White Lobster – Bobbi Fi$ha 🌊🦞💀

Drifting through the phantom tides, "White Lobster" is a dark, psychedelic trap anthem soaked in mystery, luxury, and legend. Bobbi Fi$ha commands the cosmic seas, her flow gliding like a ghost ship over eerie synths and deep, rolling bass. This isn’t just a track—it’s a myth in motion, a rare treasure lurking beneath the surface, waiting to pull you under.

With hypnotic energy and raw lyricism, "White Lobster" is a manifesto of power, wealth, and untamed spirit, moving through time like an uncharted current. Sink in or swim away—either way, the waves don’t stop. 🌊🦞🔥

#WhiteLobster #BobbiFi$ha #DarkTrap #PsychedelicTrap #PhantomDrip #BassHeavy #MysticVibes #HauntedBeats #OtherworldlyFlow #LostAtSea

Lyrics ***


White Lobster rise like a spectral Leviathan,
Claws split dimensions, the tides turn entheogen.
Water opaque, got the ocean in opulence,
Hollows the hulls, leave the wreckage anonymous.

Tentacles twist like the strands of a double helix,
Pincers like scimitars, carve up the scenic.
Drip hit the surface, it ripple like physics,
White like the monolith, shine cataclysmic.

Bobbi Fi$ha, I’m deep in abyssal,
Chart through the void where the echoes initial.
Sword in the scabbard, it hum like a sigil,
Cut through the current, the fate is residual.

Deck full of shadows, they whisper like fiends,
Brine in their lungs but they die for the cream.
Salt in the nostrils, it burn like a dream,
White Lobster lurk where the galaxies seam.

Pressure collapse when it move through the trench,
Liquefy ships, turn a fleet to a stench.
Glisten like frost, got the heavens perplexed,
Paradox shift, now the sky second-guess.

Sea full of corpses, the water narcotic,
Barnacle bones in the reef microscopic.
Flood gates break, now the tide supersonic,
Lost in the opal abyss of the tonic.

I move like a galleon forged outta myth,
Chronicle inked in the blood of abyss.
Masthead grinning, it know what I did,
Sink into legend, then swim through the rift.

Heart on my sleeve, let it bleed with the moon,
Breath full of ether, I choke on the fumes.
La petite mort in the arms of the doom,
Tidal convulsions, the sirens in tune.

White Lobster, White Lobster, stretch like a key,
Flood up the heavens, got angels in deep.
White Lobster, White Lobster, tear through the wake,
Lost in the current, ain't nothin’ escape.

White Lobster, White Lobster, pure like a brick,
Claws split the motion, it sever the ships.
White Lobster, White Lobster, fiends in the tide,
Ghost in the mist where the cosmos collide.

Hull break apart when it creep through the chasm,
White like a relic, got history phantom.
Currents dissolve in the weight of its passage,
Chalice of brine pour the flood like a baptism.

Deep sea cartel, it don’t leave a witness,
Water turn viscous, it ripple in sickness.
Claws like obsidian, sever existence,
Phantom Drip helm, I conduct with persistence.

Waves overdose, got the tide in a seizure,
Breath leave a vapor, the ocean’s a freezer.
Skull in the foam like a lost mausoleum,
Salt turn to gold where the myth is depleted.

I been at war with the trench since inception,
Tethered to chaos, my fate is the lesson.
Void got a pulse and it drum through the wreckage,
Every last ship just a mark in my ledger.

White Lobster, White Lobster, reef turn to dust,
Purge through the wreckage, it don’t leave a husk.
White Lobster, White Lobster, purge through the seas,
Nothing left breathing when death start to feast

White Lobster

Phantom Drip – Bobbi Fi$ha 🍭💀🌊

Step into a world where fantasy turns fever dream, where golden tickets don’t lead to candy but to the unknown. "Phantom Drip" is a psychedelic dark trap odyssey, a Willy Wonka nightmare reimagined in the depths of the Phantom Sea. Bobbi Fi$ha conducts the madness, leading listeners through a world where the syrup flows thick, the bass hits like a sugar rush, and every lyric is a twisted riddle wrapped in candy-coated chaos.

The beat pulses like the gears of a factory gone rogue, churning out dreams, nightmares, and golden illusions. Behind every trippy melody and shadowy synth, there’s a deeper game at play—one where the sweet turns sinister and the ticket only guarantees the ride.

Welcome to the Phantom Drip, where the candy melts, the boat don’t stop, and the echoes of power and mystery guide the way. Are you ready for the tour? 🍬🔮🌊

#PhantomDrip #BobbiFi$ha #DarkTrap #PsychedelicTrap #WillyWonkaVibes #CandyCoatedChaos #SurrealBeats #UndergroundRap #HypnoticFlow #GoldenIllusion  

**** Lyrics 


Phantom Drip, cut the tide like a sabre,
Mast still pierce where the skyline tapers.
Deck full of echoes, their whispers invasive,
Sails embroidered with hexes and cadence.

Buccaneer psalms hum deep in the breakers,
Map’s all scorched, where the void shift aimless.
Bow split heavens in violent collision,
Singularity twist in a spiral incision.

Moonlight distort on the jet-black stern,
Hull darker than debt, let the cosmos adjourn.
Nebula ghosts in the ballast still groaning,
Salt in my wounds but the specters keep rowing.

Phantom Drip, sail where the deep stay frigid,
Black tide churn where the light ain't vivid.
No North Star, no land in my vision,
Row with the wraiths where the cosmos has risen.

Prophecy carved in barnacled iron,
Sextant reversed, let the heavens expire.
Eclipsing the axis, the keel stay vicious,
Laminar hush where the vortex get twisted.

Phantom Drip, I commandeer ether,
Crew full of wraiths, my demeanor much meaner.
Latitude shift where the compass stay fractured,
Roll up my fate like the dice of disaster.

Cannons spit plasma, the powder stay spectral,
Broadside collapse like a sinkhole celestial.
Tethered to nothing, the cosmos submissive,
Plunder through silence, the stillness dismissive.

Phantom Drip, sail where the deep stay frigid,
Black tide churn where the light ain't vivid.
No North Star, no land in my vision,
Row with the wraiths where the cosmos has risen.

Tide pull strong, let the bow slice seamless,
Wake write glyphs where the void leave dreamless.
Skulls in the cargo, bones in the helm,
Dead men speak in a tongue overwhelming.

Lanterns stay dim where the hull drink shadow,
Currents dissolve every grave left fallow.
Galleon drift in a whirlpool timeless,
Soundwaves collapse where the heavens stay mindless.

Constellations bleed in the goblet abyss,
Drank with the dead, now my soul counterfeit.
Neptune don’t claim me, the gods stay aloof,
Dead reckoning flawed, so I severed the noose.

Phantom Drip, sail where the deep stay frigid,
Black tide churn where the light ain't vivid.
No North Star, no land in my vision,
Row with the wraiths where the cosmos has risen.

Phantom Drip, yeah, rudder’s corroded,
Moonlight break through the skulls eroded.
Specters still gamble, their debts too elusive,
Sea shanties twisted in tongues too intrusive.

Storm hit soft, but the mast don't shudder,
Wind speak low like the gods in the gutter.
Serpents coil where the anchor stay broken,
Lost in the flood, let the omen be spoken.

Round the world and home again
That's the sailor's way
Faster faster, faster faster
There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There's no knowing where we're rowing
Or which way the river's flowing
Is it raining, is it snowing?
Is a hurricane a-blowing?
Not a speck of light is showing,

Phantom Drip

Language – Bobbi Fi$ha 🗣️💀🔊

Words hold power, and "Language" is a weapon. This track is a lyrical maze, weaving between meaning and manipulation, where every bar hits like a hidden code waiting to be deciphered. Bobbi Fi$ha spits with surgical precision, bending sound, flow, and intent like a master of sonic alchemy.

With hypnotic beats and a cadence that shifts like dialects across time, this song is about the influence of words, the way they shape reality, and the power behind every syllable. Whether it's game, prophecy, or straight-up war talk, "Language" is a frequency shift, a message from another dimension—one only the truly tapped-in can understand.

Can you speak it? Or are you just listening? 🌀🔮🎙️

#Language #BobbiFi$ha #DarkTrap #LyricalAlchemy #HypnoticFlow #SonicMagic #UndergroundRap #PhantomDrip #MindBendingBeats #WordplayMastery









Language

Self in the Void – Bobbi Fi$ha 🌌🌀💀

Drifting through the abyss, searching for meaning in the emptiness—"Self in the Void" is a journey into the unknown, where identity dissolves and only raw energy remains. Bobbi Fi$ha delivers haunting, introspective bars over eerie, bass-heavy production, capturing the feeling of being lost in space, floating between dimensions, and questioning what’s real.

The beat pulses like a signal from the void, while the lyrics paint a picture of existence unraveling, the self breaking apart, and the echoes of consciousness trying to find form again. This is music for the ones who stare into the abyss and refuse to look away.

If you lose yourself in the void, will you find something greater? Or will you fade into nothing? 🌑🔮

#SelfInTheVoid #BobbiFi$ha #DarkTrap #AbyssBeats #PhantomDrip #ShadowRap #PsychedelicTrap #UndergroundHeat #LostInSpace #BassHeavy

Self In The Void

Architect’s Hand – Bobbi Fi$ha 🏗️💀📐

Every empire, every illusion, every master plan starts with a single hand sketching the blueprint. "Architect’s Hand" is a dark trap sermon on power, precision, and control, where Bobbi Fi$ha moves like a grand designer of sound and fate. With shadowy beats and hypnotic flows, this track builds a world where every move is calculated, every structure is intentional, and every bar lays the foundation for something greater.
Step into the design, but remember—only the architects know the real plans. 📜🔮✨
LYRICS *****
I breathe in the dust of the ages, lungs laced with latent inscriptions,
Cipher in veins, I decode the cadence, break the constraints of existence.
Under the pillars, the echoes are spillin’, hummin’ in frequencies hidden,
Every incision a symbol, the deeper we dig, the more we be shiftin’.

Ain’t no relics, these revelations, laid in the sand to evolve us,
Coded within the arrangement, angles align with the orbits above us.
Every slab is a pulse in the marrow, pushin’ the mind through the threshold,
Measure the weight of the wisdom, see how it bends the perception we held close.

They was schemin’ on somethin’ beyond us, left us the keys in the sequence,
Sacred alignments in patterns precise as the limits of reason.
I was primal, now I spiral through chambers inside of the ether,
Every equation collapsin’ the chains, every phrase is a beacon.
Vision is laced with vermilion, eyes in the mist stay vermiform,
Sleep in the glow of the prisms, whisper the hymns in a lesser form.
Bodies align in the vellum, draped in a script that I felt before,
She pulled me into the rhythm, told me she knew where the echoes pour.Self in the grain, shift in the sand,
Mind runnin’ laps through the architect’s hand.Smoke in my lungs, dust in my veins,Turn from a beast to a god in the flame.Self in the grain, shift in the sand,Pulse in the rock, thought twists and expands.
Smoke in my lungs, dust in my veins,Turn from a beast to a god in the flame.I touch the markings, the past is retractin’,Ciphered in gaps in the fractions.Ain’t no tomb, it’s a path through the static,
Every note is a map to the passage.Chisel the omen, coded in math,
Phi in the weight, time in the graph.
Stretch through the prism, breath in collapse,
Lattice of symbols, speakin’ through ash.
Every layer been locked in a current, buried beneath in the depth of the sermon,
Pattern is loopin’, the angles converge and the forces collide with a spark in the wording.

Architect’s Hand

Welcome to The Fermentation Cycle – a 1940s industrial-noir duology told as a slow-burn audio experience.

Every day I drop a new chapter with its own lofi score running through a crackling 1940s radio: low drums, hiss, distant horns, machinery in the walls. You’re not just reading a book – you’re inside a failing dockside brewery, listening to the pipes, the ledgers, and the rats under the floor.

Book I follows The Violet Boar, a once-powerful brewery in a corrupt coastal city, held together by heat, debt, queer love, and bad decisions. It’s adult, cerebral, immersive: pressure, politics, undercity tunnels, rat “choirs,” and a city that launders violence into paperwork.

Start at the Prologue and move forward a chapter a day, or let the playlist run like a haunted late-night radio station.

🔧 Tone: harsh 1940s noir, queer, anti-capitalist, psychological, slow escalation
🎧 Sound: lofi, tape-hiss, radio crackle, industrial ambience
📚 Project: The Fermentation Cycle Duology – The Violet Boar & Rats

The Fermentation Cycle is an adult industrial-noir duology set in 1940s Brineford, where Dockstring Ward runs on steam, rumor, and the kind of “civic” language that ruins people with clean hands.
At its center squats the Violet Boar Brewery, a once-proud Kiln now being slurred as a Loom, sweating heat and debt into the street like a confession.
Elara Wexley inherits the place and its failures, walking under a city that keeps score even when it pretends it doesn’t.
Every pipe, ledger mark, and shipment becomes leverage in a quiet war between rival breweries, supply yards, and the polite enforcers who call it regulation.
The Ward itself is a chorus — bars, docks, backrooms, and watchers — deciding what the Boar is worth, and what Elara is allowed to be.
Below the surface, the undercity’s layered infrastructure and rat-choir ecology mirror the city’s neglect: history stacked like rot you can’t fully scrub.
The story turns pressure into plot: money, heat, reputation, and intimacy all pushing until something breaks and the break changes the map.
It’s harsh, cinematic, and funny in the dark, obsessed with inheritance, survival, and the cost of naming what’s really happening.

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