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1.
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.
2.
Krakoa 02:36
[Verse 1] 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 hearing. 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, Listenin as they umbrellas click, tryna duck the drip. [Verse 2] 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 thing realer than pain is what the drillas drawin. In- and outta-stock of bars they was finna bite, until 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 extinguishin the candles on they cake, When the facts is in they face, it’s rattlin they faith like findin out that they favorite holiday characters was fake. This a caliber of great not even calendars could date.
3.
[Defcee] Rewindin game tapes, tryin not to hate the player. Rich in detail: sweaters dryin on radiators. Broke in 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, Everything 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] [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 [redacted] YOU can’t Cause Ima stay and cater On YouTube Rewinding game tapes Trying not to hate the players
4.
Eggshells 02:29
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 healthiest 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)
5.
Warp 01:28
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.

about

This cross-country, collaborative EP was created in ten days, from beat selection to mastering. Thank you to Serious Beats for turning the music around in such a timely fashion. Thank you to Decay and Filthe Analects for always doing right by their artists.

credits

released December 4, 2020

All raps written by Defcee (A. Levin), except for "Non Sequitur," written by Defcee (A. Levin) and Wally Wess (B. Williams)
Produced by Nick Arcade (J. Shered)
Cover art: Nick Arcade
Mixed and mastered by Serious Beats

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