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

I want what I want

Safe With Me

prod. worse

artwork. philosophimage









pourin up fuck sober, man 
roll one up then smoke again 
spitting bars so I get them bands 
spending bands just to cop them xans
When it's in my tummy think they love me 
only one im lovin is the money 
finance lit the only class I study 
addicted like a muthafuckin junkie 

looking I been up straight for like 5 days 
shoebox statements making me raise up the crime rate 
the rate of my rise dollar signs in my eyes 
When you chasing a check its the funds you will find 
told em that I been the man with the plan
i been finessin the system 
fuck is you talkin if it ain't about bands
let me hit you the wisdom 

work. life is just so ridiculous 
eat right stay wit the fitness 
business
and forget the mrs' 
stick wit the mission
don't stress the shit 

im really really really wit it
my flow been ignant
I'm superstitious 
do drugs like a motheruckin superstition

dont talk about me to your friends hoe
bitch i already put you in the friendzone

so so so bad 
benzos so I don't get mad 
they tryna go go go back 
but my dick feels like its black 

wouldn't hit bitch again with two on 
swear to god that statement holdin up when I'm too on 
trynna get that new new. 
what the fuck is you on 
got that right pipe when a mufucka too long 

long d range ray allen
mix up the work wit the talent 
last way too long like a balled 
overtime quarters expanded 

r i p just killed the club
the boy aint even old enought to get in the club
the boy is on probation but im still getting drunk
that girl aint even old enough im still gonna fuck

man im just wylin
dont cross me swear to god i get too violent
red in my eyes won't ask y like a vowel 
ill put red on ya nose like santa came to town n im..
 
with the work I been working im assertive I'm certainly pressin hurtin like it's cursive 
I'm cursin like certain persons magic purses when verses I flick the wrist n work the potions got motions I'm fuckin wavey trident baby
posiden the time in then gravitate tide in like tidal like jay z like weezy like baby like apple like kanye steve jobs genius pay me

trip (prod. worse)

Christian Dior Denim Flow - Kanye West

trip (prod. worse)

shane bars

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