Mirror of Lies

Without Me (Don’t Step On A Track)

Temptation - 9:30:25, 7.37 PM.m4a

History Class

Rudeboyz: The Final Count (Album Finale) 

Crown the chaos with The Final Count, the explosive eighth and final salvo from RealAsianRobot's AI-orchestrated rap armageddon, Rudeboyz. This aggressive battle epic fuses the entire saga—mother's haunting gaze, nine-to-five traps, iron-clad guilt, red carpet blazes, pay-to-move tariffs—into one squad-fueled torrent of acrobatic annihilation. Hot beats propel the crew's unified assault: targeting systems, moonwalking coffins, and tallying thrones where winners wear sinner crowns. Conscious grit meets anthemic thunder, daring you to survive the count—victory's not enough; the war demands everything. AI ignites the inferno, but the blueprint? Siddhartha's unbreakable code, closing the book with a bang that echoes eternal.  

Chorus Snippet:
The final count is tallied, and you're all coming up short
This ain't a game, this is the ultimate sport
Red Carpet Riot, we BURN down the whole thing
We the uncounted hear the sound when the trigger rings  

Saga survivors: Relive the rise in the comments. New recruits: Step into the ring—this finale redefines rude. Rudeboyz: Sinners? Nah, saviors.  

Lyrics and Music © 2025 Siddhartha Chen (RealAsianRobot)

The Final Count

🎶 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

Creek_Creeper

Lyrics:
I drift, a stranger to these streets beneath the gilded, starry cold,
My phone hums in my right-hand grip, left—an embered cigarette of old.
Smoke rises—pale, imperious—ghosts of yesteryears I spurned and sold;
The night numbs down my trembling heart while I confide in shades I hold.

The stars blink on, unmoved—aloof within their sovereign light;
I long for her embrace that once put out my reckless fire’s bite.
She reads my deepest weaknesses, each wound my careless hands have made;
Each step exhales a sigh of guilt—a grief that will not fade.

The cobbles whisper names of love I lost and cannot now restore;
Each footfall splits old scars again and tears them open as before.
I hear her tender laughter still, I feel the warmth her presence gave;
Now only barren silence reigns—an endless, self-made, living grave.

The stars blink on, unmoved—aloof within their sovereign light;
I long for her embrace that once put out my reckless fire’s bite.
She reads my deepest weaknesses, each wound my careless hands have made;
Each step exhales a sigh of guilt—a grief that will not fade.

Do I keep wandering this road, or finally turn and take a stand?
Dare I face truth—ice and steel—a crooked, cutting, ruthless brand?
Hope shatters into glass and rings against the frozen ground;
The love I squandered hauls me toward the black, devouring underground.

The stars blink on, unmoved—aloof within their sovereign light;
I long for her embrace that once put out my reckless fire’s bite.
She reads my deepest weaknesses, each wound my careless hands have made;
Each step exhales a sigh of guilt—a grief that will not fade.

So I walk on through the night; the stars stay silent, yet they see.
The ember blooms like testimony; smoke writes what remains of me.
If ever she absolves my debt, a newer dawn may lift my path—
Till then I wander, lost inside the shadow of her laugh.

Sovereign Light

White House Confession

I never show up late to my own life.
Clockface noise fades; I set my time.

World runs red lights, chases green.
I walk clear lanes, knowing what I mean.

No missed trains when the track fits wrong.
I leave that station, write my own song.

Every detour stretched my spine,
Now each return lands right on time.

I stop calling slow days failure’s name.
I call them soil; they feed my flame.

Phones scream now; my soul says wait.
I answer only doors that share my weight.

Right on time—my pulse, my rate.
I never show to a counterfeit gate.

I refuse countdowns built on fear.
I answer rhythms that keep me here.

I quit auditions for parts half-true.
I cast myself in the life I grew.

I meet my path at a quiet turn,
Right when I hold what I came to learn.

No more flinching at somebody’s chart.
I track my seasons inside my heart.

I walk into rooms when my roots feel strong,
Never one second late for my own dawn.

I call back power from “too much” and “too late.”
I pin them down, rename them great.

Every “you’re behind” falls off my road.
I travel lighter without that load.

Right on time—my steady lane.
I skip their race; I shed their shame.

I trust the timing that blooms, not begs.
I move when truth stands on its legs.

I love arrivals that match my frame,
No half-sized life, no shrinking name.

People who see me, find me in stride.
We cross at corners already aligned.

No storm-tossed rush for a lukewarm place.
I wait for doors that honor my pace.

I count each quiet as part of the plan,
Not a pause in worth, not a lesser span.

Right on time—no scramble, no spin,
I meet each chapter from deep within.

I never arrive late where I belong.
The room appears as I grow strong.

What comes too soon, slides out of sight.
What comes on time, lands clean and bright.

I hold my gaze; I own my track.
I never lose me to win them back.

I bless each no that guards my gate.
I step through yes that fits my weight.

Right on time—awake, aware.
I meet myself and I stay there.

Never Late

Pardoned, Not Healed

Midnight Hour

Mr. Kenner
is a Montreal based storyteller weaving intricate narratives through sound. Combining the raw energy of trap, the hypnotic pulse of house, and the electrifying chaos of dubstep, his tracks are immersive journeys that defy conventional boundaries. Layered with haunting melodies and textured with eerie female vocals, every beat resonates with emotion, drawing listeners into a world uniquely his own.

Inspired by life’s complexities, Mr. Kenner approaches his art with a method-acting philosophy, fully embodying the stories he tells through music. From uplifting anthems that spark adrenaline to introspective tracks that stir the soul, his sound evolves as a reflection of his personal growth and creative exploration.

History Class

Mr.Kenner

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