Yeah I do thanks for stopping by and disrespecting me like I am a lower life form. Eat my shit tool. Now you go back home and mimic me?! All on my nutsack.  

You Have An Eight Track?

This song is based off me and Yung Phenom's past relationships in our life. But we express it in a Christ Like way!. 

Moving On

"Full Disrespect" out now on all streaming platforms
linktr.ee/ma3on

Recorded at Suitcase the Studio | www.instagram.com/suitcasethestudio


Full Disrespect

It's over for the rap game, I been carrying the torch. CATCH UP!!!!!

Drake, Kendrick Lamar and Conor Ross diss track (NEW ALLEGATIONS) (CONOR ROSS BEAT DRAKE'S BABY MAMA????) [EXPLACIT VERSIAN]

respec (prod. Kayomi)

A girl being disrespected and lusted by the one she loved.

LYRICS:
Good morning kisses
And a nice goodnight
Now something she misses
Every night

And surely it couldn't have been fake
Cause now she does nothing but ache
The love that she was given
Could never be forgiven

And how did she swallow
That disrespect
Why did she let this happen
It was neglect

Her body is what mattered to him
She was in love and wanted affection
And the only way not to lose him
The only way not to lose him
Is to give him that satisfaction
To give him that satisfaction

And how did she swallow
That disrespect
Why did she let this happen
It was neglect

(It's not okay, and I keep forgiving you
And you know it's not okay, but you keep doing it over, and over again)
(It just feels like I'm a punching bag
You've been hitting me over and over and over again
And now I don't even know if I can handle it anymore)

Disrespect

“I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be the shepherd.”
 
Taggin’ backwalls, dusk ’til the dawn,
Buddy got a suit now, drives a Maybach lawn.
Used to sip 40s, now it’s Perrier snortin’,
Talkin’ ‘bout “art” - he just auctioned distortion.
Gold frame, fake pain, hypebeast applause,
We knew the dude when he drew on bathroom stalls.
Now he’s all “mystery” 
- Мan, that’s a trick.
With a handler, a lawyer, and a brand new stick.
Used to bomb trains with a laugh and a stutter,
Now he pullin’ up clean like butter on butter.
Quotes old Marx, lives like Musk,
Still duckin’ the block - scared of street dust.

 Now he’s big drip, but he drip like tap,
Same dude used to owe me wraps for caps.  
Told the press he “escaped the hood”  
Man, he skated when the loot looked good.
We out here - same bricks, same codes,
He out there - fake beef in bespoke clothes.
Popped on Sotheby’s, now they throw confetti,
But ask him who taught him chrome - he ain't ready.

 Yo, your world grayscale through that tinted glass,
Bumpin' noise like it’s deep - that’s designer trash.
We saw the string, bruh, balloon was staged,
Whole act lookin’ like a spreadsheet rage.
 Puffin’ on doubt, paint fumes in the ride,
He ghostin’ the curb, but can't hide pride.
“Unfinished Sympathy” on repeat, bruh please -
You masked in mystique, but you choke on the keys.
We hear that beat - sounds too precise,
Like rebellion built on auction price.
Seen your doc on Prime, man, that's cute -
But the block don’t stream, they just execute.

 We ain't mad, nah, we laugh and flame,
He a “visionary” now? Bro, stay in your lane.
Got a piece in a vault, with a buyer on call,
But the streets say: you never mattered at all.
 Chill, dude - the street ain’t fooled by the fade,
You print rebellion, then count what it made.
Call it woke with a wire in your jacket’s seam,
But you ain’t lost sleep since the Sotheby’s scheme.
Chill beats on blast, yeah, he claimin' it's art,
But we know who sketchin' while playin’ the charts.
Said he from Bristol? - That’s a Teardrop lie,
Whole act smell like merch in a gallery sky.

 Mild tone flex with a militant grip,
But your wall speak soft when you ghostin’ the strip.
Poppin’ off stencils like truths from the gutter,
But real ones tag steel, no handler, no cover.
You preach dust, but cruise like you holy,
World grey, bro - just tinted in your Rollie.
Crew said: “Maybe Banksy’s a band,”
Nah, just noise with a million-dollar brand.
   
They say the wall remembers all the names...
But his got wiped when the cheddar came.
From cans to cash, he took the leap -
But soul don't sleep in a penthouse suite.
 
"The streets say: you never mattered at all. "

CARVE (diss)

ceefrizzy - in till im out (unreleased)

You said my silence was fear.
But silence is premium real estate.
Talk is a mural in a rented flat.
Mine’s a building permit in hell.
I don’t do front doors.
I leave exits wide open.
Every rumour’s a free advertisement.
Every doubt is a signature in the corner.
Paper trails burn clean,
but I keep the ashes numbered.
You rent applause by the hour,
I sell silence to eternity.
A brushstroke is a contract -
inked in varnish, stapled to your shadow.
I frame the void,
and the void thanks me in whispers.

You say my quiet means I’m scared -
nah, I’m charging rent for the air you breathe.
Your talk’s a throw-up on a weekend wall,
mine’s zoning rights on sacred ground.
I don’t knock, I don’t shout -
doors open ‘cause my name’s the key.
Every rumour’s free promo,
every doubt just raises the fee.
Paper trails burn quick,
but I count the ash like gold.
You buy claps in fifteen-minute slots,
I flip silence - sold out forever.
Brush hits wall - that’s a contract signed,
varnished and locked in your shadow.
I paint the nothing,
and nothing keeps paying me back.
 
Walls remember what blocks forget.
Tags fade. Receipts don’t.
I’ve auctioned ghosts and counterfeited time.
Fed the tabloids a diet of shadows.
I’m your disbelief’s landlord,
taxidermist of all your flames.
You chase clout - I lease absence.
And while you measure my worth in headlines,
I’m busy engraving absence into gold leaf.
 
You called it fear.
Nah - it’s prime property.
You spray walls you don’t own,
I own the pause between beats.
I sign shadows.
Ink bleeds longer than blood.
They think they bought me.
They bought my leftovers.
I paint in tongues you can’t speak.
They frame my air and call it theirs.
Your echo’s over before my pen lifts.
I’m proof without witnesses.
 
You’ll find the exit where you found the entrance.
Take your spray cans,
take your noise,
take your hour of fame.
The frame stays here.
The name stays mine.
"Street forgets in weeks.
Archive forgets never."

Provenance (response)

“I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be the shepherd.”
F** your money!
Taggin’ backwalls, dusk ’til the dawn,
Buddy got a suit now, drives a Maybach lawn.
Used to sip 40s, now it’s Perrier snortin’,
Talkin’ ‘bout “art” - he just auctioned distortion.
Gold frame, fake pain, hypebeast applause,
We knew the dude when he drew on bathroom stalls.
Now he’s all “mystery”
- Мan, that’s a trick.
With a handler, a lawyer, and a brand new stick.
Used to bomb trains with a laugh and a stutter,
Now he pullin’ up clean like butter on butter.
Quotes old Marx, lives like Musk,
Still duckin’ the block - scared of street dust.

Now he’s big drip, but he drip like tap,
Same dude used to owe me wraps for caps.
Told the press he “escaped the hood”
Man, he skated when the loot looked good.
We out here - same bricks, same codes,
He out there - fake beef in bespoke clothes.
Popped on Sotheby’s, now they throw confetti,
But ask him who taught him chrome - he ain't ready.

Yo, your world grayscale through that tinted glass,
Bumpin' noise like it’s deep - that’s designer trash.
We saw the string, bruh, balloon was staged,
Whole act lookin’ like a spreadsheet rage.
Puffin’ on doubt, paint fumes in the ride,
He ghostin’ the curb, but can't hide pride.
“Unfinished Sympathy” on repeat, bruh please -
You masked in mystique, but you choke on the keys.
We hear that beat - sounds too precise,
Like rebellion built on auction price.
Seen your doc on Prime, man, that's cute -
But the block don’t stream, they just execute.

We ain't mad, nah, we laugh and flame,
He a “visionary” now? Bro, stay in your lane.
Got a piece in a vault, with a buyer on call,
But the streets say: you never mattered at all.
Chill, dude - the street ain’t fooled by the fade,
You print rebellion, then count what it made.
Call it woke with a wire in your jacket’s seam,
But you ain’t lost sleep since the Sotheby’s scheme.
Chill beats on blast, yeah, he claimin' it's art,
But we know who sketchin' while playin’ the charts.
Said he from Bristol? - That’s a Teardrop lie,
Whole act smell like merch in a gallery sky.

Mild tone flex with a militant grip,
But your wall speak soft when you ghostin’ the strip.
Poppin’ off stencils like truths from the gutter,
But real ones tag steel, no handler, no cover.
You preach dust, but cruise like you holy,
World grey, bro - just tinted in your Rollie.
Crew said: “Maybe Banksy’s a band,”
Nah, just noise with a million-dollar brand.

They say the wall remembers all the names...
But his got wiped when the cheddar came.
From cans to cash, he took the leap -
But soul don't sleep in a penthouse suite.

The streets say: you never mattered at all. 

CARVE  (disrespect)

BYU fights for playoff respect in Big 12 title clash

The BYU-Idaho Radio Podcast includes local news, interviews, and BYU-Idaho devotional addresses. Check out our other podcasts for more content: BYU-Idaho Radio Headlines, BYU-Idaho Radio's The Spot, and BYU-Idaho Disciple Journeys.

Chalexa, ook wel gekend als Chantal Cassin, singer-songwriter uit Leuven

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nut
/nʌt/
noun
1.
a fruit consisting of a hard or tough shell around an edible kernel.
2.
a small flat piece of metal or other material, typically square or hexagonal, with a threaded hole through it for screwing on to a bolt as a fastener.

New tracks tagged #DISRESPECT