Bobbi Fisha – "Venus Traps" 🌙🔥


Gloss on my lips like the curse of the Nile,
Gold in my grip, every move stay vile.
Venus got fangs, let ‘em sink for a while,
Every step that I take, leave the gods in denial.

Drip like a siren, my hips speak volumes,
Phantom my ship, let the tides pay homage.
Cash in my palm, let it rain like omens,
Men pray hard but they kneel when I’m chosen.

Eclipse in my silhouette, locked in position,
Heel on his chest, make a king rethink his mission.
Stitches in the fabric, I unravel premonitions,
Every inch of my dominion leave a mark like incisions.

Midas my touch, let the throne turn liquid,
Eyes on the prize, got the world in my lipstick.
Laws get rewritten when I walk through districts,
Bobbi stay ruthless, keep the game at a distance.

Lust like scripture, my name in the text,
He wanna kneel, let him pay through the neck.
I make the rules, he obey with respect,
Sins on my body, let ‘em pray through the sex.

Venus traps, let the jaws collapse,
Make ‘em pay homage when the hips detach.
Ain’t no escape when the tides roll back,
Got ‘em lost in the wave, ain't no coming back.

Cenobite mind, turn a fiend to a relic,
Ropes stay taut when the souls get embedded.
Curses get muttered where my throne been embedded,
Bobbi stay etched in the scripts of the wretched.

Leviathan glisten where the void get twisted,
Silk-bound wrists, every move stay cryptic.
Ink in the air, every breath turn mystic,
Come close once, let the heat turn liquid.

Chalice stay filled with the thirst of the many,
Dollars get folded where the sins feel heavy.
Pleasure stay laced where the pain get steady,
Bobbi the name, let ‘em know who deadly.

Ecliptic my touch, let the stars fall under,
Thighs leave marks like the teeth of the thunder.
He beg once more, let his mind go under,
One touch deep, now his soul my hunger.

Venus traps, let the jaws collapse,
Make ‘em pay homage when the hips detach.
Ain’t no escape when the tides roll back,
Got ‘em lost in the wave, ain't no coming back.

Bobbi be the doctrine, the gospel, the omen,
Drip stay cosmic, the sex stay potent.
Ties stay knotted where the deals stay woven,
Let ‘em all worship the throne unspoken.
Venus traps, jaws collapse,
No way back, no way back.
Venus traps, jaws collapse,
No way back, no way back.

Lost in the tides, ain't no way back,
Tied to the vibe, ain't no way back.
Venus traps, jaws collapse,
No way back, no way back.

Say my name, say my name,
Bobbi fisha run the game.
Say my name, say my name,
Ain’t no way back, ain't no way back.

Venus traps, jaws collapse,
No way back, no way back.
Venus traps, jaws collapse,
No way back, no way back.

A hypnotic, dark-trap anthem drenched in power, seduction, and cryptic energy. Bobbi Fisha weaves razor-sharp lyricism with a venomous flow, blending modern rap slang, double entendres, and esoteric wordplay into a track that drips with dominance. Inspired by the allure of the femme fatale and the labyrinthine grip of desire, this track is a siren’s call—once you’re in, there’s no way out. Leviathan’s watching, the cenobites are waiting, and the jaws of Venus are set to collapse. 🕷️💋

Stream now & get lost in the wave. 🚢💨 #BobbiFisha #VenusTraps #DarkTrap #SuccubusEnergy #NoWayBack

Venus Traps

Bobbi Fi$ha – "Laughin’ Devils" 🔥😈🎭

The Left-Hand Path been paved in gold—power drips from every bar. "Laughin’ Devils" is a high-octane, cerebral dark trap anthem, where Bobbi Fi$ha spits with ruthless precision, flipping Gnostic truths and Satanic wisdom into a street-hardened, seductive flow. Heavy-hitting rhyme schemes, cryptic entendres, and hypnotic cadences slice through the beat like a demon’s grin in the dark.

This ain't for the weak—this is for the ones who laugh in the face of false gods. 🔥🔻

#BobbiFi$ha #LaughinDevils #DarkTrap #LeftHandPath #GnosticBars #SevenTenets #FastRap #EsotericDrip

Laughin' Devils

Bobbi Fi$ha – "Blood of the Moon" 🌙🔻🔥

Bathed in lunar wrath, "Blood of the Moon" is a ritual of rebellion—seductive, cerebral, and drenched in power. Bobbi Fi$ha spits razor-sharp bars over hypnotic dark trap, weaving esoteric knowledge, Left-Hand Path wisdom, and street venom into an untouchable flow. This ain't just a song—it’s a blood pact with the night. Step into the abyss. 🌑✨

#BobbiFi$ha #BloodOfTheMoon #DarkTrap #OccultRap #LunarWrath #EsotericBars #LeftHandPath #ForbiddenKnowledge #MysticDrip #InfernalWisdom

Blood Of The Moon

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.

New tracks tagged #WickedWordPlay