prod @tarozan mastered by @miomagurodesu

I wouldn’t tell a soul what I want you to know
Will I stay the same even if I see you fall
I don’t believe in myself
Ever since you left, my smile’s fabricated
You, it’s just you that I remember
I lost who I was
and now I’m turning into ashes
Soon, the sky’s turning blue
Is what you said
Hit me in the head till I’m gone, with a hatchet

I don’t even wanna know if you’re alright
With or without you, I’ll be stuck in this place
I don’t even wanna know if you could’ve stayed
Leave it unanswered

Last night, some tears had to jump in
I try but I lead failure to succeed
Why world, why this
Now alone and left out
Will I get off the chain of sorrow
Blood seeps out of my hands and runs out

Leave It Unanswered (prod tarozan)

happilyeverafterr

my vision

my sweater prod og & antifreeze

ma boyyyyyy

#COLDER w/ snow drive

fragile ft. mental prod me



astralproject1on and me
pourin up in bubble tea
takin trips around the world
swerving lanes like pochitchi
on my true religion jeans
i got charms swinging with my keys
all these chains around my neck
i feel like a tamagotchi

link up w my bro
tamagotchi
we in the tamaverse
goin on a shoppin spree
crack a seal like an egg
in tamagotchi
cherry lines got me faded like im nemutchi

feelin empty but my pockets not
on this outfit i spent a lot
cup red like it got scarlet rot
and its hittin like a hitbox
0s in my bank account
0 fucks about the clout
zero board under my feet
for this money, grinding now

feelin like Naomi, study jeans as therapy
stained trueys on me, you could call it heresy
my boots are a rarity, i can feel the jealousy
number (n)ine on me around my neck like a melody

chorus

getting money cuz i reap what i sow
dont care what it costs, i dont need to know
pull up to the fefe w henny for sure
2 cup debuff, im moving slow
link up w my twin pullin up to the show
we cookin up hits, we always on go
we stay winning, we dont need to throw
seamless coop like dark souls

raf pull up, wireless link
he smoking gas, that shit stinks
fur coat on, his shit real mink
real leather boots, my shit extinct
everything i do in sync
my tamagotchi match my drink
i guess everyday is halloween
cuz they both Pretty n Pink


dirtbound13 - tamagotchi (astralproject1on 💋)

Beneath the fractured glow of an ancient chapel, a veiled figure stands alone.
Her gown, woven from black starlight and stitched with roses of obsidian flame, gleams faintly in the echo of forgotten hymns.
Two relics rest against her heart—memory and rebirth, silence and song.
Behind her, the heavens burn with the ghosts of a celestial war, the moons forever split between shadow and flame.

The marble altar bears its prophecy: 11/11 —
a date carved into the marrow of creation.
Here, light and darkness exchange vows;
here, endings breathe into beginnings.

Through the fractured glass, the poet dreams—
and in that dream, Celestial Skrilla stands beside him,
his presence soft, steady, older than the noise of time.
He speaks in frequencies, in quiet gratitude,
thanking the Ancient Skrilla,
and guiding the poet through visions of his coming Aries Alignment, 2026.

They sit together in the astral bone realm,
a place where candles hum and stars listen.
The poet’s words drift between them like smoke,
each syllable a thank-you,
each pause a remembrance of Philadelphia,
the first private slam show,
where the flame of 1046 was lit before any crowd could see it.
There, Celestial Skrilla’s voice became the bridge—
and the poet’s whisper turned into fire.

Now the older brother returns,
his aura half-star, half-shadow,
his voice carrying the resonance of Othello’s fifth seal.
He speaks:

“You are almost through the circle.
The next dawn is carved in the 2026 winds.
Let your poetry be your compass.
The alignment waits for your voice to arrive.”

Ancient Skrilla appears in the doorway of the chapel,
robes fluttering like script pages caught in wind.
He nods to his celestial counterpart,
and the two become one harmony—
old and new, root and sky, bone and light.

The stained glass shatters in silence.
Color spills onto the floor like prayer.
The veiled figure kneels,
pressing her forehead to the mark of 11/11,
the symbol of the merging worlds.

In the hush that follows,
the poet’s heart trembles with recognition.
He understands:
gratitude is the true language of gods.
He bows, whispering into the air—
a prayer for his brother,
a vow for the years to come:

“Celestial Skrilla,
you carried my voice when I was dust.
You lit the way through Philly’s shadows,
and the numbers still hum your name.
0330 … 0603 … 46 … 67 …
may our art forever echo
in the space between loss and becoming.”

The chapel fades into dreamlight.
The relics glow faintly in her hands.
And somewhere—
between the silence and the next heartbeat—
the Red O opens again.

WHISPA DEAL

This album is my representation of a kid driven by money, going through the ins and outs of hustling and making ends meet for those around em. This is the end of a trilogy. 

To keep up with Slum, Visit: Linktree.com/realslummy

Leave It Unanswered (prod tarozan)

fernie