1. |
Adderall Adam
01:55
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Delivered in sinnerspeak through a grid of zipper teeth,
and loose lips—each fleein rat plugged a different leak.
First-class middle seat...the lows with the highs.
To be frank, beef’s only worth a Polish and fries.
Quasimodo a rhyme, my name chimes at a higher pitch.
Unseen, pricey gifts treated like a pint of piss,
in designer print the spitting image of pirate pimps,
The pyre lit--they just need to find a witch, or a scientist.
Livin at the bottom of a bottle when the lightning hit. De-
fiant as dying wishes, or infants smilin when diapers drip.
You’re welcome...Adderall Adam’s outta retirement
polishin a handful of jewelry they couldn’t mine or mint.
So it’s au revoir to the old guard. Claim they got a top spot
til they dragged from it like a towed car.
Wanna verse? ’ma need a Goyard--
I’m so broke, dog, the other day I tried to crack a postcard.
Music still skippin from Chicago to Rome, and
theirs barely survivin the trip from college to home.
I’m playin Contra with Hov and Galaga with Beyonce,
slappin white people who pronouncin it, “Solanjay.”
Why you tryna cop like the plug in your dusty town?
Know you got a job cleanin up, made your mother proud!
Front like you don’t mop in the scrubs whippin suds around,
until you got rocked in the club like a button-down.
Tryna pass off a counterfeit chin check.
Power switch flipped--bet. Counters hit, split flesh.
Out the lion’s den with every one of my limbs left.
Felt like I was talking to a wall until the bricks wept.
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2. |
Extra Time (feat. Add-2)
02:49
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[Defcee]
You are what you eat, and their physique is pill skin.
Headed off-track, wheels skiddin on an ill wind.
Steel limb I’m whippin this vibranium shield with,
Field trips to perdition, don’t make me click this kill switch.
Finishin firefights. Extinguishin pilot lights.
Demons finally facin extinction in the rhymes I write.
Old rappers in the club lookin Pied Piper-like, all the
frontin they jewelry doin has got these diamonds tight.
Tires swipe, and they face get imprinted with tiger stripes,
Duel of the Ironmen, supreme as our client-types.
Why they write like either a wired mic or a flyin kite,
and always treatin they studio time like it’s a lighter heist.
Those were just some little diss raps. Guess I got my lick back.
and I’ll still compress the face of engineers who mixed that.
Been knew it was do-or-die, this where they made “Po’ Pimp” at,
So if they wanna ride why they always braced for impact?
[Add-2]
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3. |
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[Defcee]
Rewindin game tapes, tryin not to hate the player.
Rich in detail—sweaters dryin on radiators.
Broken life--joy means more with less ends.
Envy is a liar and resentment is its best friend.
False idols, they own persona the golden calf.
Just a pokerface droppin off of a broken man.
River of folded hands every smile he shows a sham
after a life of tryna prove that kindness is in low demand.
Rap retirement plan? Like I got a choice.
These rhymes would haunt me every day like my father’s voice.
Iris like a tree ring when I’ve wept psalms,
That’s why errthang welcome in my cypher except loss.
Anything that was handed to me had strings attached.
by people who’d reduce me to dust with a finger snap.
Felt like nobody wanted to bring me back,
stuck too far under thin skin to clip the sting from that.
[Wally Wess]
Rats
Maybe was the Cherry blossom scent
Very awesome sin
A vision
I would save for later
But
Never got to smell her
Just imagined like a failure
If you inhaled her say hell yeah
Music make worlds go round
You could be at my show
I’d never know
Yo Wess I love your music bro
Money make the world go round
I was a square
Since I failed to shape up
Got passed on let go
With every fleeting simple show of interest
Yeah I gas em
I gas her
Make her wanna give that ass up
High quotes from the pussy pastor
I be tryna save face
Wishing not to play the savior
Ay but here I am
Caped up Kupo
Gangster like Capone was
They say you can’t love the...
You can’t
Cause Ima stay and cater
On YouTube
Rewinding game tapes
Trying not to hate the players
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4. |
Eggshells
02:29
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He’s the runt of the litter the hunters should miss.
Stunning and sick, drunk from a sip, grungy and lit,
Magician with a jury of gods judging his tricks,
and a bucket of colorful raps he dumps til it drips.
Spendin two percent of his time funny and quick,
until the laughter dies as fast as his crumbling wit.
...Mumbles in loops, touchy and pissed, pretendin
he isn’t really as fragile as a crumb in a fist.
Parents buttonin lips, hushed, mum as a crypt,
He’s Barely gotten enough upper body muscle to lift
the grub from his dish. Smiles, but in his stomach’s a kick,
that he’s a fingertip away from bein hungry and hit.
His writing hand grindin, and his hustle adrift,
almost thrown offroad by the bumps in the bricks.
Crooked eyes buggin out, mouth mutters and spits,
knowin his heart’s healthy when his blood isn’t thick.
HOOK (x2):
I know we need to talk about it,
but everytime I see you it’s too far to walk around it.
So I caved and wrote a song about it,
Feelin like I’m too weak to be strong about it.
Love’s thicker than blood. Ask if I miss em,
I grin at the memory of what ignorance was.
A missin puzzle piece ages eleven and up:
actual change isn’t just “different enough.”
...Fallen family tree stripped to the stump
I’m a chip from the trunk.
Self-portrait drawn with a stick in the mud.
Delicate bonds could get ripped with a tug--from kisses and hugs to winces and shrugs.
Nostalgia stings, but I blitzed it when buzzed,
and questioned every road to riches the Michelins touched.
Slipped in the cut. Stunk of luck, fillings and rust.
“I can’t stop loving you,” said the wheel to the rut.
Building boundaries--like a million a month.
Needed a minute to chill so I pivoted and dipped from the dust.
What I’m feeling is deeper than bitterness, but
it’s still inked in its stencil and licked with its brush.
HOOK (x2)
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5. |
Simple Math
01:49
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You put a pen in my hand, money in my pocket,
my CDs in a sleeve when I had no other options,
but pride’s a carcinogen, and I’ve had to stop the
spread before it metastasized behind my ribs again.
I’ve had to eat crow, my words, and my feet.
Failed my wife, failed students, failed family, failed my peace.
Rocked this guilt on my shoulders when I wanted to wear relief,
even apologized to those online airin beefs.
Squeaky wheels get the grease, we got nothing, so we rusted.
Expected to be trusted, kept poison in your circumference.
I know self-accountability takes some adjustment,
but you wonder where the love went, and had it followed by a gunman.
The products of loyalty and ego are paralysis,
the destruction of palaces, corruption of your passages.
You thinkin it’s a stigmata when it’s just callouses.
Weighed against the hurt you’ve enabled...there’s no comparisons.
Remember this order of operations: who
you harmed you beg forgiveness from, it’s deeper than obligation,
deeper than litigation, the truth ain’t defamation,
all these legal fees, and still owe us explanations.
Burned by the brand, you the degree of separation,
And we never wanted anybody catchin cases.
This result is still the sum of your fears, and saltin
that moral high ground you were stuck to for years.
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6. |
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[Defcee]
We were those nerdy kid celebrities, dirty kicks in therapy,
Burners flipped to felonies, tournaments for legacy,
Purposeless and nebbishy, workin for a pittance,
Years off between records, and then penned a verse in minutes.
Rich was lookin out for me, Tomorrow Kings was alchemy,
Sent these shows up, and then dropped em from the balcony.
Body politic was twitchin glitch in its anatomy.
Skimmin from our pensions, or clippin off bits of salary.
My apologies--guess the times don’t really change much,
Snapped awake in the future, wailing at how it aged us.
There’s a widow of a lamp post where the yellow tape’s stuck,
every summer you can find the Grim Reaper gettin day drunk,
Between shots puffin somethin stronger than death,
Stepped to St. Elsewhere, and left his charm on the bench.
Played the backgrounds of songs ringin off from the decks.
What your body can’t cash, he’ll write in chalk in your flesh.
[Rich Jones]
Play my worst moments
While I’m smiling
For the contrast
It’s too bad
Waiting on a contract
Jumping out of my body
Ever since I caught a contact
Made some dollars
Why look back?
Can’t be helped
I got bad habits
I picked up when I couldn’t hack it
Slow + steady wins
But not passive
Especially when the world’s laughing
At ya, not with ya
Put a chill through your bones
A bullet hole through picture
For that ditch in my soul
Chose the smokes + elixirs
Emotional distress in the 7 figures (7)
That’s a pisser
That’s a problem
That’s a ____ and a half
But I swear I’ll get the last ha
That’s a pisser
That’s a problem
That’s a ____ and a half
But I swear I’ll get the last ha
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7. |
Omelettes
02:24
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Oldest of three men, and my face like a cave, while my
brothers found their fields, I would graze by the shade,
...Memorizing Pharris mixes taped by the day,
still was mainlining rage like a cage-fighting phase.
Raised by the grain...came of age and resented it,
Neighbors winced at our house like, “Psh. That’s where the Levins live?”
So hardcore rappin sounded tender as a sedative, and when
I was called “sensitive,” I heard a mess of expletives.
Paid attention like student loans, until my investments switched,
Headed to the city, backpack zipped with instrumental discs.
Friends had shown respect that never flinched, and ever since,
their acceptance always mattered more than their protection did.
A neutron from the suburbs, but never outta my element,
cuz I knew who I was and didn’t assume some extra shit.
Parents neither understood, nor questioned why we dressin this
city with our names and admiring each other’s penmanship.
HOOK:
Sometimes the family that you got ain’t what it seems,
Sometimes family gotta pull you from the reeds.
Sometimes you’re a leaf on the family tree, and sometimes
you’re the weeds, growing toward the family that you need.
My mom told her students that I rapped, and
I know she wishes she could say that I acted, but
lemme quit cuz under the lid on that can of worms there’s a labyrinth,
comedic and tragic...maybe I’m just bein dramatic.
Damaged the inanimate, chewin nails to the keratin--the
mountain of boulders Mom and Dad were scalin over to parentin.
Lucky they trusted me, never thought this was facade, tried
their best to navigate what was underneath a couple songs,
Scuba masks in tow, swimming past shattered bones,
sunk in their seats unearthin all the raps and poems.
Tried their hardest, couldn’t solder fallen scaffolds in my skull.
Adrift, and prayed I wouldn’t take a dagger to the hull.
Throwin metaphors between my feelings and my language,
I was needy and complacent back when dreaming wasn’t dangerous.
Traded blackbooks, sixteens, CDs, what you sayin?
Our sneakers leaving stanzas and graffiti in the pavement.
HOOK
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8. |
Krakoa
02:36
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They make as much sense as streamin revenue, Def the
Rogue mutant with the touch of death who left the school.
Bent the rules like these ghouls do election news
or progressive views, I’ll flick this pen and make metals fuse.
“Sorry, we expected Mr. Levin, who sent for you?”
sandin these edges smooth as the centers of precious jewels,
...It’s okay if none of my metrics move, I’ma carve a wave
in this blade’s shade until the stencils swell and swoon.
Auctioneering these works of art to the hard of heering.
Head in the clouds, could make a couple of Hondas heelies.
Used to get twisted quick as parallel parking steering,
Droppin gems on em, and all they done is lost an earring.
Talkin bout some pockets, fam? You wouldn’t run the risk,
Walked the middle of Elm Street dreams, and seen the shutters flip.
They double-dippin in trouble until they bubbles slit,
...Listen as they umbrellas click, tryna duck the drip.
[samples]
I was outside battling, while they rassled with agoraphobia
How they ask for the problem and struggle solvin the formula.
bars hardbody—yours get autopsies and coroners, mourners
markin your corner hangin poems, bottles, and portraits up.
Hit em with death stares, and they responded with rigor mortis,
Hate as common as a second mortgage in River Forest.
Call me ill-advised, took a million tries to heal the losses,
only thang realer than pain, is what the drillas drawin.
In- and outta-stock of bars they was finna bite, un-
til the disses started hittin like a hidden knife in a prison fight.
Strippin fright out my vision like demoted lieutenant stripes.
They game ain’t even ready for Fisher Prices and little Mikes
Water style extinguished candles on they cake,
When the facts is in they face, it’s rattlin they faith
like findin out they favorite holiday characters was fake.
This a caliber of great not even calendars could date.
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9. |
Chronophobia
01:57
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Claim to be a beast, and I’ll carve the belly out you
Crack that apple jack and fill a Martinelli bottle. Lost
yourself in that “knees weak, arms are heavy” costume.
Prophets crucified before they start to spread the gospel.
Left turn, right lane. Baby due, so the price change, while
they still tryna finesse the desperate with a Skype names.
In the wrong game, snipe huntin with precise aim,
until they becomin the cabooses on Coors Light trains.
There I go bein angry again, cuz the
government’s even out to tax my wages of sin.
I’ma die and come back as a bank of data for them.
Fuck a weatherman--we whirlwindin away to a stem.
Zimzalabim, new danger in the palmistry, Monastery
modesty, left nirvana without a mark on me.
You wanna be the disease, the antibodies, or the vaccine?
You want your last words to be profound, or a cat meme?
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10. |
Warp
01:28
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Stumbling after these passages I’ve unchained,
turnin over every stone like a drug raid.
Shame struck me sharper than some of my partners’ gun games
as I was savin places for my day ones, and none stayed.
Verses were tourniquets on atrophied muscle,
diggin my past outta capsule til I damaged the shovel.
Rap was a struggle, then I started puttin tracks in a duffle
like wifey walkin outta Sally with a bag full of bundles
Fastenin buckles on these time machine seats
when ninety-three weeks of my diet was deep sleep.
Our playground was Wicker, liquor tire-swing cheap,
chewin through a cypher let our dyin dreams eat.
Performin live from the back of the shelf
scratchin another L into that capital WELP
with twinnin detonator buttons strapped to my belt,
pregnant with litters of bullets I named after myself.
Jumpin through the projector before the movie starts,
soles of my boots splittin lenses into computer parts.
Used to fix my face into menace with moody art
til all of my blemishes melted into beauty marks.
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