(Get a load… get a load… get a load of my batshit orders…)
scratch
What? huh? yeah…

Get a load of my batshit orders,
Eat the crumbs from my toasted borders.
Put my remains in a mailbox low,
River run red when the reptiles show.

Dip that gravy in the brown sauce pot,
Serve me death on a plate still hot.
Eyes of a pig with a serpent’s wings,
Devil in the grass when the night bell rings.

Crawl through static, dust in lungs,
Beat too raw make the whole block numb.
Fox and hare on the lawn still spin,
Shadow in the dark let the madness in.

Clock strike twelve, hallway froze,
Hands too rough, mask don’t show.
No turning back, the sack too black,
What? huh? what? can’t run from that.

Yeah… oh… yeah… oh…
What? huh? what? huh?
Yeah… oh… yeah… oh…
What? what? what? what?

Voices low when the tape rewind,
Snakes on the lawn still twist my mind.
Serve me pain with a crystal glass,
Life too short so I move too fast.

Crocodiles feast where the water’s black,
Mailbox closed, don’t send that back.
Phonk too deep with a death-row bass,
Ghosts in the trunk make the street vibrate.

Blood on the floor where the echoes hide,
No windows here, no doors inside.
No mercy shown, no chance, no flag,
What you fear most in the black bag.

I’m the glitch in the funk, distortion scream,
Chopped-up loop in a broken dream.
What? huh? what? fill the void,
Static employed while the world destroyed.

Yeah… oh… yeah… oh…
What? huh? what? huh?
Yeah… oh… yeah… oh…
What? what? what? what?

Who? (what?) where? (what?)
Why? (what?) what? (what?)
Loop that tape, let it bleed, don’t stop,
Funk so raw make the coffin drop.

Basement dark with the red light glow,
Southside heat where the lost ones go.
Trunk too heavy with the 808,
World too slow when the clocks rotate.

Skull on the dash with a crooked grin,
Ash in the cup, pour the poison in.
Gold tooth shine in a bloodstain mask,
Every last breath in a black bag fast.

No name, no face, no flag, no voice,
Phonk too loud, no other choice.
From the grave to the street, I spit this hymn,
Ghost ride clean while the night stay grim.

Ride in the dark with a chopped-up prayer,
Funk in the system, death in the air.
What? huh? what? can’t escape,
This the sound that seals your fate.

Yeah… oh… yeah… oh…
What? huh? what? huh?
Yeah… oh… yeah… oh…
What? what? what? what?

What… what… what…
Yeah… oh… yeah… oh…
(Repeat, chopped, fade out)

What? huh? what? (Phonk Rap reload)

The entire sound is in my hands. I write cyber poetry, produce, and compose every track ready for Immersive 3D. Every beat is crafted for spatial and next-gen headphones.
Intimate lyrics, total immersion, every track.

For 30 years I kept unfinished demos to myself, never letting them out. Now I finish what I start and release it the moment it’s alive.

I use every tool available — human or machine — as an instrument.
Technology doesn’t replace creativity. It expands it.

New tracks tagged #Bitcrushed Ad‑Libs