I wanna fuck a Japanese bitch while she chokes me with spike chains and right when I cum I die from blood loss OH YEAH IT'S SPOOKY SEASON.

Eddison - oowee (prod. ottoXL)

sir roxas - *cellofhell!* ^REM!X^ + thrasherboytae (prod. wxrst) ^^F!LTH EXCLUS!VE^^

My Little Demon

Prod: @marrasfall
Art: by Lope Dope
Mix/Master: @mightyassassin

Oral [Prod. Marrasfall]

Pulp (ft. Fl.vco & Jawndarko) [Prod Fony Wallace, Obi1 & Buckx2]

DwMg.cOm

FIGHT FOR YOUR DREAMS 💹 (SC EXCLUSIVE) 💣

BOOGEYMAN

BOOGEYMAN (prod. ILL Fortune)

Gats & glocks

Esta canción es un manifiesto de resistencia y verdad, un recorrido desde la calle hasta el alma. Habla de la lucha diaria, de los golpes de la vida y de cómo el rap se convierte en refugio, bandera y salvación. Cada verso refleja cicatrices, aprendizajes y la voz de un barrio que nunca se rinde, mientras que el estribillo se levanta como un grito de unidad y fuerza colectiva.

Es un tema donde la música no es solo arte: es arma, memoria y legado, un recordatorio de que aunque la vida golpee, la fe, la calle y el rap mantienen vivo el fuego.

Resistencia

S-s-season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
   Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
   With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; uh
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
   And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
      To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
   With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, yeah
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
      For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
      For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Listen, Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
   Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
   Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, shhh
   Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
      Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
   Steady thy laden head across a brook;
   Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
      Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
hours by hours.
hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
   Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
   And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
   Among the river sallows, borne aloft
      Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
   Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
   The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

John Keats's poem "Ode to Autumn

BOOGEYMAN (prod. ILL Fortune)

kaden james

Recent comments

Vymoa

PHANTOM MOM FUCKER

bongripshawty69

bongripshawty69

Related tracks