“He’s in the corner… the one with no face… trapped forever…”

[Chorus]
Faceless and twisted, strapped in a jacket,
Mouth sewn shut, fuckin’ panic, can't hack it.
Drugs don’t work, man, the pain’s like a racket,
Mind snapped quick, now my soul's in a casket.

[Verse 1]
Eyes like voids, black pits in the bracket,
I see your soul through the seams in the jacket.
Twitch in the dark, and the nurses all crack it—
Say he’s cursed, 'cause this shit’s so tragic.

The walls talk back, whispers so static,
He scratches with teeth, blood drips like a habit.
Fucked in the head, mind gone automatic,
Screamin’ at shadows, spazzin’ erratic.

No face to show, no life to unpack it,
Just silence and rage, wrapped tight in this jacket.
Tried to fight back, but they fed me that acid,
Now I’m lost, drippin' venom so drastic.

Hallways echo with death like a tactic,
Sins stitched tight to my skin like a fabric.
Straight fuckin' cursed, and the nurses can’t track it,
Voices inside, screamin’ loud like a maggot.

[Chorus]
Faceless and twisted, strapped in a jacket,
Mouth sewn shut, fuckin’ panic, can't hack it.
Drugs don’t work, man, the pain’s like a racket,
Mind snapped quick, now my soul's in a casket.
[Instrumental]

[evil laughing]

[Verse 2]
Doctors got blades, and they love to attack it,
Open your brain just to see if you crack it.
Tears in my eyes, but the fuckers just smack it,
Tell me it’s mercy while they load up the packet.

Can’t feel shit, can’t scream or back it,
Tongue gone numb from the shock when they jack it.
They locked me inside, arms crossed like a bracket,
Piss on the floor, ain't no way I could stack it.

In the corner I sit, time drips like a faucet,
My heartbeat’s slow, life’s a fuckin’ racket.
The man with no face, strapped tight in this jacket,
Prayin’ for death, but that bitch never pack it.

Ghosts in my head, their words interlaced,
Each breath I take's a goddamn waste.
Tight as fuck, can’t move or erase it,
The end’s so close, but they’ll never let me taste it.

[Bridge]
Permanent wrap, got my soul in a jacket,
The devil don’t sleep—he knows where I’m at, shit.
Can’t find peace, no exit or bracket,
The man with no face? Trapped, can’t hack it.

[Chorus]
Faceless and twisted, strapped in a jacket,
Mouth sewn shut, fuckin’ panic, can't hack it.
Drugs don’t work, man, the pain’s like a racket,
Mind snapped quick, now my soul's in a casket.

[Outro]

“The man with no face… locked forever… in his jacket…”

Permanent Jacket

☠️Knight Shift - By Sagonus Knight - Prod By Shogun Beats☠️

Rump Shaker 🍑😎

This one right here was inspired by the original beat titled Rump Shaker created by Watson the moment I heard it, it sparked 💡 the whole idea in my head to create a dance vibe track! It’s got that nostalgic feel mixed with a fresh, hip, and fun🤩energy that’ll have you moving instantly.

So tap in, turn it up, and get ready to shake your Rump Shaker! 💃🏻😆🔥✨

Special thanks to Watson Where’s (D-Man)for creating such an amazing beat, such a talented music producer and the inspiration behind this track. 🎶🔥

Original beat link 🔗 for Rump Shaker 
         ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️
https://on.soundcloud.com/X5NotGy8mHBaeiKGMs

Also, a huge thank you to JayCoke for creating the cover art and bringing my vision to life. 🎨💯

Rump Shaker (Prod. watson where’s (D-Man)

This track is a middle finger wrapped in a public service announcement. It’s the soundtrack to a system that says joy is contraband but hangovers are patriotic. Somewhere between sarcasm and revolution, this one laughs through the hypocrisy — too loud to be ignored, too high to be polite.

It’s not about the plant. It’s about control disguised as concern. It’s about the way calm gets criminalized while chaos gets corporate sponsors.
In the Shiitake world, this isn’t protest music — it’s permission. To laugh, to snack, to make something honest. To be human in a machine that profits from panic.

So go ahead. Feel good illegally.

Lyrics
(as written — no labels, no section tags)

Joy remains illegal.
But blackouts are encouraged.

Alcohol ads everywhere, drink ’til you break, approved.
But one lil’ plant makes you chill? Criminal, move.
Want peace? Take pills. Want fights? Hit bars.
Guess calm folk don’t swipe cards or buy cars.
They say weed’s the villain, but really it’s the vibe:
More snacks, more laughs, LESS rage inside.
If we’re happy and thinking, who buys their lies?
Keep the people numb, just not the pleasant kind.

Ain’t chaos enough?
Ain’t that what they love?
Chill don’t make money,
but panic does.

Yeah, Schedule One but beer is fine,
How the hell that math aligns?
Hungry, giggly nap-time crimes,
Guess that’s what they’re terrified of.
Yeah, Schedule One but beer is fine,
Keep the vibes unkind.
If we’re chill we might get wise,
And they can’t sell peace of mind.

Don’t smoke, stay broke, buy shots, lose hope.
That’s the marketing plan — and damn it’s dope.
But Schedule One gets you thinking, creating, connecting,
That’s bad for elections and product directions.
A calm population ain’t buying their fix,
And nobody rage-shops on a couch like this.
If peace was a product, they’d legalize fast,
With loyalty points for every laugh.

Ain’t chaos enough?
Ain’t that what they love?
Chill don’t make money,
but fear sure does.

Yeah, Schedule One but beer is fine,
How the hell that math aligns?
Hungry, giggly nap-time crimes,
Guess that’s what they’re terrified of.
Yeah, Schedule One but beer is fine,
Keep the vibes unkind.
If we’re chill we might get wise,
And they can’t sell peace of mind.
One more time.
Yeah, Schedule One but beer is fine.
Yeah, Schedule One but beer is fine.

WARNING: Side effects may include…
laughing… snacks…
art… snacks…
remembering you’re a person…
(snacks…)
Consult your senator before experiencing joy.

They can’t sell calm, Schedule One but beer is fine.
They profit from harm, how the hell that math aligns?
They market the rage, hungry giggly nap-time crimes,
Keep those good vibes weaponized.
Yeah, Schedule One but beer is fine.
Better keep the vibes unkind.
’Cause if we’re chill, we might get wise,
So they keep joy demonized.

Schedule I (But Beer Is Fine)

Im very aware so I rarely take advice, only if its someone I look up to in some way.
people give their advice all the time cause its free

Optimus Prime

..so there's been 4 versions of this songs now, with only the last 2 sounding like this.
had to get a sick feature on it for the beat to carry through, shoutout to saycheese for delivering heat!!

pnds (feat. saycheese!)

The mind wanders off again, probably to aisle nine.
Somewhere between purpose and paper towels, it forgets why it came.
Philosophers hum under supermarket lights, and the soup cans are whispering secrets they overheard from God.
Nothing’s broken, but nothing’s fixed either.
That’s just how it goes when the brain starts thinking for sport.

Lyrics:

milk, rent, therapy, snack aisle
I blink and forget which part was supposed to matter
everyone looks like they know what they’re buying
I’m just here trying to remember why I came

caffeine and consequence, aisle nine philosophy
capitalism’s two for one anxiety policy
price tags scream louder than my phone
mayonnaise went up again guess I won’t
bought comfort food, returned self doubt
coupon expired, brain tapped out
I’m comparing religions in the frozen peas
one says pray, one says please
thinking about aliens, taxes, rent
if I believed in balance, where it went
every cart’s a metaphor, everyone’s pretending
I think too loud for a happy ending

I was gonna fix it forgot what it was
I was gonna fix it forgot what it was
I was gonna fix it forgot what it was
I was gonna fix it forgot what it was

call my mom nah
buy a plant yeah
start a cult wait
take a nap same
check my phone nope
read the news nope
find myself where
wash my hair tomorrow

if focus was currency, I’d still be broke
attention span’s a rumor that I kinda wrote
I google peace, forget to hit search
accidentally joined another self help church
my reflection asked me what I need
I said a refund for existing, guaranteed
every aisle’s an existential loop
I talk to soup cans, they talk back too
manifest destiny, manifest debt
manifest the feeling I haven’t met yet
the manager asks if I’m doing okay
define okay. define day.

I was gonna fix it forgot what it was
I was gonna fix it forgot what it was
I was gonna fix it forgot what it was
I was gonna fix it forgot what it was

write a list lost it
drink water classic
be normal pass it
set goals elastic
eat fruit later
fix sleep never
do better sure
think less never
think less never
think less never
think less never

okay okay
you’re safe you’re fine
there’s food in the cart that means something
breathe in
no wait
did I
forget something
I think I
it’s gone
I don’t know what it was
but I know it mattered

I was gonna fix it forgot what it was
I was gonna fix it forgot what it was
I was gonna fix it forgot what it was
I was gonna fix it forgot what it

I should

The Thinker

Beat produced by District Lost
https://soundcloud.com/districtlost/cherry-blossoms

Lyrics and vocals by LS the Ken

Life Sentences - (Prod. District Lost)

Beat produced by STL NiNjA
https://soundcloud.com/stl-ninja/the-dreamer-prod-stl-ninja

Lyrics and vocals by LS the KEN

Natural Conclusion - (Prod. STL NiNjA)

Beat Prod. By Jay Fehrman 🔥
Thx for all the love & support! 💜

BLACK MiRROR

The system glitched. Goblyn didn’t.

“Malfunction” is the sound of a psyche short-circuiting under the pressure of perfection. Twisted basslines grind against distorted vocals as Goblyn raps through the moment the mask slips — a breakdown caught on tape. This track captures the chaos of burnout, betrayal, and being forced to perform even when your insides are cracked and sparking. It’s messy. It’s angry. It’s honest.

Sometimes the code doesn’t break — you do.

Malfunction

I don’t make music to be famous. I make it so I don’t lose my fuckin’ mind.
Every verse I drop is a piece of me I’m tryin’ to bury — or resurrect. I wear this cracked mask ‘cause I ain’t tryna show the world my face… I’m showin’ it my scars.

I’ve been stalked by my own thoughts since I was a kid — insomnia, rage, regret, voices that don’t shut up. So I put ‘em on beats. I don’t spit for the crowd. I spit for the shadows. My sound? Dark club trap dipped in paranoia, smeared with melody and madness.

Sometimes I sing. Sometimes I scream. Sometimes I don’t say a word — just let the silence talk for me.
Call me Goblyn. Just don’t turn the lights off.

Malfunction

Goblyn

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