Ab-Soul & Kendrick Lamar - Rapper Shit (unreleased) prod. by Tommy Black

Blicky

Fuck Boi Freestyle

In a realm where chaos and hilarity danced a wild tango, an extraordinary rock band emerged, standing out like a neon peacock in a monochrome flock. They were none other than "Lawn Chair Crisis," an eccentric duo comprised of Lil Nirv and Doge.

Lil Nirv, the guitarist, defied gravity with his hair and flaunted a fashion sense best described as "retro-futuristic space cowboy." A distortion and feedback virtuoso, he fancied his guitar a communicator with extraterrestrial life (or so he claimed). His true name was a tongue-twisting enigma, hence "Lil Nirv," a tribute to his unwavering allegiance to peace signs and heavy riffs.

As the band's drummer, Doge was a puzzle of a pooch with a penchant for pizza that bordered on legendary. His drumming talent was eerily uncanny, his beats resonating with a rhythm that seemed to transcend species. Cloaked in perpetually-sliding sunglasses and a slightly oversized leather jacket, Doge personified "animal instinct" with a bark.

One day, consumed by their wanderlust and a hankering for epic waves, Lawn Chair Crisis embarked on a road trip to California's mythical shores. Armed with outrageous instruments, mismatched socks, and a cooler brimming with an unhealthy supply of pizza and beer, they set forth on a journey bound to unleash chaos.

Their route was a maze of wrong turns, questionable choices, and winding roads, leading them to a crossroads radiating an otherworldly aura. A signpost proclaimed "California or Bust," while below it, an enigmatic arrow pointed downward with the phrase "To the Core."

Without much ado, Lil Nirv and Doge exchanged a knowing look and followed the downward path. As they descended, the air turned sultrier, the landscape grew infernal, and the scent of smoldering brimstone wafted around them.

Shockingly, they found themselves in a rock 'n' roll inferno, where lava pits simmered and demons headbanged to an inaudible rhythm. Amidst trembling ground, the Devil himself emerged from the flames, equipped with an electric guitar and crimson-tinted shades.

"Welcome to the hottest gig, Lawn Chair Crisis!" the Devil exclaimed, a wicked grin stretching across his face. "Your music's diabolical, in the best way!"

His devilish plan was unveiled: they were to play a concert for Hell's forsaken souls. Should their performance rock the underworld's core, an escape ticket awaited. Failure meant an eternity playing for the flames.

With Lil Nirv's strings and Doge's drumming fueled by beer and pizza, Lawn Chair Crisis dove into a song defying musical physics. "Mosh Pit" echoed through Hell, its tumultuous energy threatening to tear reality asunder.

In an unforeseen twist, the ground quaked beneath them. The infernal realm trembled, and the tormented souls danced. Even the Devil sang along, his domain quaking as Lawn Chair Crisis's audacity reverberated through Hell's foundations.

As the last note reverberated, the Devil surrendered, shades askew and horns a little less haughty. "Alright, you glorious lunatics! Your way out's won!"

With a triumphant howl and a thunderous power chord, Lawn Chair Crisis was catapulted from Hell back to sunny California. The underworld quaked, and even demons whispered tales of their chaotic saviors.

Thus, the legend of Lawn Chair Crisis grew, murmured among mortals and demons alike. In a realm where discord reigned, they'd proven that even the quirkiest of tunes could shake Hell's very bedrock.

Mosh Pit

UP (Feat. Plntlrd)

(Shoot to Kill) my initial

artwork by philosoimage

They don't know about the grind
They don't know a thing about the grind. 
you dont know bout the grind
you dont know bout the grind
they be asking me whats grind
you aint know bout the grind
you aint know bout the grind
they be asking me whats grind
you aint know bout the grind
you aint know bout the grind
they be askin


What's grind? That's a motherfucking 10 hour shift. 
Off work tired as fuck I hit the gym n I lift 
Get home write a verse then I gotta record. 
Trynna stack the fuckin money til it don't even fold
No accordion Ben Franklin in the Honda Accord. 
Fuck that, cop a whip that you can't purchase in stores 
Gut the inside, pimp my ride, butterfly doors 
X to the Z bumping out the system by Bose 
That's the dream but I  grind for the mean time 
Work too hard what the fuck is free time 
Bitch trynna get it, said I think you need some "me time"
Bitch, I've been so busy I don't even fucking beat mine 
know you trynna FaceTime wit me on the waistline 
Bitch I'd rather run it, like I'm hoping off the baseline. 
I ain't fucking with these kids, no dateline 
Keep skipping class Imma call you out like Ben stein - BUELLER 

(bitch im tynna run it like hopin off the baseline)
They don't know about the grind
They don't know a thing about the grind. 
you dont know bout the grind
you dont know bout the grind
they be asking me whats grind
you aint know bout the grind
you aint know bout the grind
they be asking me whats grind
you aint know bout the grind
you aint know bout the grind
they be askin


What's grind? When you keep all the priorities straight 
Act too Real, cut a homie out if he fake 
It ain't nothing to cut that bitch off or a friend or even family. 
Bitch you better come correct if you gotta come around me 
I ain't playing no mo 
I ain't playing no mo 
Asking me to kick it? Imma ask you what for? 
'less you bout the paper, or you srs bout some rhymin. 
Get the Fuck up outta here I ain't wasting time freestylin
Every line off the top is like a quote from a prophet 
i see the bigger picture, for the small minds gotta crop it. 
Perspective is everything. 
Protective of what I bring. 
Hold it close but put it out, handshakes with a wedding ring 
They don't know what I've seen, they only know what I sing. 
Paint a picture with bars, blood canvased walls of the prescient 
Byproduct of the grind man I'm only feeling pain. 
Results are the verge they wanted bars I gave em Shane 


Grind

I want what I want

Safe With Me

Christian Dior Denim Flow - Kanye West

Grind

shane bars

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