OUTCAST is a dark, raw underground rap EP that dives deep into themes of isolation, rage, and self-reflection. Built on heavy, distorted beats and emotional energy, this project captures the sound of outsiders who never fit into the mainstream. Blending elements of rage rap, cloud rap, and emo trap, Outcast is more than music. It’s a statement for everyone who has ever felt different.





#Outcast #UndergroundRap #EmoRap #RageRap #TrapMetal #UndergroundHipHop #AlternativeRap #CloudRap #DarkRap #IndieRap

No doubt interlude

Crash!  (Prod.Dopam3an)

Top floor (Prod.Dopam3an)

Stake (Prod. Creepy)

Last Chance (Prod.Dopam3an)

Solo (Prod. Crpy & Turokk)

Let Go (Prod.Dopam3an)

Yeah…
Flat brain… no spark…
Dead talk… cheap heart…

Cheap talk, dead eyes, no sense, no rise
Noise in your skull, I can see through lies
Fake words heavy, drop dead on the plate
Rot in your mouth, you choke on the hate

No mind, no shine, still stuck in the dark
Talk tough, no bite, no flame, no spark
Echo repeat, just a copy on loop
I break your stance, expose the goof

YOUR OPINIONS ARE STUPID!
’CAUSE YOU ARE STUPID!
UNEDUCATED! FABRICATED!
STUPID! STUPID!

Flat brain, no aim, just noise when you speak
I see the hollow in your chest when you breathe
Opinions recycled, trash with no weight
Mouth full of static, lies on the plate

You’re a glitch, no soul, shadow in flesh
All that you post is a loop, nothing fresh
Stay in the dark where the worms all feed
I cut with the truth and you start to bleed

YOUR OPINIONS ARE STUPID!
’CAUSE YOU ARE STUPID!
UNEDUCATED! REPLICATED!
STUPID! STUPID!

(Echo! Hollow!)
I rap it raw, you shallow
(Static! Swallow!)
Crush that fake bravado

Bars like blades, I carve in the beat
Screams in the back, make the cypher bleed

YOUR OPINIONS ARE STUPID!
’CAUSE YOU ARE STUPID!
UNEDUCATED! FABRICATED!
STUPID! STUPID!

And you’re ugly too…
Ha.

Your opinions are stupid (Trap Metal Rap reload)

Yeah…
Ski mask tight…
Vault time…
Metro hit the lights…

I make twenty stacks before lunch,
Blueprint clean, metal gon’ crunch.
Drill in the safe, silence in the night,
Cash flood heavy, diamonds in sight.

No gamble here, this robbery planned,
Cold Glock metal still warm in my hand.
Step through the lobby, cameras blind,
One wrong blink, leave a witness behind.

Push that code, patterns flip,
Every disguise another script.
Franchise dirty, unpredictable play,
Banker sweatin’ when we raid his day.

Mister Banker, hand that money,
Mask on face, it ain’t funny.
Cold steel talk, no delay,
Empty the bag, don’t play.

Mister Banker, count it twice,
We break bread, roll the dice.
Stacks on stacks, flood the streets,
Every month, a brand-new feast.

Vault swing open, clock tick slow,
Every bill stack where the blood might flow.
Red beams dance on the marble floor,
Sirens close, but we still want more.

Algorithm love when the chaos flood,
Same with the cash when it drip like blood.
Catalog run like a stream too deep,
Same with the getaway, no fall, no sleep.

Whip parked hot with the engine on,
Crowd outside, but the mask stay strong.
Noise in the distance, cop lights near,
But I still count bills with a grin, no fear.

Mister Banker, hand that money,
Mask on face, it ain’t funny.
Cold steel talk, no delay,
Empty the bag, don’t play.

Mister Banker, count it twice,
We break bread, roll the dice.
Stacks on stacks, flood the streets,
Every month, a brand-new feast.

From the glitch to the ballad to the fight,
We take it all at once, all in sight.
Cold arithmetic, clip distortion,
Streaming shells as another portion.

Check my stance, scale is king,
Bigger the take, tighter the ring.
Money machine, sound never ends,
Bank to bank, line never bends.

Out the backdoor, streets on fire,
Engine roar, tires screech higher.
Cop car fade in the rearview glass,
Another haul made, another stack in the stash.

Hands in the air, no sudden move…
Safe crack open, I don’t lose…
Timer tickin’, twenty seconds flat…
We don’t leave till the bag is fat.

Mister Banker, hand that money,
Mask on face, it ain’t funny.
Cold steel talk, no delay,
Empty the bag, don’t play.

Mister Banker, count it twice,
We break bread, roll the dice.
Stacks on stacks, flood the streets,
Every month, a brand-new feast.

Yeah…
Vault clean, scene hot…
Another bank down, another plot…
Skrrt… ATL… we don’t stop.

Mister Banker, hand that money (Atlanta Trap Rap reload)

tytułowa nuta do nadchodzącego albumu "doppelgänger" 

doppelgänger

For ten days I'm in RELOAD mode, reworking all my creations from the past twenty days and transforming them into a different musical universe
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.

New tracks tagged #experimental Rap