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📀 Straight Out the Boombox – Album Bio

Straight Out the Boombox is the sound of concrete dreams and midnight hustles — a full-throttle ride through alley smoke, rooftop echoes, and the pulse of the block. Phantom Bloc delivers fifteen tracks of heavy-hitting street poetry, basslines that shake brick walls, and hooks steeped in West Coast grit and East Coast swagger.

From the spectral hustle of "Ghost Cash" and the asphalt grit of "Lines in the Concrete", to the engine-revving swagger of "Boom-Rider" and the wild block-party chaos of "Wopbabalubop", every song is a scene straight out of the cipher.
"Dedicated", "Brooklyn Kings", and "Dust to Dollars" tip the cap to the grind and to the legends — with certain cuts paying homage to the smoke-soaked swagger of Cypress Hill, the soul-fused grit of Everlast, and the funked-up bounce of Funkdoobiest.

The tension cuts deep with "Blood Money" and "La Sangre No Miente", before the crew resurrects the raw in "Back From the Casket". Nova Rex brings fire to "Turn the Night Gold" and drapes the VIP ropes in "Velvet Rope Royalty". "Coast Glide" smooths the ride like golden-hour sun on chrome, before the grand finale — "Ibracadabra!", a swagger-drenched tribute to the king of confidence himself, Zlatan Ibrahimović.

It’s more than an album — it’s a street sermon, a love letter to hip-hop’s fearless innovators, and a reminder that some legends never die… they just keep blasting from the boombox.

Ghost Cash

Ballistic Arithmetic

I'm Just

🎶 FatMatt x GhostFish Radio  

Dark rap • Horrorcore • Outlaw Country • Southern Gothic vibes.  
Matthew Lukac aka FatMatt | GhostFish | Scarecrow’s Cousin.  

Available on all Streaming platforms

📻 SoundCloud Playlist: https://soundcloud.com/therealfatmatt/sets/fatmatt  
🎥 Streams: youtube.com/@TheRealFatMatt | twitch.tv/therealfatmatt  
💵 Support: CashApp $MatthewLukac1  

#GhostFish #FatMatt #DarkRap #Horrorcore #Kingsbury

TheFraternal_Order_of_the_Matsons_Lodge_219

(Get a load… get a load… get a load of my batshit orders…)
scratch
What? huh? yeah…

Get a load of my batshit orders,
Eat the crumbs from my toasted borders.
Put my remains in a mailbox low,
River run red when the reptiles show.

Dip that gravy in the brown sauce pot,
Serve me death on a plate still hot.
Eyes of a pig with a serpent’s wings,
Devil in the grass when the night bell rings.

Crawl through static, dust in lungs,
Beat too raw make the whole block numb.
Fox and hare on the lawn still spin,
Shadow in the dark let the madness in.

Clock strike twelve, hallway froze,
Hands too rough, mask don’t show.
No turning back, the sack too black,
What? huh? what? can’t run from that.

Yeah… oh… yeah… oh…
What? huh? what? huh?
Yeah… oh… yeah… oh…
What? what? what? what?

Voices low when the tape rewind,
Snakes on the lawn still twist my mind.
Serve me pain with a crystal glass,
Life too short so I move too fast.

Crocodiles feast where the water’s black,
Mailbox closed, don’t send that back.
Phonk too deep with a death-row bass,
Ghosts in the trunk make the street vibrate.

Blood on the floor where the echoes hide,
No windows here, no doors inside.
No mercy shown, no chance, no flag,
What you fear most in the black bag.

I’m the glitch in the funk, distortion scream,
Chopped-up loop in a broken dream.
What? huh? what? fill the void,
Static employed while the world destroyed.

Yeah… oh… yeah… oh…
What? huh? what? huh?
Yeah… oh… yeah… oh…
What? what? what? what?

Who? (what?) where? (what?)
Why? (what?) what? (what?)
Loop that tape, let it bleed, don’t stop,
Funk so raw make the coffin drop.

Basement dark with the red light glow,
Southside heat where the lost ones go.
Trunk too heavy with the 808,
World too slow when the clocks rotate.

Skull on the dash with a crooked grin,
Ash in the cup, pour the poison in.
Gold tooth shine in a bloodstain mask,
Every last breath in a black bag fast.

No name, no face, no flag, no voice,
Phonk too loud, no other choice.
From the grave to the street, I spit this hymn,
Ghost ride clean while the night stay grim.

Ride in the dark with a chopped-up prayer,
Funk in the system, death in the air.
What? huh? what? can’t escape,
This the sound that seals your fate.

Yeah… oh… yeah… oh…
What? huh? what? huh?
Yeah… oh… yeah… oh…
What? what? what? what?

What… what… what…
Yeah… oh… yeah… oh…
(Repeat, chopped, fade out)

What? huh? what? (Phonk Rap reload)

Hear the drum of foresight. Hear the silence of regret.
We are the architects of action, the masters of the moment.
The clock is ticking. The past is a tomb.
The future? It belongs to the PRE-PLANNED.
Initiating sequence.

AFT-ER-THINKING! Always too late!
It's done, the damage is made, bloody trauma on the street!
FORE-THINKING! That's the move, the real deal!
Grab those brains, set that mind reset.
No more regret, no 'I should haves', are you ready?
We're turning the tables, your standard thinking is dead!

You're stood there gawking, hindsight is 20/20.
The mess is made, the chance is missed, the time is gone, plenty.
Why? 'Cause your default was set to 'action-reaction'.
Boom! Bang! And only then the insight, the reflection.
That's thick, that's slow, that's sand in the engine.
You're a human, not a beast, no simple automaton.
Standard thinking, that's the easy path.
But on that route, you'll end up in the mud, flat, facing the wrath.
You can think laterally, so switch that button, mate.
The theory is simple, hold on to it, don't hesitate.

AFT-ER-THINKING! Always too late!
It's done, the damage is made, bloody trauma on the street!
FORE-THINKING! That's the move, the real deal!
Grab those brains, set that mind reset.
No more regret, no 'I should haves', are you ready?
We're turning the tables, your standard thinking is dead!

We're not the cleanup crew, we're the design team.
Sketching the outcome, before the first steam.
You see an obstacle, we see a hundred ways around it.
You see the problem, we already mapped the best route, and found it.
It's about simulating the crash before the wheels even roll.
Predicting the dominoes, taking back control.
Every move calculated, every word weighed,
Before a single mistake is eternally laid.
This ain't magic, it's just pure, cold logic in the skull,
Making you sharp while the masses are dull.

Clutch your grey matter, shake that mass right up.
Look sideways, from an angle that's not popular.
What if you do this? What if you leave that?
What's the win, what's the loss, the back-up plan ready on the mat?
You've got the hardware, use the software optimally, quick!
From different corners to the same thing, that's the vision, the trick.
No running blindly, but with foresight, with precision.
Get the best out of that situation, the max score.
Not fixing it, but preventing it, that's what I'm standing for, bro.
Train that mind, from post-mortem to pre-planning.

AFT-ER-THINKING! Always too late!
It's done, the damage is made, bloody trauma on the street!
FORE-THINKING! That's the move, the real deal!
Grab those brains, set that mind reset.
No more regret, no 'I should haves', are you ready?
We're turning the tables, your standard thinking is dead!

The difference between a legend and a fool? The pause.
That micro-second where the mind analyses the cause.
The quick draw is weak, the reaction is cheap,
True power is deliberate, secrets we keep.
Don't let emotion be the pilot of your jet.
Take a breath, compute the threats, no time for fret.
This ain't delay, this is loading the correct ammo,
Before you step into the fray, like a true commando.
They call you slow, but you're just calibrating the hit.
While they fire blanks, you're the one who never quits.
(Verse 5)
The game is simple: Plan it, see it, execute.
There's no room for guessing, no need for the loot
Of excuses, or the budget for a fix-up.
You get one shot, so don't be the one who slips up.
Omni-directional vision, that's the only way to move.
Every decision is a weapon, something you must prove.
No time for that soft 'I'll figure it out later' vibe.
You know the outcome, you've already seen the tide.
So step up, head held high, and watch the masses crash.
Your mind's the engine, powered by the Fore-Thinking flash.

CHORUS

The hindsight era is over.
The moment of pre-eminence is now

Backward Thinking by ARGYTACT 2025

Backward Thinking (original)

They taught us to riot, to burn and scream,
But violence just feeds the machine.
Every broken window, every clash,
Just gives the system a reason to bash.

But peace? Peace is the power they fear,
A million minds moving clear.
No blood, no fire—just coordinated light,
And the system trembles at the sight.

The internet ain’t just memes and noise,
It’s the voice of the species, the signal of choice.
We don’t need guns—we’ve got the grid,
And the doctrine shows what the silence hid.

We share, we link, we build the wave,
And the old world shakes in its gilded cave.
They can’t arrest a billion minds,
And peaceful protest rewrites the signs.

They want us angry, wild, and loud,
So they can crush us and please the crowd.
But when we move with calm precision,
We become the species with a mission.

We don’t destroy—we redesign,
We don’t scream—we realign.
And every post, every share, every thread,
Is a step toward the future they dread.

Peace ain’t weakness—it’s tactical fire,
The kind that lifts, not fuels the pyre.
We build momentum, not just rage,
And the doctrine turns the page.

We’re not rebels—we’re architects,
Not vandals—we’re intellects.
And the internet is our sacred tool,
To teach, to reach, to rewrite the rule.

Sabotage is the trap they set,
To keep us reactive, to make us forget.
But signal is structure, rhythm, design,
It’s the pulse of a coordinated mind.

We rise with logic, not just heat,
And move with rhythm that can’t be beat.
No violence, no war—just species-wide proof,
That peace is the weapon, and truth is the roof.

We don’t play their game—we change the frame,
And build a system that earns its name.
We rise as one, not prey to fate,
And the doctrine teaches how to coordinate.

This isn’t silence—it’s strategic sound,
A signal rising from underground.
And when we move, the trance will break,
Because sabotage can’t match what we make.

Signal over sabotage, light over flame,
We rise as one, not playing their game.
No violence, no war—just coordinated truth,
And the system breaks when we move as proof.

Signal Over Sabotage

Hall of the Fallen

Not written in dust, not carved in stone, But pulsing in silence—a force unknown. Beyond the echoes, beyond the tides, Something rises—something strides.

Not flesh-bound, not planet-tied, Not a traveler—but the guide. A being shaped in endless air, Wings unfurling—drawing stare.

Yo— They stretch beyond the sky’s embrace, Living waves—not bound in place. Their bodies hum, their currents twist, Reality bends where they persist.

No engines, no broken chains, They move where spacetime strains. Not floating—no aimless drift, Their very presence forms the lift.

Yo— Wings carve echoes in the deep, Gravitational tides rise from sleep. They ripple through the vast unknown, A force unseen, a weight unshown.

Each motion shifts the stellar flow, Creating currents where none grow. A rhythm shaped in unseen hands, Commanding tides across the lands.

Not a ship, not a plane, Not a creature locked in chain. No weight, no walls—no ground to take, Only movement—only wake.

They move where time stands thin, Where stars don’t speak, but bend within. No fossil past, no rusted lore, Only future—nothing more.

Yo— The void reacts, it shifts its frame, These beings claim a world untamed. They mold existence where none stand, They turn the silence into land.

The cosmic thread aligns with force, Not passive drift—it shapes its course. No destination—only flow, An orbit none will ever know.

Yo— They grow where flesh would never rise, The breath of movement—no disguise. Not by hunger, not by need, But by rhythm—by the creed.

Each pulse extends their endless reach, Each shift adjusts the form they teach. Not beasts, not steel, not blind construct, But thought reborn—a new conduct.

Not a ship, not a plane, Not a creature locked in chain. No weight, no walls—no ground to take, Only movement—only wake.

They move where time stands thin, Where stars don’t speak, but bend within. No fossil past, no rusted lore, Only future—nothing more.

Yo— They aren’t flesh, they aren’t mind, Yet wisdom walks where stars unwind. Not by conquest, not by rule, But existence shaped within the pool.

This is motion unconfined, This is presence redefined. They create the rhythm—create the space, They break the silence with their grace.

Yo— The cosmic winds don’t die, They form the next lullaby. Not of planets, not of wars, But of minds beyond the shores.

And when the echoes rise again, When life takes form past human pen, They’ll know the rhythm—that was known, And see the flight where none had flown.

The future rises. Let it be seen.

Ballistic Arithmetic

Margin Call Mafia

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