WORD ON THE STREETS THEY AINT HERD FROM HIM
TALK DOWN ON HIS NAME THROW DIRT ON HIM
I GUESS I GET WHAT I DESERVE FROM EM

MANON AMISSION

LIVEFROM LUMINS2

DEARWOMAN(MASTER1)

I KNOW FALURE IS CERTAIN BUT ONLY BEFORE THE WIN

SOCIAL ACCEPTABILITY

Try Me

Dead of Night

Last Lifeline ft. Damien Sinclair

Crashcart

Copycat

words i haven't heard before

M4.6 # Beacon 139 AA

M4.8 # 139 TANKAS

M4.1 ychalklecha

M4.2 # 139 PERFECTION. AT THE KOI [2025-05-06 095433]

M4.3 # 139 REKIA

A poetic folk-rap rooted in resistance, memory, and the longing for justice. Wish from the Olive Tree is a tribute to the unbroken spirit of Palestine—where every cracked wall, rusted key, and whispered prayer becomes a verse. The heartbeat of a people echoes beneath olive branches and shattered skies.

[Intro]
Heartbeat in the dust, rhythm of the land,
Children under crescent moons still holding out a hand.
Freedom isn’t a favor—it’s written in the sand.
From Gaza’s jagged skyline to Haifa’s open strand.

[Verse 1]
I sketch verses in gray where the smoke scars the sky,
Homes fall to rubble, yet the spirit won’t die.
Checkpoints freeze the clock, dreams wait in line,
But every falling tear keeps the ink alive.
Olive branches murmur stories to the breeze,
Roots run deeper than fences or decrees.
Grandma’s iron key swings, promise etched in rust—
She says, “Grip it like a mic, speak truth, stay just.”
I rhyme in a hush, chronicling the siege,
No truce in the heart when the chest can’t breathe.
Still, hope is a song rising from the minaret;
For every stolen dawn we write one not stolen yet.

[Chorus]
Raise your hands for the land where jasmine still breathes,
Free Palestine—let the caged souls breathe.
Turn the pain to a verse, turn the verse to a plea,
From the river to the sea—let the children dream free.
Lift your voice to the sky where stubborn doves fly,
Free Palestine—let the righteous tears dry.
If silence chains truth, we rap to survive,
Because a nation with a heartbeat can’t be buried alive.

[Verse 2]
Hear the drone-tone lullaby, cold hum of steel,
Yet the oud keeps strumming what the heart still feels.
Classroom walls crumble, but the lesson stands clear:
Bomb every roof you want—the future lives here.
In Ramallah cafés, poets rhyme the fight,
Kids kick dented footballs through ruined night.
Curfew clocks lie—still the oud strings cry,
Elegy for yesterday, melody for tomorrow’s rise.
Sisters weave keffiyehs, pattern of the cause:
Checkerboard of struggle stitched without pause.
Brothers bury the fallen with prayers in their palms,
Plant thyme on the graves, singing borrowed psalms.
We’re not calling for revenge—revenge doubles the pain;
We’re calling for a sunrise where justice remains.
For every mother’s empty chair, every father lost to war,
We wish to write our own fate behind a broken door.

[Bridge]
This isn’t erasing a name from a map,
It’s drawing borders of dignity where all can unwrap
Stories unshackled by wires across the script—
Imagine a land where hope is the only permit.

[Chorus]
Raise your hands for the land where jasmine still breathes,
Free Palestine—let the caged souls breathe.
Turn the pain to a verse, turn the verse to a plea,
From the river to the sea—let the children dream free.
Lift your voice to the sky where stubborn doves fly,
Free Palestine—let the righteous tears dry.
If silence chains truth, we rap to survive,
Because a nation with a heartbeat can’t be buried alive.

[Outro]
In the hush before dawn, hear the earth softly pray,
Languages of longing hum in olive-leaf sway.
Freedom’s a seed—they can scorch, yet it grows,
Carving cracks through the concrete where jasmine still glows.
So I send every wish carried on the night breeze,
A promise planted deep beneath the olive trees.
Till that day comes, let these verses rise—
Every breath, every beat, every pulse: Free Palestine

Wish fom the Olives Tree

Пісня на вірш Пантелеймона Куліша «Гульвіса». Багато хто знає вірш Єсєніна про московського гуляку — а чи знаєте ви українського Гульвісу, який обрав свою волю? Не всі історії про любов закінчуються під вінцем. Ця — за келихом.
Класична поезія. Фольклор. Грубий ритм. Гірка правда. І мужня усмішка крізь сльози.
Слухай і знай своє.

Гульвіса (Пантелеймон Куліш)

I haven't slept since Monday last year
I hear him whisper to the meat so near
He nibbles cold with trembling lips of cheer
Then licks the stick and sheds a single tear

He grunts in tune with freezer hums
And sucks the marrow off his thumbs

I haven’t slept—my mind’s a wrinkled pickle
I hear the sounds of Pekka’s nightly tickle
He moans with joy, devours his porksicle
Each icy chomp, my soul grows like testicle

His window glows—a flicker, soft and sinful
He bares his chest, with posture proud and kinful
He eats the pork as if it were a hymn full
Of frost and grease and longing deep and skinful

I press my face to my own wall
And whisper threats that mean fuck all

I’m wide awake—my thoughts have turned to nickel
They clink around while Pekka licks his pickle
His frozen pork, obscene and so official
It gleams like shame upon a meat judicial

At 4 AM he cracks the plastic wrapper
A cold steam curls around his wrinkled flapper
He bites with zeal, a pagan midnight rapper
Of meat and dreams and sleepless porky clapper

I build a shrine of melatonin
And curse the taste of frozen Odin

I drift and shake—I’ve counted every tickle
Each oinkless snack that Pekka makes look fickle
The world dissolves in greasy pops so cyclical
A tired man in pork-laced purgatorial pickle

The sun arrives but brings no peace
He sucks the stick—his lips release

I knock once more upon his door
But sleep is dead, and pork is lore

I am no man—I’m salt and frost and tickle
My blood is brine, my soul a dripping spickle
All thanks to him, that pork-consuming fickle
My neighbour Pekka, king of the porksicle

Frozen Porksicle

🌈🎵 Lyrics by Vladin Spectra

Voda, piesok, zábava, čas
Tancujem na hudbu, milujem pláž
Na slnku sa krútim, žiadny mráz
Bikiny, krémy, vysekaný pás

Obloha modrá
Voda je teplá, dobrá
Tričká sú mokré a tesné

Kazeta play
Dance Wednesday

Poďme plávať
Svet rozhýbať
Dnes sa radovať
V noci nezaspať

Ostrovy, párty
Dídžejsky lákač
Emócie prebudí
Som plážový flákač

Poďme si priať
Mať život rád
Spolu sa smiať
I love Shine

Rumy s ľadom
Kalórie páliť
Kluby otestovať
A moonwalk spraviť

Voda, piesok, zábava, čas
Tancujem na hudbu, milujem pláž
Na slnku sa krútim, žiadny mráz
Bikiny, krémy, vysekaný pás

Až pôjdem spať
Príde zima, mráz
Už nebude leto
Nebude ten čas

Otvorím si klub
Nasypem tam pláž
Ako letná párty
Všetko, a ešte drahš’

Tak poďme plávať
Na párty jazdu
Zvyknúť si na bosú
A rozhýbať panvu

Otvor fľašu
S dídžejom hraj
Schlaď sa vo vode
A celému sa smej

Voda, piesok, zábava, čas
Tancujem na hudbu, milujem pláž
Na slnku sa krútim, žiadny mráz
Bikiny, krémy, vysekaný pás

Obloha modrá
Voda je teplá, dobrá
Tričká sú mokré a tesné

Leto je môj obľúbený čas
Keď zavriem oči, nechcem už mráz
Poďme počúvať hudbu, baviť sa, neriešiť
Spev prebudí v nás radosť žiť

Od rána mám good vibe
V lete žijem super life
Ranná káva, ľahká hlava, pokosená tráva
Problémy nemajú knife

Sweet chilli leto, povedal Ben
Ale naše leto je vlastný sen
Zpěv, rap, hudba, my chceme len
Crazy fame, dokým nebude zas mínus päť!

Plážový flákač

Specializing in feel-good grooves, my tracks are designed to uplift, energize, and accompany you on every set, ensuring no weight feels too heavy.

mumbai/blr
intangible so it was never real

Vladin Spectra  
hudebně‑vizuální vypravěč příběhů 🥁  
Díky za poslech! 🎵🍀  
#hiphop #triphop #dnb #trance #soul

Graduated from Corman Park College of Dental Numismatics in 1993, with a graduate degree in Experimental Post-Sludge.

mchorsebones@gmail.com

New tracks tagged #folk rap