
I don’t believe in anybody
I don’t believe in anybody
What’s anybody?
Fuck anybody

I loved anybody
I hugged anybody
I wanted anybody to hold hands and sing happy songs by Massari
Karl Wolf and Marianas Trench and Hedley
Sip Pepsi from Mother Theresa’s tits
Now all I do is wonder where the Reaper is
So he can pierce is scythe deep in you piece of shits
If Jesus forgives
I’m playing Jenga in the basement with Satan
Listening to…

Today is the greatest day…

And I’m the greatest
Yet I’m 37 trying to break in
I’m pathetic and humiliating
I remember being signed by EMI
At the desk of the president
Telling him I want to blow up like Kardinal
He pointed at a framed photograph of planet Earth hanging from his wall
I said – Cool, so what?
He said – Blow up?
Compared to that, Kardinal’s a sand castle on the beach
At the time, Kardinal was Canada to me
Sadly, I learned Canada was nothing but wet sand
Packed in a red bucket bought at Dollarama, dumped out at Wasaga Beach
Waking up to that was a tragedy to me
Slob
The point he was making was think Global
If NBC’s the king…why think Global?
This was way before Akon and Dangerous
This is not an insult, so don’t go and take it as one
And if you do, I don’t care
I’m done caring
Done treating pioneers like they was parents
When I started, other rappers couldn’t care less
Nobody predicted this white nerd from Northcliffe
Would double lap canuck rap
You didn’t want him in
Fast forward
You still ignore instead of honor him
So now I fight in a war that I don’t want to win
I don’t want beats that bite 40
I don’t want to sing
I’d rather jump off instead of walk the bridge
And that’s the only way I’ll fall off
How many fucking verses do I gotta spit
To drill the fact that I’m the illest in your braindead…
Chef Boyardee, Beefaroni, Brendan Fraser, Rick Moranis…
Moronic heads…
Slob Opera

D-Sisive x The Arkeologists | Sand Castle

slobopera.com

producer: The Arkeologists
lyrics: Derek Christoff

I don’t write raps, rhymes or bars
I don’t write songs
I write psalms
Slob God in a stained robe sitting on a drained toilet
Aiming a loaded
Homie, I came to throw gunshots
Can I touch something?
What the bloodclot
Opiate possessed in my mug shot
Fatty Arbuckle with the slight smirk
Rifle in my right grip
Bible in my left palm
Yeezus with a vest on
Rap’s Ginsberg
Trapped in the physique of Harvey Weinstein
Slapping Miramax interns
I don’t mop the mucus up
My name ain’t Mr. Belvedere
And I don’t live in Mac Miller’s Pittsburgh
I’m a David Miscavige miscarriage
The twentieth savage
I hid beneath the blankets watching rap turn Kravitz
I’m before Christ
Top 5 and B4-4
Like that boy band signed under the Sony brand
With frosted tips, bird beaks and the sex appeal of the holocaust
Only in Canada
Only in Canada
Disown me in Canada
Pussyclot…

Bright days and dark nights
Dick Graysons and Dark Knights
White glove slaps and swordfights
I rap like I’m Charlie Bukowski in bar fights
With brass knuckles hidden in my spandex
Like Ravishing Rick Rude
With your portrait airbrushed on my pants
That makes you frown whenever my ass flexes
I’ll turn you Futures into past tenses
Pussyclots...

I’m the fat, white Tupac repping the Red Wings
Pouring out some Hennesey for my enemies
Spitting on you rock stars trying to sell me dreams
Dollarama LA Reid’s 
Leaving messages at 4am
Playing West Coast in the background
Telling me you’re gonna blow me up
Take me out the Rivoli
And sell out every seat in the opera house
From the floor right up to the mezzanine
[mezz…]
As soon as the grants approve
As soon as the Factor grant approves
You can’t imagine what I plan to do
Only in Canada
Disown me in Canada
Pussyclot...
Contemplating war with dudes I was cool with before
We used to score together
Perform together
But…
A thug changes, and love changes
And best friends become strangers
Over married pussy
A marionette
I kiss you on the mouth and cradle your neck
You broke my heart, Fredo
You broke my heart
Pussyclot

I’m broke and broken
Hardly alive
I’m Rocky five
Sue me for what?
Nothing to lose
Building a spaceship out of a cardboard box 
A stick of dynamite and a couple of screws
To return where I belong like Buzz on the moon
If Drake’s Muhammad
I’m Chuvalo in Maple Leaf Gardens
In darkness
Alone with the ghost of Harold Ballard
With gloves tied
The bloods dry
Fighting demons in the basement while the sun shines
Regretting every drug tried
Fighting for a happy ending for this fucked life
To mom and father…
Promise you’ll protect my daughter
You did everything you could for my slob sonata
The award goes to…
Slob God in Slob Opera
Vaffanculo your mama
Slob Opera…

D-Sisive x The Arkeologists | Pussyclot

my name is D-Sisive.
this is where i post rap songs.

D-Sisive

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