"Picture this: I've been on a thrilling archaeological dig through the sonic archives, unearthing rare musical fossils from the past that will make your ears dance like never before." - @djruslan / @minim-records

Read more @ feeder.ro/2023/08/11/ruslan-minim-records

feeder sound

feeder sound 408 mixed by Ruslan [MINIM Records]

🔊🔊🔊

Never Forget

Breach the Sandstone Citadel

Canopy Clusterfuck

Journey to Midnight

Chilean Sea Bass

Lost in the Sauce

"And they call him..."


Dark Star.
Intergalactic.
Mighty Maximus.
He rips packs with us.
Flips stacks and cracks backs,
no lack with us.
He's Holographic.
Mr. Too bright.
Shine flexin', true vision,
that's true sight.
Fast hands no shuffle,
he's clocked in.
Top 8 no Swiss,
he's locked in.
Majestic.
The One.
He sculpts brain.
What's next, no head?
That's too vain.

Mr. Big time.
Mr. Big show.
Mr. Big pictures,
you're right - he on roll.
Mad expensive,
top cut, he wrecks bills.
Mostly exotic, he toxic,
no cheap thrills.
You thirsty.
He stocks ice.
Twin 30s on rack,
he's too nice.
Twice loko,
He's mad good.
Twisted forty twice spiked,
he on hood.



Tempest.
The Reaper.
He's too quick.
Snag the zap crack and swag two packs.
He's too slick.
He torrential.
He brings rain.
Mad liquid, on god,
facts, he bring pain.
He's the storm, forever,
He's too villain'.
Ride the wave with sunnys,
that's pro chillen'.
Hit the shore, swap sweep,
he's on board.
Rip mad waves, he's wet,
that's encore.

Crash skiff the dock,
he's in store.
Wild ride, respect,
you're in for.
Sub-Nautic.
He's too deep.
No buoy, submerged,
he's too steeped.
Glacier.
On ice, he's too cold.
Ice man, on rocks,
that's two fold.
Intangible, the animal,
he flips tricks.
Blades glory on thin ice,
he's full sticks.
Freeze pop words,
that's linguistic.


Architect.
The Machine.
Manufacturin'.
Semi systems, automatic,
and he's back again.
Protocol breach.
No response all static.
Program malfunction,
they be parallactic.
Engineered.
Fanatic Fanaticism.
That's spastic fantastic,
Relapsed back, what is this with him?

He's Elite.
Gary.
Scout's honor, he's top 4.
Mad badges, legit,
he cops snore.
Flamin' Cheetos,
he's too hot.
Wash hands new snack,
you best not.
Blaze hard,
he's igneous.
Pop red pills,
that's insidious.
Historical.
Hysterical.
Knowledge passed.
It's clerical.


Captain.
Legendary.
With honor, its ours,
it all seems temporary.
Integrity gained, blood,
its all sent capillary.
Mystery moon man,
he's got those tricks.
Antigravity cavity,
makes you net drop bricks.
The wild one, Zed.
The Desperado.
The Chef remembered.
Lone Star.
Affogato.

Big D, you see?
He spawnin' them.
Kings Queen.
Print armies,
there's no stopping them.
Clone wars built,
its under repetition.
Hive mind sync, 
put you into decommission.
Quick pops trottin',
he's chasing you.
No escape, withdrawal,
he's wasting you.
Champ game 3, you swept,
it's too late.
Trophy on lock, yeah,
man, he too great.


[outro]
Now say his name...

And they call him...

First of many to be introduced in a lofi collection

The Feeding Tree

Bored in the ‘burbs... with a buzz... and a blister,
Crispy's bitchin’ 'bout life — lit like a transistor.
“We should slide to the mall,” said MF Ruk twisted,
Snortin’ Smarties, sippin’ Sparks — the vision's hella mystic.
Junkyard Jeep — three wheels, no brakes,
Blunt-burnt seats and a glove box full of flakes.
Parked outside Macy’s like mallrats on meth,
Munchin’ mushrooms, bumpin’ Death Row’s best.
Granny’s watchin’ from a Buick, we flippin’ her off,
Laughin’ loud — eyes red like we dipped ’em in sauce.
Shawty shakin’ Slim Jims tryna start a grill,
We just sittin’ back chillin’, poppin’ A-trains for thrills.

Mountain mallin’ — brain cells stallin’
Food court fallin’ — got the mannequins callin’
Paranoia poppin’ — trippin’ off the polish
Ain’t no mountain high like that mall shit, flawless.

Doors slide open — slow-mo — escalator lurchin’,
Floors so glossy they reflect my soul searchin’.
Food court fumes hit like a mosh pit punch,
Orange chicken got me tweakin’, screamin’ “brunch for lunch!”
Security smirkin’, walkies twitchin’ and chirpin’,
We swear they whisperin’, every motion’s disturbin’.
Muzak morphin’ — is that Enya or threats?
Mannequins mad-doggin’ like we deep in debt.
Neon signs flicker — Morse code from the void,
Chick-Fil-A clerk lookin’ android deployed.
Took a seat in Sears — socks sweatin’ like rain,
Chewin’ gum like Kevlar — preppin’ for pain.

Mountain mallin’ — brain cells stallin’
Food court fallin’ — got the mannequins callin’
Paranoia poppin’ — trippin’ off the polish
Ain’t no mountain high like that mall shit, flawless.

Why’s that baby starin’? Nah, bruh, he knows.
Seen the stash in my sock and the shrooms in my nose.
Janitor’s janky — got reptile toes,
Build-A-Bear blinkin’ — tappin’ my phone!
Kiosks are Kremlin spies — lotion-laced assassins,
Every sniff from a stranger — cyanide gasin’.
Crispy vanished in the Bed Bath abyss,
Textin’ in Morse with a hiss on his lips.
Cameras spin like carousel creepers,
H&M mannequins twitch like sleepers.
Even the vending machine gave me the finger —
Cheetos turned spiders, crawlin’ up my fingers.

Mountain mallin’ — brain cells stallin’
Food court fallin’ — got the mannequins callin’
Paranoia poppin’ — trippin’ off the polish
Ain’t no mountain high like that mall shit, flawless.

Tile turns teeth — mall becomes a maw,
Swallowed whole — screamin’ “physics is fraud.”
Hot Topic meltin’ — goths chantin’ backwards,
Auntie Anne’s laughin’ — she a damn soul-capturer.
Woke up in Wetzel’s — butter and blood,
Preachin’ to Sephora like Moses on drugs.
Zombies zip through Zales — stilettos and stun guns,
Santa got eight tongues — and a Glock in his buns.
Friends morph to mannequins — mouths in smirks,
Hotdog on a Stick staff startin’ dark works.
Mall cop’s a Minotaur — mirrored halls scream,
“RUN, MOTHERFUCKERS!” — trapped in a dream.

Mountain mallin’ — brain cells stallin’
Food court fallin’ — got the mannequins callin’
Paranoia poppin’ — trippin’ off the polish
Ain’t no mountain high like that mall shit, flawless.

Blink — boom — back in the lot.
Smokin’ gas from a can, like “what the fuck just popped?”
Crispy like, “That was wild — wanna run it again?”
I’m like, “Bet, bro. But next time bring ten.”
M-Eff suckin’ vape clouds — unicorn tip,
Says, “I saw God in GameStop. Life’s a trip.”
No cops, no charges — just warped-ass brains,
Told our minds “fuck around,” they were like “say when.”
Mall ain’t the same — or maybe it’s us,
Either way, that adrenaline busts.
So we jump in the Jeep — windows down, full grin,
As the lot whispers... “You back again, friend?"

Mountain mallin’ — brain cells stallin’
Food court fallin’ — got the mannequins callin’
Paranoia poppin’ — trippin’ off the polish
Ain’t no mountain high like that mall shit, flawless.
Mountain mallin’ — minds get mangled
Lost in the lot where the food smells strangled.
Snap back to real — no damage at all...
So who’s down to do another trip to the mall?

Mountain mallin’.
Same time next week?

Mountain Mallin'

Cruisin down the Jericho, couped like a coffin
G6 growlin low and that stereo coughin
I pull up slow, window rolls down easy
Cona hops in, crank the air so breezy
He’s rockin a suit, shades, — two blunts lit
“Hope you got snacks  — I'm about to talk shit”
Glovebox got a grinder, console got box cigs
Trunk’s full of snacks and a shovel, we gotta dig

Cona rollin straight J cones with precision
Fingers flippin zigzags like it’s straight long division
I twist the knob, top drops, bass pops bangin
He sparks the spark, car coughs, now we hangin
We got a zip in the dash, flask fulla fire
Playlist all cursed tracks and flat tires
He straps in, I grin, sun sinks like nemo —
Time to burn tred, and start the pre-show

Kick that shit into high gear — hit the GCP

White lines flicker like a flip-book film
Every exit's burnin — and we drivin on kiln
Mirror meltin, smoke belchin out vents
Cona talkin code like he off his meds
We swerve through civics like it’s Sunday service
Semi honkin horns makin Cona real nervous
Left lane lawless, no signal in sight
I drift like Tokyo — born in past life

Tailgatin Teslas, passin Prius in prayers
Subaru got scared, tried to vanish in air
He grins, pulls a bowl from his pocket like a prize
“This one hits so hard it’ll make you recognize”
Window down, hand out, fingers flyin vigil
Cop saw the car but blinked — it was just a riddle
We ghost, we glide, down fate's dark freeway
Every honk a hymn, every curve a cliché

City skylines on the horizon split smoke like butter

Welcome to the City with grits in the gears
Cabbies cursin tongues be meltin your ears
We cuttin corners like coke in the club
Run red lights just to dodge dirty grubs
I’m tailgatin police, lane-hop lurkin
Fishtailin Ubers — they swear I’m still workin
Cona yellin, “Hit that bike lane — swerve right!”
We dodge a Chinese delivery almost mid-slide

No blinker — quick switch, I don't signal for karma
Pulled a three-lane shift pass the deli for shawarma
Squeezed through traffic like a front tooth gap
Popped a wheelie in a Prius — thats front page cap
Pedestrians flip us off like Broadway signs
We smile back, passin j cones, killin’ lines
Taxi wars, turnin' fights, every block a beef
We ghost-ride the G6 through sudden disbelief

Through the chaos, we found the elevator to heaven —

Up the ash-cloaked path where the sky starts to shimmer
Mount Kushmore calls with a soul-splitting glimmer
The G6 groans — wheels melt from friction
Yo speakin’ Hebrew, lost into prediction
Clouds puff plush like vape-shop pillows
We ascend to the peak where the gods get giggles
Volcano breath — we inhale into eternity
Brains bubble out its divine absurdity

One toke — upload complete, ego deleted
I became a .PNG, fully depleted
Wings sprout, data routes, I'm a file in flight
Streaming through a stargate lit by Sprite
Flapping around he fully embraced the fabled Flounder
Few rounds of 2K and he's flipping tables round' here
Transition to Mr. Green, so expensive, he cravin greed
Drop to ground floor, before we peace'n — hit the Dwayne Reed

Reality rips — the volcano glitches.

Now we’re swervin through tunnels made of traffic light ghosts
Crossin' Williamsburg with a demon on roast
Cona’s laughin, eyes spiralin and swirlin
“Chill the fuck out bro, before I starts with the hurlin”
My foot hits the gas, or maybe its a turtle
Street folds in half like a Herrick's themed journal
Signs melt — “One Way” becomes “Nah, Try It”
Siren sounds speak Latin, when we try to deny it

Warp gate open in a Queen's gas parking lot
We floor it through the walls while we still in the parking spot
Cops got wings, taxis got teeth
I’m seein Morse code blinkin in between the concrete
Flashes. Passageways. Psychadelic screams
We exit the bridge — or we wake from a dream
We coast in slow, smellin like hell high and glory
Taco Bell sign glows —  man this a goddamn story

Heaven ain't clouds — it’s drive-thrus at dawn
We ride like legends, then we gone

And they call him...

c0na