I call the shots, I run the bulls, I’m Michael Jordan
Hit it with a little bit of push and a little bit of pull when the goddamn mic recordin’ 
I bring the Heat, I rep the East, I’m like the Celts
I don’t even know what to do  with the gold that I get
Bitch, I’m Michael Phelps

I’m like Lebron, I get the gold, I’m Shere Khan, Y’all carry bronze
I’m Randy Moss, I’m Mary Kom, my game on roids, I’m Barry Bonds

I got a cancerous horde of fans like I’m Lance on the Tour de France,
with a quarter gram of performance enhancers trans/planted in my veins
with 808’s and bourbon whiskey, 
rappers that battle with me fadeaway like Dirk Nowitzki,

but listen, a couple of years and Khan’ll be rappin’ in college arenas
over the net where I’m  serving you bitches, all of you haters can call me Serena
Call me Sabrina, the way that I’m rappin’ and bringing the Magic I’m Tracy McGrady
Y’all motherfuckers stay warming the bench, and the Khan get way more play like he’s Brady
 

 


Sports

Wait, hold up.  

Let me get this J rolled up

I’ll tell you motherfuckers 
what you gotta pay me for a verse
if you let me get the fucking payroll done 
 
Y’all could offer your first born child 
and I’d still bounce out like its’ girls gone wild, 
Style so killer that my words on bail, 
all my verbs in jail and my verse on trial 

all about the bass, no  treble 
first place on the track, gold medal
Shere never get into a situation 
where he gotta choose, never lose cause the Khan don’t settle 

y’all don’t move like your bikes won't pedal 
think you gon’ blow like your mics’ gunmetal
but that shit seem like planting a damn seed,
leavin’ it and hopin’ that it might grow petals 

think you mad cold but you tykes come gentle 
till’ you get popped like a tight blood vessel
y’all motherfuckers really going out of style
like some cowboy boots with the rhinestone pebbles

Line game sharp like a limestone pyramid
Y’all act hard but your rhymes don’t merit it,
The facts are that your act starts played out
and you lack bars like a backyard playground
but I rap like a track star makes rounds
when I go faster than nascar greyhounds 
Y’all burnouts are like racetrack flame-outs
looking at me spit a like spacecraft came down

Y’all rusty with dumbed down bars out
like parts found in a rundown car pound
My eight-track when it’s played back bar none	  
gets the crowd revved like a Maybach start sound

I really feel like you rappers need guidance
Y’all rap ‘bout the same three items,
freestyling bout’ weed, greed, violence, 
we don't need these from you, we need silence

Y’all say that my tracks need a damn hook
Fuck you, why don’t y’all hacks read a damn book
Y’all about as well-read as the self-help
shelf in a jail library cell in the backwoods


Yo, fuck the goons and dudes who confusing their 
youtube views as a proof of some movement 
All they do’s interviews and reviews
but there’s too few crews just improving their music
 
Y’all prolly like Khan’s being cinematic, 
I’m prolly like nah, see, I’m really mad
I was taught to keep my head down even when I’m at it
Then I see these cats getting green like a lily pad 

All these dogs got a dot com blog and a vlog
and a blah and a blah and a twitter page
It doesn’t matter how much shit you got up on the internet,
though bitch, if you all never been on stage


See, this shit’s gettin’ pretty old’ 
Some shitty ass kid makes a video 
with a shitty rap on a track that’s forgettable
Couple days pass, see him dance on the Ellen Show
to a damn crowd with some middle aged mom’s in it,
nearly puts me fit of rage watching it,
like they made it cause they rappin’ to celebrities

Someone tell me though, what happened to integrity?

Straight Bars Volume 1

Yo, straight out the dungeons of suburban streets,
I stay so deeply underground that no one’s heard of me
I murder the competition just through my emergence
someone call a goddamn ambulance, cause this is an emergency
A regular night for you you’re piteous with girls cause you’re hideous, inert, and just an idiot with words. Like is the ‘Iliad’ an idiom, a pronoun or a verb? Just shut the fuck up, you’re making me seriously berserk.
I’m lyrically absurd, I’ve got a myriad of work, these redacted think I’m a bad ass, miscreant alert. I’ve got trillions of girls in their skimpy little skirts on my sofa at 4 in the morning watching Phineas and Ferb.
So I’m out at Starbucks, and I’m feeling like a mocha cap 
Now this blonde girl’s feeling me, so she approaches and 
I turned her down, cause I already had my quota met 
she turns around all bummed out and that’s when I notice that 
the girl is wearing yoga pants, like, damn, she’s wearing yoga pants, 
changed my mind, cause, yoga pants, I fucking love me yoga pants 
took her home and instantly she showed her breasts and moaned for sex 
so I turned her over and then fucked her on the sofa bed
Look, When I say I have a lot of sex, I, well- I’m lying 
Cause when I fuck while standing up, my legs get tired 
My ex doesn’t call back, she doesn’t text me either 
cause when she asked me about her cunt I told her her best friend’s was tighter
I’m notorious for inappropriately launching boners 
I dated this heartless chick, I’m glad I got to know her 
She took so much from me now that’s all I get off to 
so I invite corpses over so I can be their organ donors
I creep the corpses out of the morgue and free them 
I keep the corpus in a bucket. list, I’m morgan freeman 
I fuck the corpulent ones first, and more than frequent 
My corporal narcolepsy tends to leave my mornings freakish
I used to watch a lot of porn so I lack dopamine 
So sexually I’m darker than usual, like black ovaltine 
I’m the kind of guy you’d never quite catch smoking weed, 
but jacking off to horny horses fucking fatass roped up teens
And I’m not joking, please, my sexual potency 
is directly proportional to how gross my kind of porn can be 
Spent my childhood on redtube dot com and set a precedent 
I would only be turned on by hot moms, so call me oedipus
You say bitch and slut so much, you start every line with em’ 
Bitch, it’s not my fault that so many things tend to rhyme with em’
Critics say my lyrics are too sexually prompted, listen 
I talk about whatever, why the fuck do you have a problem with ‘em? 
I don’t give a shit whatever you’re fucking calling it 
‘it’s joke rap, nerdcore, hipster shit, it’s fucking all of it’ 
You’re false with it. you try to vaguely generalize but you’re totally fucking wrong with it.’
Your mistakes makes you seem like you’re nervous and tense 
I’m cleverly on a beat like I’m worth double the best 
Inhale deep, like the words of my breath 
I never sleep, cause slee-

lol my first rap ever, ignore this

Insa: https://www.instagram.com/goblinkingduke/
GoblinFamily SoundCloud: https://soundcloud.com/GoblinFamily

Hope I live to see the light

While you argue on whether Tupac or Nas be better
I'll whoop your ass and outrap them both in my Cosby Sweater
He goes to parties just to roofie the drinks
and pours bacardi on his groupies while he pukes in the sink

type of dude who used to ball with his fraternity friends
but now he only goes to court for his paternity tests
and while at parties, in the corner, he be shotgunning beer
while everybody staring at him hope he's not coming near

but house parties ain't his thing, so he just drinks in the bar
but bars really ain't his thing, so he just drinks in his car
Used to be an extrovert, but people make him disconcerted now
and just to start his day, he's gotta swallow six concertas down,
down a fifth of Hennesey, hit a joint of persian bud,
sacrifice a unicorn and drink a pint of virgin blood,
and that's just for the morning- every night he draws a pentagram
and lights a couple candles in the backseat of his rental van
then hops into the front to rev the engine and to test the wheels
and ends up doing 90 while he'd doped up on Lunesta pills

His credit score has slowly sunk from nearly every angle
since they found him on to Catch a Predator with scented candles,
a box of camels and with just a fucking bathrobe on
until he saw the cops and started running out in socks in sandals

On top of that, this motherfucker's narcissistic,
every second on his soundcloud he be checking all the hard statistics
likes to brag that all his fans'll play his album louder
the problem is, his fans are whiter than some talcum powder
his largest demographic found him out on instagram,
that's why his listens come from adolescents and his hipster fans
so now he's trying to get his album sold around the clock
the only place he's sold one is at Starbucks- on the counter top
that he bought himself while working there while he was serving lattes
to some college women eating quinoa with their yerba mate

His taste in women's like how Velma look in Scooby-Doo,
they got him talking funny, like he's Elmer from the Looney Tunes,
so instead of trying he just watches films, like yesterday
he watched three interracial pornos and the Selma movie too

He's out of touch cause he's got cabin fever
telling friends to find their happiness, not telling him he hasn't either
he's well-aware if he complains in his songs
that he can claim that it was fake and he's just playing along
and since it's all inside his head no one can say that he's wrong
although it follows him to every single stage that he's on
and every page that he draws is like a cage with a lock
that he can only open if he wins the race with the clock,
and if he just confronts his feelings without trying to hide,
but every time he does, it just feels like he's dying inside

but soon enough he keeps on hoping that it will elapse
until it does, I guess he'll keep on coping with these silly raps
fill the gaps between the lines if you're that sure he's kidding
cause he sort of is but on the other hand he sort of isn't

V.II (beat by Ours Samplus)

produced by @razor-boomarang
mixed by @TevinWmusic

rap like I'm on the dean's list honor roll,
when I spin schemes like a seamstress, on a roll,
seedless, on a roll, y'all plead fifths like you speechless,
my speech sick like I got a cold, double rainbow flow,
got a pot of gold, yo, I'm a level 99, y'all do not evolve,
pokemon flows, I done found em', I caught em' all,
y'all can't spit like your mouth's full of cotton balls
the rap game, you are not involved,
every sorta thing I'm good at is a problem you gotta solve,

enthusiasm you should curb it, talk less
I be breathing fire like a serpent, loch ness
evangelic like a church is, god bless
y'all ain't even gotta hear the sermon, just nod yes
or applaud, yes, jean-claude van damme
when I kick a verse up on soundcloud, bandcamp,
when I kick a verse like it's Tae Kwon Do with
the mic on low, you're a micron, I'm an icon 
whether iPod or a Nikon,
"oh my god, yo, there ain't nobody like Khan"
"that's all I hear when I'm outside"
when I kick it high gear with the sound bytes

Khan goin' mad like I'm King Lear
really though, goin' mad, I don't think clear,
nowadays, I spend all my time on the couch
watching old episodes of The View while I drink beer

I used to go to bars 
but I'd just make it weird
walk into the club with a cape and a fake beard
and maybe buy an appletini with the peach fizz
panic on the dance floor, stand there speechless

Peach Fizz

prod X I X X, @jeff-kaale

I don’t spit fire, 
I compress and I spit carbon atoms
not the fallen prophet,
I’m the pilfer-fruit-from-gardens Adam
when I was born my mom and dad got silver lutes and harps thrown at 'em
from the hands of Zeus, it’s hard to fathom, I write all my bars in Latin,
I see Mars and Saturn in the arches of my metacarpals
Papa told me Mama taught the moon to glow and stars to sparkle
and artistry herself was startled when she carved me out of marble
I don’t put a price on life, I sharpie markered on the bar code

I had a dream where I came face to face with Aphrodite 
in a closet full of sneakers, half adidas, half were nike,
wrap my psyche up in styrofoam, my words in struggle raps
and double-back them in a couple flaps of verbal bubble wrap
my culture taught me I should be afraid of strangers,
and be afraid of changes, and be afraid of danger,
and I don’t want a cup of coffee in the comfort of my cubicle
that’s why I make decisions where I always choose the stupid one,
I must admit it’s super fun, and I know where my future’s going
I mapped the whole thing out at 10 and just now called an uber for it 

and finally it's moving

Off The Jump

lutes. // X I X X

prod. @jeffkaale

My exes? No, I don’t think about them
I shrink around them
I go to see my shrink about them
On desperate nights sometimes I’m liking every picture on their LinkedIn albums, 
just in case they’re single,
I send winky symbols, I just hint it at ‘em,
I’m not thirsty, I’m just counting fingers at the drinking fountain,
I feel like I’m drowning when I introduce myself to crowds: 
like hi, hello, I dig your sense of style, 
I saw your face across the room and grinned a while,
I wonder, are you into smiles? I pinned a pile of polaroids up on my wall, 
I wish you’d be in one,  a ring or child or wedding hall or aisle, you’d wouldn’t see in them, 
I must profess I self-profess myself a cinephile,
I’ve got every single indie title soundtrack out on indie vinyl
I’ve got some on USB, just tell me where to send the files,
if you think this is dragging on, then you should read my tinder bio,

I used to go to central park in cargo pants and whittle bark off little trees 
like Leonardo to my heart’s content, with car keys from my 97’ Civic on a bench,
I’d grab my metro card and clutch a cup of chocolate from a vendor cart,
and then depart deep underground and check the clock and metro chart,
and that is where I met her, charcoal fingers, she was sketching art, 
my self-regard leapt twenty notches when she looked at me,
I told her I wished I could etch the world out with my pencil marks,
she held the charcoal out, our fingers touched and crept apart,
and when they lingered, 
lightning struck, I know, I saw electrodes spark,
and when she smiled a hundred volts
her pearly whites were thunderbolts,
the room around us did a couple somersaults,
the earth had shifted off it’s poles,
another jolt went through me when she twirled her necklace
we were so electric, I swear the third rail was getting jealous

she curved a crater on the paper with the conté crayon
every stroke she lay spoke to my spirit like she called a séance
her fingertips could conjure chaos, every splash of color camouflaged 
into the page, I swear that she had lingerie on,
I felt the rumble of the subway tunnel crumble up
she perforated scraps of sketches, gave em’ to me crumpled up, 
and bundled up and waved to me and walked toward the edge 
I mustered up the strength to wave back and then dipped off of the bench
the train tiptoed to the ledge, it’s open doors demanded entry
she got in and whispered to me from inside that it was empty
and my heart, it started drumming, my stomach, it started numbing,
the doors began to slide, 

and then she asked me,
are you coming?


charcoal. // X I X X

edit: thank you for all the support

prod. by @yungmai
mixed by @tevinwmusic

you are papyrus to a scribe,
your highness, I’d describe you
as the finest kind of wine that ages so well
it rewinds the time

you aren’t wine,
you are the fibers of the vine, divine, you are defined
in Webster’s as the climate of the Caribbean, 
me and you should burn together like we’re fire and kerosene,
you plundered through my chest and stole my heart, a pirate of the fairer being,
Midas sighed and let his sinuses unwind and golden ether culminated into you, 
the lioness to her pride, I heard you sculpted king poseidons diamond trident at his side,
the surest sign of suicide for me would be that you had died, 
the God of Death, Osiris, Isis and her ibis-headed mask
would guide you down a spiral staircase into Cyprus if you asked,
you are the ripest stalk of Cairo-grown papyrus to this scribe, 
I’ve got no stylus to describe you as the finest kind of wine
that ages so well it rewinds the time, no, you aren’t wine,
you are the Carolina pines, and I’m so sorry that you aren’t mine.

Hope I live to see the light

GoblinKingDuke

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