Dont Let The Bed Bugs Bite

knockin' ashes off in a glass vase
where the bract sways in the parque
wearin' black shades and parka
a night stalker lookin' proper
on march days sashay into a soiree
parlayin in bombay, quaffin' upon chordnay
under arch ways in the park way
what these cats say is so blase
blase, they passe
they sorbet, we sautee 'em. 
all salsa picante
n I'm sayin'. 
it like it's pompeii. 
goin' straight back to the raw days

pentacle pendants and amethyst amulets 
with incense, n cannabis, candles lit.
cleansing mental contaminants 
and transcending trivial trappings of abandonment.
hope brewing
remote viewing invisible vantages
when the channel flipped to a damned televangelist.
how the fuck did this man get rich for being so slanderous? 
the yammerin's quick to be taken wit' a sandy granulate.
and fuck all the shenanigans. 

everything these days is scandalous. 
mother nature stands to get garroted
with the damages of man's carelessness.
human life is fuckin cancerous. 
yo 
we got heavy weaponry to make the planet tip. 
but we'd perish quick if we chose to brandish it.
dyin' of famishes and panickin 
in an avalanche of shit.

been settin different parameters n goin' transient. 
the roaming romanticist that revels in ritual randomness.
conflictual. no constituents, though, just him and his shadow- 
cuz they banished him. 
he's an anarchist 
forgettin his heritage.
working in downer-upper-management.
habitually vanishing. 
thera-flu or therapist.
just recouping the damages n
wrappin' his hands again in chemical bandaggin 

mongoloids destroyed again
with ball pointed pens.
stranded in the void of friends.
clairvoyant or paranoid again.

avoiding companionship. 
don't see all the animus. 
hestitatin'to be amorous.
cuz mates are potentially praying mantises...


switch back, in a pimp hat.
and fuck all the chit chat
gettin' a bent back flipped fast.
gettin dirty like a dish rag. 
and surely we a mismatch.
committing all this witch craft
just so we could get stacks.
just tryna kick back.
traversin the quick path
or stay a meanderer.
not a fuckin stammerer.
hot syntax and infinite stamina.

antagonist character.
amateur ransomer 
kidnappin' a chancellor
slick fast accurate aim emptying canisters. 
can't catch 'em wit tha camera.
whip lash. flash back
crashin the black acura 
in the back of an ambassodor, 
smashin the passenger. 
massacre the vasculars 
like mothafuckin' dracula.
above average vernacular
every day of the calendar.
keepin sharp as excalibur.
shockin like capacitor. 
immaculate. 
spit at a higher caliber just to ravage ya.

got tarantula varicose from dancin wit harry jones.
gettin very blown like a broken stereo.
and these fiends are just animals.
at their throats with mandibles.
it's like watchin lions chasin' antelopes.
poisoned. chokin n rollin' with no antidote.
standin with poise and a various anecdotes. 
nefarious paraboles
plan's remainin grandiose.
making the intangible tangible.
shit's high flammable. 
sippin' brandy n thick cannabis smoke,
makin a cameo , 
and tearin holes 
in ya bitches panty hose.
the vandal slanderin and tramplin' foes.
leavin em in shambles. n handlin' woes.
annual.
in the sand or the snow. 
experience variable. 


INVIZIBLE MANE - Vanishing Into Thin Air [Remix] (Prod. By Alps Cru)

time a cigarette wasted
time a waste of emotions and heart
time controls no man

wait until you find me, 
hiding in your silhouetted dreams

can I belong to you tonight
can I belong to you tonight
can I belong

Time

1.20(instrumental)

Feed The Streets (prod. DEQUEXATRON X000 Bobby Raps & DJ Tiiiiiiiiiip)

Some of my best work to date. Recorded in a shed on a laptop's microphone while pissed off and drinking cheap liquor. Just a taste of what's to come.

ICE COLD THUNDERBIRD (feat. Shaolin Afronauts)

Hendrix Jacobs

well you wake up to the spirit of the hunt and then you run
and you're running to return cus you're the rabbit three two one
and a moment's realization's worth a thousand prayers
that's when your lucky rabbit's foot is looped into their snares

and early in the morning, as they haul you off to work
you dangle from the mouths of dogs, going quietly berserk
and for their brood, you are their food, this is the job you took
and they pay you in sacrament and let you off the hook

you wake up again amen, this time a hunter now
and you can feel the rabbit's blood like the sweat upon your brow
it makes you fleet upon your feet, you're really in the mood
to take your trusty rifle and go get yourself some food

and you shoot yourself to get some sleep tonight
and you shoot yourself every time you don't feel right
and when you wake up you will find
you are the rabbit for a second time
and you shoot yourself to get some sleep tonight

Rabbit Hunt

I don't know what this is, something we made one night and it sounded cool. Fuck the decipherers you god damn godless egg sucker mother fuckers

What the diggery do dah day whah?

Ill Make It 2

No idea when or where this was recorded, lost relic of my early Defective Machine music progress probably near the beginning of it all.

Ill Make It 2

manaem

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