loyalty over royalty young em a1 since day 1 im the man seif made em yungem  emmanuel guzman  814 erie lake city musik pa 100 1000 sautle wassup watz good whats popping blood than thicker water label swsiher sweets ent erie pa rap artist new music on way l was 13 when l started rapping l knew its what l wanted do juz my life livvn life real nigga famiy first famly over errverthnig real niggaz do shit rap & hip hop trap r&b soul

http://thewanderingaccident.blogspot.com/

The Wandering Accident is a roaming collective under rotational orchestration with side projects, sub divisions, and collaborations. 

First we eat the cabbage. Then we fuck the goat meat. We have bucket of goat meat. The goat meat feels good. Every body pass the bucket around. Crumma-numa-nah ding deller donkey shit. Night vision activate grappling spear, go! The collaborative effort is a reflection of it’s environment and energy associated with the area captured.  Erie is home to many people that do not (and many that literally could not) exist anywhere else. You have been chosen for a reason. That is to say I’m a computer. Help computer. Goataloni-cheese-mucca-mucca-spanana-SPA-NAN-A. Grebble-gai-yay YEAHH! cowboy hats YEAH! Rockin for the small town! demolition derby, interacial penetration! 

I was born here and I’ll dice tomatoes here. Erie, PA #FUCKYEAH!
AMERICA. 

All in all, in all seriousness, liposuction, reduction, and GLIBSTONE ENTERPRISES PRESENTS THE... NOW thats something BABAY!!! 24 hour MARATHON.... TATER PUNG! I am singing on a microphone. Microphone go! Everybody look at me I have a microphone and I am singing on the microphone. Vachezno Spendea. Lo siento. No recuerdo. 

Deputies, Men of the Fluffy Pillow Connection! A year of events of historical significance is drawing to an end. A year of the greatest decision lies ahead. In these serious times, I speak to you, men of the Fluffy Pillow Connection, as to the representatives of the Fluffy Pillow Nation. Beyond and above that, the whole Fluffy Pillow people should take note of this glance into the past, as well as of the coming decisions the present and future impose upon us. This is our time –- to put bananas in strange holes and open cans of tuna fish for our over fed cats; to restore diameter to pepperoni nipples everywhere and promote the extermination of walking dildo draggarts and interstellar jager bomb couch mangling zombies. To reclaim the American Dream and reaffirm the  –- that out of mayonaise, we are one; OOPS MY HAMMER. This is a letter of the Accident’s intent to consume your soul and regurgitate all consumed it into one night, a full spectrum experience. If you recieved this letter you should already know or have some idea as to why. This is a collaborative effort. The striking intolerance shown by the new breed is a warning sign. We call on all citizens of facebook and believers of all social networking and cell phone fornication and none to join us in working for a civil public square and the restoration of a tough-minded civility that is in the pintrest of all. Thats my hammer you white honkey nigga.

And remember that while we breathe, we rent large televisions for extra-special days, we gnaw on hardened over salted preservative ridden fecal matter and we hope to be met at the gates of Val Halla with benevolent praises from Richie Cunningham, Ralph Malph, and ofcourse the almighty Authur Fonzerelli (hallowed be thy name), and doubt, and those who tell us that we can’t support a turd in the toilette, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of our people: All it wanted was some candy. Where the fuck is my candy. Dad, you took my god damn candy you LIAR! I don’t know what happened. I feel like you need to be here. I was just seeing if you had a nail polish to offset my geometric print dress. Dude you get the best barrels ever dude. You just like pull in and you just get spit right out of em’. and you just drop in and just smack the lip. WHAPAH. drop down. Saiiike BAHHHH! and than after that, you just drop in and ride the barrel, and get pitted... so pitted.  

Will you go to Heaven or Hell when you die? Are you just a ball of energy? Or are you another bag of meat rotting on this rock? 

I make beats. AKAI MPC Studio. Oh, and I sing. 

Followers of Mirrorfear