I was 5 and he was 6...
We rode on horses made of sticks...
He wore black, and I wore white...
He would always win the fight...bang, bang!
He shot me down...bang, bang! 
I hit the ground...bang, bang!
That awful sound...

clip in the semi-auto,
my dick in Demi Lovato--
bout to rip this demolition then grovel
I ain't forget my travajo
spit it sickly with cynicism, ascend
minutes with him, skin'll be splitting
I keep it hidden at the surface
shadow lurker, a battle viruoso
birdy flying madly through the ozone
the kids want no smoke
frequent with photosynthetic procedures
I know death is inconsequential
I'll sit and let you bleed tears

not ashamed that I'm in constant pain in the Wisconsin rain
thrive when I'm supplied with oxygen like I'm aflame
molly rock inside the concoction 'cause I'm insane,
talkin' Ed Geins, Mansons, and Dahmers--I nom on brains
y'all the lowest common denominators today, and
when I be flowin' calmly it almost be algebraic
now the potent dogma go seepin' into my brains
and I overtake incumbents...get to rakin' in payments, bangin' bangin'...

dick wit a clip, and that shit go bang
ship all the bricks, moving big cocaine
stick to the script, boy don't get Cobaine'd
we gone rip through the gristle when we split yo brain

render rhymes 'til the end of time
y'all are tender, dimes
slender with the redness of eye
y'all better check the supply
render the sky, for a nest where I can rest and get high
desolate life has got me nestled in lies
you got your 15 minutes, time that you gimme mines
talkin' Jimmy John's delivery timing that would surprise 'em
arrivin' on the scene with the green, the white, and the tan
field of periphery, I can see a knife in his hand

grab the gun and blast it once
plan, you need a faster one
can't be like the last two runs
you came back with half or none
pitiful, like everyone trying to set me up 
but I'll be damned before I die to a criminal with no gun
I see the bulky shoulders exposed on a vested idiot
focus home the bullet, the method it was fastidious
ending the whole event; a hole in the head
a miscreant keeping the drugs and bread
them dead on a sign for missing men...

BANG! BANG! (prod. BLKSATURN)

taking shit too serious,
as if they’ll even hear this shit
heaving into the sea, half asleep
while I have to steer the ship
the tears will drip 
beer will be sipped 
until our fear is stripped 
and in the house of fun
every one of the mirrors trick—

trickle down ya mothafuckin mind
like i’m a spiderweb—inside your head
all of the drugs you love 
but shun the side effects
you’re a such a giant sped
but won’t you come Explore my vinyl set
from Michael Jackson to Ike Turner 
to early signs of death—I’ll siphon up 
your final breath to whisper sweet nothin’s
I’m like, “ya sister gives the finest head”
and certainly loves it
it’s time to blur the subject
stir up a ruckus, syrup and Percocet
until I cave and purchase some
shit that I’m not deserving yet

shoulda stayed at home 
and rolled a blunt
now it’s almost 1, 
the demons are surrounding me
and hounding me to fuck
and the clouds are always out to rain on us 
it’s how you frame it, love
a shame you couldn’t play ya little 
games and get my brains to bust (x2)

bitch let’s get it poppin’ 
like them zits up on ya ass then 
I know you wish I’d call you
won’t give you the satisfaction
with  afghan kush in an Aston Martin
whippin’ past them, the sweet aromatic up in the ash tin, 
relaxin’ like password backward was my password
I’m past hurt, done with blame 
& torn asunder rage, usin’ the tongue 
to brutally puncture your cunt 
with it like a blade
cause I’m insane, Jack 
needless to say still the 
dopest needle in the haystack
except I smoke too much 
for me to be able to see the way back
open my throat up, I use the blade 
to swallow wave caps
when you fall inside of your grave 
you won’t get to take cash 
or that designer shit, 
drug trips, & fat vagina slits 
I’m kinda hippie-thugged-out-punk
but pronounce it giant dick
I’m puncturing your lung with a knife
‘til it goes inside of it
silencing your violent cries again
and then it’s time to dip

shoulda stayed at home 
and rolled a blunt
now it’s almost 1, 
the demons are surrounding me
and hounding me to fuck
and the clouds are only down to rain on us 
It’s how you frame it, love
a shame you couldn’t play ya
little games that get my brains to bust (x2)

Frame It (prod. SUNNYBEATS)

I don't always play naked
sometimes I do, or most of the time
...there are physical reasons for it
because, uh...if I wear clothing,
I play very heavily, irritate my skin

Smack you with a stack of bricks, (WAIT)
here's the asterisk--now as you live,
you witness the definition of Lazarus!
I stab your kids, allow you watch their reanimation,
me, staring vacant, swearing these can't be the pants I came in--
(AHH), that's right--I done ripped 'em off him,
then I tossed him in the coffin, 
me performing naked ain't a statement that I lost it--
passin' out, regaining consciousness, 
like hey I'm in this smock again,
fuck, I think I'm rocking it...
alarmingly narcissistic,
and armed to the teeth with his nonsense,
probably think he just exist as a cyst in somebody's noggin',
please, try and stop him--as a proper trip'll take place,
he skates in his moccasins 
to grab some Orange J
it's back to quarantine 
I don't care to finish up this verse,
the words is boring me...

And when you see him in the streets, I know you think him a begger
but you don't know a single thing about his recent endeavors--
he keep a, cup in his hand, some people fill it, that's love,
but every time you pass, you see his ass is missin' a glove...
he could, use some of this bread to maybe cover that up,
and although most of you assume that he would spend it on drugs,
there's a problem on our scant-clad hands, and this is the crux--
he had a show to play before this broken place was closed-and-such...

Now, he's already broken, so there ain't no need to break him down
In fact, he's like a token, glowing lakes surround the open town
agent of diplomacy, made himself his own machine,
rolling boulders off of the edge of it to his soul's ravine--
ain't nobody else behind the curtains, just a smoke machine
a hopeful dream, one day I bless the stage and they gone know it's me--
until I reach my quest, my feet will rest beseeching woefully,
the teachings tell us that we're just a sea of stars and lonely trees...

Buy on iTunes

Vagrant (prod. tusken)

RELAX AND TAKE NOTES,
while I take tokes of the marijuana smoke...

røse.:  you fucking idiots
face the insidious viciousness
and limitless ignorance of an imbecile child
wicked and foul, flip any vowel
with vigorous style, they can't get ahead of us now
wow, who can step to this--is this where the exit is?

birds:  this is dramaturgical analysis;
turn attorney to masochist
with a massive acid hit—
and that’s my pitch
—my platform,
zeros across the apgar
heroes that fuck on crackwhores
rippin' flesh getchyo tats torn

røse.:  rebound off the backboard 
you lack form, I'm barely warm
wait 'til I get hot, shoot like Hitchcock
a monster of the loch, unlocked, they'll need a smock 
for a murder scene of another freshman magazine
I'm too clean--with a scalpel, like a Ph.D. of neurology
frontal lobotomy, rearrange your psychology--
come and witness this ludicrous lyricist, who is this?
a circus trick that amuses kids, the fuse is lit

birds:  chronically obtuse,
the bubonic plague of the music shit
let the truth sluice on the youth
‘til it prove the usefulness
If you dispute nukes
be astute in refuting pertinence
whichever way interpreted
you just irk ‘em with worthlessness
pick a pattern fasten ‘n straddle
before dispersing several curses
and affording poor disheveled persons mercy,
put the floor to pedal workin
with a fork in metal curtain
would’ve warned ‘em but in
lieu of foreboding he blew a circuit

røse.:  reading cursive from the nervous urgent nurses
who read the verdict, the vermin worsens--me versus
every serpent that's a perfect person on the surface,
the worst is--artificial agonizing artists who's part is
to remove the heart that's in Rap and R&B
but they ain't as smart as me;
to see the phony fallacies, it's hardly a tragedy
disarming these fake emcees, they tempt me to squeeze...

birds:  tendency for twistedness
typically lost in Star Wars
words he spit blister and rip the
paint off a barn door
strafe with the fucking blade
lemme get a taste
get erased when I make a stain
you should know ya place
with hyperbolic attachment
I slaughter all of you faggots
make ‘em fall like the foliage
they as tall as Napoleon
all this odious energy aiming
up at Odysseus, putting only
the flamest of buds in my
blunt when twisting it

røse.:  I'm the Capo, the captain
I ain't cappin' when I say I slay Wisco rappin'
as it's happenin', that's how it was imagined
with no compassion, I flatten you
with a bashing action 'til your eyes are black
and I'm maddened by my passion
havin' the magic gadgets that are fashion
turn you into ashes, toss you to the masses
hope someone catches, stupidasses
movin' slow as molasses, you don't
need glasses to see the mismatches
flashin' verbal axes, I hope your car crashes

Capo (feat. røse.) (prod. LethalNeedle)

MC Ride: we're not in the lateral movement...
you know what I mean? just stepping side to side;
we want to move forward. make things better.

lay stiff and die free, while I shift the tide
streams of light enter my eyes
beaming scintillated
rhymeschemes, nine rings
into the journey, I’m disparate,
blurry and in a hurry—tryna
get these pistons to serve me

annual aneurysms,
the granule sands of wisdom
were sans a victim, addicted
to slamming the fist to Christians
glam and the glitz conniption
is equidistant from heaven’s mission
yet they sell and list it as opulent
solipsism--shockingly crowds of
women’ll gather around iniquity
life a living Hell, I like you really well
I splice it with embellishment
relics of what little intelligence
is still relative to eloquence
of pelicans under the feet of
elephants, accelerate,
all you featherweights
go seek a better fate, 'fo
he make you smell and taste
the cellophane ‘n flagrant vapor
capering vagrant relish in
vague disdain for everything
erasure of the masquerade will never be

MC Ride: I'm not that fascinated by,
uh, human achievements...
at one point in my life,
I was more inspired by people

this the mystique intrusive
and bleak sheik with the
proof that’ll leak to sheets
in a gruesome indecency
non-conducive and
incongruent, disputably
spewing doom and uprooting trees
they bruising the truth with a neutered eulogy
accruing these caskets for tween rappers
who seen lackin’, in the streets yappin’
while I’m following my dream’s passion
dabble with the tablets of acid
'til my spleen was black, and now
I need the cash, ain’t no acting
fill up the bag, bitch :’)

fragments get scattered
across the flattened atlas
as a fact of matter retracted
I like to pedal backwards
that with my unfettered magnitude
is what makes me a rapper
higher in caliber, ironclad to lift Excalibur
the challengers gabber forever
lapping up the palaver
they gather in exultation
and mask exasperations
massive laceration to the
face of fakeness, break,
recalibrate the lake of talents
aiming at merit’s devaluation

MC Ride: but, as I've grown more...
humans aren't really my... I don't really
look to that for inspiration that much anymore...
I look more inside...just to myself, and what goes on in there

Die Free (prod. brokeboi)

Strange mortals with curious customs...
We'll have a storm now, and an earthquake if you like
You must stand aside, out of danger

birds:  reconstruct molecular composition
when I be spittin', obvious to me
that my competition is non existent—
I’mma split an atom for the fuck of it,
engaging mutation—while you pacin' 
through the stages of mutilation,
my crew been waitin'
for another snack to hack to pieces,
your rap is feces
jokes cracked alacritous,
toe-tag the slacker once
he doubled ‘n buckled over
exsanguinate the regions
takin' blood from his skin sack
replace it with embalming fluid
press the red button to wreak destruction
take a fuckin’ cleaver to Baphomet
and I turn his ass to mutton, it’s the
illest dichotomy, prolly ready for
lobotomization—or trepanation—
as I skate from the trepidation

bruise ‘em with my selfish,
use it like a weapon,
you can go to Hell, bitch
I’m focused on some Heaven
I tangle your optic stems 'til
you’re seeing right as left,
then rendering you inept
to delicacies within the flesh

chillin' in the devil's playground, as you lay bound
drillin' in yo head to spin the brain round
hear the howls of decaying greyhounds
dead roses sitting on my gravemound  [x2]
(this is how the pain sounds)

røse.: just a young stupid doofus, a ruthless little nuisance
tryna sing my two cents with the illusion
I'm anything but useless, sick like lupus
hock up mucus, forced institutions 
to stop the rooted rudeness, I'm truthless
stab you in the back like Judas
then ask why you hate rap music
slug up in the atmosphere, something like a racketeer
stickin' up a cashier, now give me the cash here dear
steer clear of this insincere brigadier
conjure fear when I appear, my compeers disappear
nobody's really near, I'm on my own level
chillin' at the playground with the devil 
all disheveled he heckles me in a kennel
I'll never settle, I'll chew through this fucking metal

Playground (feat. røse.) (prod. LethalNeedle)

CREEP!  Catch him out in the street
‘n shoutin' at people—while he's handing out
these free vaccines with a rusty needle
must be evil, must be keeping a piece,
well it isn’t juxtaposition, I open stitched
up ears so that fucks can listen to the beat
tears flow in a stream, sewin’ up seems
of a human centipede, stiflin’ dreams
likin’ the screams, my new routines

grave-digging, day-tripping
gotta get the weight flippin’
back in the day I called it a skate-mission
lazy sippin’ liters of lean
with a swayed vision
y’all are target practice, treat all the rappers
like clay pidgins—it’s the same villain
who stay killin’ ‘em for the sport
with a fork, a knife, a napkin
stab a pig and the main course is pork
authentic utopia
awful friendly, I'll smoke with ya
'til you're rendered annul via
fears and your hopes engulfin’ ya--
choking ya, Quod Erot Demonstratum
want it then I got it,
rollin’ thru decomposin’ bodies 
with no survivors, leave ‘em throttled
ripped the final lynchpin out my wig,
so now I’m chain-smoking rappers
like they was pack of cigs
I got that itch, vindictive
leaving their skin blisterered
flick ashes with a lack of tradition
and then I ditch ‘em
pop a dose then I stop drop and roll
like I was on fire, cause I want the smoke
and y’all mothafuckas gonna supply it

take me higher, make me fry up
Inside of a deprivation tank and crying
as a sign of my ego-dying, like flying
through wide isles beguiled and timeless
architectural tiling, I can size up
monuments in our likeness and
then in Braille for the sightless
a psychic hailstorm of maelstrom
in which we fuse an amalgam of
talcum dust in a powder, sour but
now we’re cooking, spent an hour
looking for the rabbit’s foot then
grabbed a book and left it
bubbling like a brook--

the next ingredient was hooves
with the blood of a virgin youth
a curmudgeon within a dungeon
that bludgeoned a hundred two dozen troops—
so there isn’t nothing that this dude doesn’t do
the type to slam a hammer on a loose screw to jam it through...

CREEP!  Catch him out in the street
‘n shoutin' at people—while he's handing out
these free vaccines with a rusty needle
must be evil, must be keeping a piece,
well it isn’t juxtaposition, I open stitched
up ears so that fucks can listen to the beat
tears flow in a stream, sewin’ up seems
of a human centipede, stiflin’ dreams
likin’ the screams, my new routines

grave-digging, and day-tripping
gotta keep the weight flippin’
back in the day I called it a skate-mission

Creep (prod. beatsbytristan)

608 REPRESENT!
WI -> CA -> TX
business/inquiries -> cestoids@gmail.com

ghettobirds

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