Multi-genre 4 artist group.
FlipGame
Racks Atlantic
Harriet Thugman
Rosa Sparx

Lyrics/Music/Production/Concept/Engineering/Marketing
Kris Antibus

the END

RAFTERS

Now, I'm just being silly. I have a decent version Im working on. The off rhythms were fun though.

Night Terrors

Cloud of Bullets

Simp Sick! is here—times five. This new drop delivers a menacing blend of beats, vocals, and swagger across five distinct iterations that push boundaries in every direction:

    Simp Sick! – The main cut, a club-ready anthem showcasing punchy bars and playful teasing. It keeps the energy high with a slick, head-nodding groove, perfect for a midnight dancefloor takeover.
    
    Simp Sick! (Miami 8 Mix) – Fueled by extreme bass and a sultry, Minnie Mouse–styled vocal, this version cranks up the subwoofers and takes the flirtation to a new level. Prepare for serious sonic rumbles.
    
    Simp Sick! (Electric Danger Carousel) – An EDM-flavored reinvention, complete with high-octane synths and the artist shouting the lyrics for a raw, festival-ready vibe. Equal parts chaos and electrifying fun.
    
    Simp Sick! (Almost Mormon Edit) – The “cleanest” version of the bunch, though still far from saintly. Lyrics get toned down just enough for a near-radio feel, yet the beat remains downright addictive.
    
    Simp Sick! (Toxic Tease Rework) – A moody, ballad-style twist that spotlights the same chorus but with fresh verses, giving the track a seductive slow-burn and a showcase for the artist’s vocal range.

Together, these five cuts of Simp Sick! deliver a multifaceted ride through swagger, sex appeal, and unapologetic power plays—ensuring there’s a style for every listener ready to embrace their inner tease.

Lyrics- 
[Ad-lib (spoken/taunting): “Uh-huh… y’all can’t handle this… Bitch, I’m SimpSick.”]

[Verse 1]
I take the spliff, they always pass to this chick
If I can’t get a hit—then that fool’s simp sick
Stay blowin’ up my phone, crying for a taste
But I’m busy swervin’ niggas, money fast at my pace
He fiendin’ for my love like a junkie for that rock
Droppin’ racks on lavish plates, but I won’t give a fuck
If he talk good game, I might let him get a peek
But the minute he folds, I push him out on the street
Flip the script, I’m the boss, I ain’t ever gon’ chase
He grovel at my feet while I gas in his face
Got that kitty so purrfect, he’s losing his mind
Wanna worship my throne? Then you better wait in line

[Chorus]
Bitch, I’m SimpSick, Bitch, I’m SimpSick
All these men stuck in my grip
You won’t breathe when you see what I’m describin’
Got ’em hypnotized the moment I’m vibin’
Bitch, I’m SimpSick, Bitch, I’m SimpSick
Credit cards, dinner tabs, I flip
And I don’t even eat that gourmet shit
But you’ll pay, ’cause you want this clit

[Verse 2]
I’m blowin’ smoke in the drop-top, pedal to the floor
He’s in the passenger seat, head first, beggin’ for more
Tongue tied while I’m ridin’, got me purrin’ like a cat
He’s hopelessly addicted, I’m full, that’s a fact
Don’t mistake it for love, it’s a hustle in motion
I keep his mind swirl’d up, drown him deep in devotion
When I say “Jump,” he leaps—puppet on my string
Shiny nails on the wheel, I run everything
I got hitters and trappers orbiting my glow
They fiend for this face, these hips they wanna know
All across the city, I keep ’em shook, keep ’em pressed
Their pockets get lighter while I’m always lookin’ fresh

[Chorus – Variation]
Bitch, I’m SimpSick, Bitch, I’m SimpSick
They trip over me for a lick
Got ’em hitting my mentions, hearts pounding quick
Droolin’ for a bad chick, watch me flick
Bitch, I’m SimpSick, Bitch, I’m SimpSick
Never satisfied, I take my pick
One snap of the fingers, they scramble to please
I’m the queen, they disease—on they knees, yes indeed

[Bridge]
[Beat drops low; seductive whisper over minimal drum loop]
They want a piece of me, but I give ’em a glimpse
They praising my walk, my talk, my lips
I break their hearts, watch it all go broke
Then I disappear in a pink puff of smoke

[Beat slams back in]

[Outro]
[Ad-lib: “SimpSick… Bitch, I’m SimpSick…
Uh, yeah… keep beggin’.”]

Simp Sick!

Rosa Sparx and Harriet Thugman join forces on “MADAM,” a raw Southern rap track brimming with dark trap energy and unapologetic swagger. Eerie synths and cinematic undertones set the stage for an operatic hook that hauntingly contrasts the duo’s gritty flows. Each verse merges dog-training metaphors with pimp-life imagery, plunging the listener into a blurred world of power, seduction, and hustle. Fiery, theatrical, and boldly unapologetic—“MADAM” marks a thrilling collision of fierce female MCs claiming their place at the top of the pack.

MADAM (cover)

MADAM

On the Pond is a moody, high-stakes introduction to the END’s world—where illicit cargo drifts on still waters, and time itself feels suspended. Pulsing synths and sparse percussion frame the dual vocals that weave tales of hushed deals and mounting tension. The eerie ambiance underscores both the literal weight floating on the surface and the figurative wait for a score that could redefine the game. With layered wordplay and a cinematic drop, “On the Pond” sets the album’s tone: darkly hypnotic, quietly menacing, and charged with possibility.

On the Pond

“Side to Side” (also known as “SDETSDE” or "$400k Habit") is a dark, rock-fused rap cut delivered by Harriet—whose deceptively sweet voice masks a ruthless hustle. Gritty guitars collide with trap undercurrents, and ominous synth notes build a tense, cinematic landscape. Lyrically, Harriet flaunts her high-stakes habit, muses on betrayals, and reminds anyone who crosses her to brace for repercussions. It’s a hard-hitting look into wealth, power, and survival—tied together by Harriet’s calm yet commanding presence, ensuring no listener leaves unshaken.

Lyrics:

[Verse]
Four-hundred-thousand-dollar-a-year habit (Mm)
When your back is to the wind, who you fear stabbin’? [Hush]
When your cut gets deeper and the tears gather
On a never-ending night, don’t let your fears shatter. [Soft exhale]
I had the slab up under the granite counter [Tsk]
The white lookin’ like clam chowder (Mmm)
It ain’t workin’, see my man countin’
Couple extra ones on my tip, and he ain’t found it [Heh]
He trusted my moves, but didn’t trust my muscle
Fucking over fools (Mm), he should’ve trusted my hustle
Smokin’ LA Confidential, still discussin’ trust issues [Low breath]
Me, my clique, and his bitch in a huddle [Hush]
5 star nights, New York, Highline
I know I said that I’d come, but it was my time [Soft grunt]
On the set (Mmm), you can never get the sideline
I’m too far past that in my lifetime (Heh)

[Chorus]
Ayy, ain’t nothin’ like comin’ up
Streetwise and runnin’ it
If you get in the way, there’s repercussions, side to side
Ayy, them good days are behind us
Them good days are behind us
Them good days are behind us
Think about all the cities and lives you be fuckin’ up

[Verse]
Four-hundred-thousand-dollar-a-year habit
When your back is to the wind, who you fear stabbin’?
When your cut gets deeper and the tears matter
On a never-ending night, don’t let your fears have it.
Ayy, don’t worry, we gon’ be back
Fucked the city up, now we on to the next one
Ahh, bring it back to the led
When your life and your power all come to a head
You already thought about what you was gonna do with the bread
Drop your bitch, buy some watches, let it go to the head.
We countin’ cash, flashin’ out, fuckin’ off, yeah
Some of y’all thinkin’ about all of that still
Tryin’ to understand me, it was all in my will
(will… will… will)

Side to Side



"See The Candy Gleam" spins a classic 90s Texas vibe through a modern trap lens. 
Heavy bass and twangy synth accents underscore FlipGame’s smooth, Southern drawl, painting a vivid picture of candy-painted slabs, codeine-soaked nights, and unflinching street hustle. 
A mid-verse jailhouse interlude amplifies the stakes, while hazy female vocals provide an eerie counterpoint to the raw, confident flow. 

The result: a dark, head-nodding anthem that seamlessly merges retro swagger with contemporary grit, capturing both the hype of a club banger and the rough edge of underground hustle.

[Verse 1]
Caddy sittin’ heavy, rims spinnin’ like a disc
Flexin’ on the haters, pockets loaded to the brim
Heavy chain swang, gold teeth got that glimmer
In the rearview, fuzz closer than a whisper
Trunk rattlin’, bass hits—city gettin’ shook
Boys in blue behind me, tryna close my book
Corner slangin’ bags, no checks for receipts
Livin’ off them shadows, finessin’ dirty streets
Scene in my ride, that 90s vibe, I’m feelin’ right
From the block to the spot, day and night
Ghetto dreams fueling schemes, we gotta fight
Eyes peeled for that beam, can’t slip in the light
Slab music, double cup—Texas codeine slow
Candy paint drippin’, hush hush on the low
Trouble in my genes, that’s how we roll
Rollin’ dirty, life’s a thriller—ain’t no cameo

[Interlude – Jail Cell Block]

Inmate 1:
(Man, you seen FlipGame out there on the streets?
He out here makin’ moves, droppin’ cash like it’s nothin’…)

Inmate 2:
(Yeah, bruh. While we locked up, he rollin’ ridin’ candy?)

Inmate 1:
(That boy doin’ it big… guess that’s the life—
Even if it’s runnin’ on borrowed time.)

[Bridge to Hook – Minimal Beat]
(Soft female vocals overlapping):
No, no… ahh… no no…

[Hook – Female Vocal & FlipGame ad-libs]
(Paint drippin’, see the candy gleam)
(Top down, ice grill, trouble in my genes)
(Cue the fiends, product ‘bout to hit the scene)
(Rollin’ dirty, life’s a… life’s a…)
No, no… no no… (ahh no…)
No no… no no… (mm…)

[Verse 2]
Texas heat, paint drippin’, see the candy gleam
Top down, ice grill—ain’t nothin’ too extreme
Fifth wheel glidin’, tinted out the scene
We supply the fiends, dodge routine
Caddy sittin’ heavy, rims spin like a disc
Got daily hustle—my pockets can’t resist
Heavy chain swang, that gold still glimmer
In this land of dreams, baby, we the winners
No mercy for foes, coded in my creed
We rollin’ dirty—keys hush, that’s the key
(Ahh no no… no no)
Just watch the glow
(We do this slow…)

[Outro]
(“no no… no no…”)
Candy drips, hustle flips, we float in the zone
Ridin’ high, eyes on the gold—never alone
No no… no no… (haah…)
Let that trunk rattle, paint drippin’ down the throne
Rollin’ dirty, so clean—this a world of my own


See the Candy Gleam

A cold‑blooded flex from the END. Over a brooding guitar loop that collapses into pounding drum‑and‑bass, Racks lays out million‑dollar deals, silent contracts, and city‑wide chaos—yet never breaks a sweat. One beat switch, ten watchers, zero meltdowns: “Nonchalant” captures the crew’s calm‑in‑the‑fire ethos and foreshadows the storm still coming. Produced by KANTIBUS.

[Lyrics]
Watch the meltdown, I barely blink… that’s routine
Champagne left half-finished, drippin’ diamonds in between
My phone’s a gateway to deals worth more than a life
I let traitors talk, then vanish from the light
Rifles outside my suite, I hear shots ring low
Cops knock, I greet ‘em wearing fur, eyes in amped glow
Strap in tow, they chill for their health 
They come for me? I let my wallet handle stealth shit
Midnight madness? I sip top-shelf, no fear
If the city falls to ash, 
I’ll still be here, with the stash and the bounty on their ass.  
And an action on their class, contracts on the blast. 
I made a vow to watch the world burn after I trap it.

(They question if I’m numb— too many ghosts in the mirror)
But that’s everyday hustle, I just laugh at the fear
Saw fists fly over bullshit— my name was on lips
Kept sippin’ top-shelf while loyalty flips

Mom in the corner, tears stuck on her cheek
I wave her off— no meltdown, no peak
If the block’s on edge, I flow in the hush

Ten watchers posted up, one signal’s enough
They handled a traitor before dawn lit his face
Nonchalant—I let the crash out fill the space
(Two million on a whim, I forgot I even spent)
Cops roll by, I greet ’em calm, no vent
I made a vow to keep this city locked in my palm
If it all goes ash, I still remain calm.

(Exclusive gatherings, hush hush deals in the back)
I stroll through smoke curtains, never flinch at attack
Told a fool to vanish — next day he went ghost
This chain on my neck? Earned it more than most
Nighttime sirens? I tap my ring, keep a grin
People panic at weak shit; I watch them cave in
Heard rumors of war, I poured another glass
If the world’s set ablaze, I still outclass
(Contracts soared—someone’s life got sold at noon)
I shrugged at the headline, same old tune
Cash in the couch, passports thick with stamps
No trash in this mouth, I only get amped
If tomorrow cracks open, I hold the same code
Teeter on chaos— that’s the route I rode
I made a vow to feed off storms till they drop
Stay in the meltdown’s center, watch the rest all stop

NONCHALANT

KANTIBUS is an American producer/songwriter who has been creating songs since 1990.

It is a portmanteau of his first initial and last name. 

KANTIBUS started creating what would eventually become known as Drill or Trap Music, demonstrating expertise in both genres. 

As such, he is a pioneer of the "violent real life criminal" styles that exist still in the underground today. 