untitled. i suck and am a bitchy emo faggot.

why do the worst of things happen to the best of people?
what's the point of awareness if consciousness is near-lethal?
why do the best of people think they're the worst of man?
cause the worst of the best men have achieved far more than i can
my skin will never be anywhere near as callous as a lion's hide
man, no gives a fuck unless you're an attractive man or dead
so maybe to seek attention, we should kill ourselves instead
never amount to anything passed null, seriously better of dead
you can never walk so proudly kid, until you hang your head
until you bend your will and hope at their fucking knees
until you stop fighting and habituate to the disease
get educated, well adjusted, obtained some fabled degree
there could never be an outcome worse than ending up like me
comprised of half foregone glory and half half-hearted hate
i'm carrying so much on my shoulders, it's moreso baring weight
there's a developing pattern here, though i doubt any of it matters
i'm just a pirrah that climbed way too far up the social ladder
i've got no hopes, no dreams, no friends and no drive
but i've got cigarettes and malice, just too little to thrive
i've got everything i need, though half as much as i want
tired of being broke and broken, i'll continue to act nonchalant
i'm a blunted knife in the side of everyone interested in me
twisting and turning until it can pierce an appropriate artery

shots fired. oh shit.

reworked this to be about one person instead of two. fuck jj.

your mediocrity isn't obscured by your video editing
nor all patterns you're stealing but are simply not crediting
you're not from hilltop hoods so stop wearing baggy clothes
stop using nosebleed instrumentals and stop biting their fucking flows

you're nothing but another clown prince carbon-copy clone
never call you a 'king' though, no where near fully grown
you could stand two foot over me, i guess that makes you tough man
but i've been writing walls of text since before you even began

so by now i've got the skills of a professional language contortionist
i've witnessed every bar you've ever drop fall short of unfortunate
cause you fake all the drug you've ingested, water's tested and childhood neglect
but i guess, what else have i come to expect?

cause if you can't even make a burger, how can you ever rap decently?
can't even hold your own life together, but you represent me equally?
i vehemently deny this, doesn't demonstrate my expedience
you're seriously another lost dog never taught any obedience

you're a living, breathing advocate for post-natal abortion
when god was handing out stupidity, you took a double portion
seriously, you're about as liked as abbott and the coalition
take off that fucking cross man, you're not even close to being christian

i should get back on topic; this is a diss, not a keynote speech
do something original, the clown prince crown is outta reach
stop rapping about lost love and 'how shard is fucking bad'
seriously man? that's more profound than any thought i've ever had

you mean the drug that tears your lungs apart with glass and differing chemicals?
that's revolutionary your song will be considered seminal
if you're gonna preach to the choir man, at least do it in tune
and don't have your opinions change as often as the faces of the moon

initially when i wrote this, i started a whole new diss here
but you're so fucking pathetic, i made all those bars disappear
and reanimate themselves back into venomous pestilence
so i can kill you a single bar at a time and leaving no evidence

i'm twice as perverse as the first man who learnt how to hurt
i'm more angry than every religious extremist you've ever heard
i'm defending the english language against all your atrocities
while demonstrating how well bad writing can spawn animosity

i swear i'm twice as good as every 'kountry kid' combined
you couldn't pronounce half the words you use, let alone define
you ruin every beat you jump on with your incessant whining
and the sole fact that your tracks end is the only silver lining

stop trying to pass off made-up narratives as non-fiction
stop trying to make some revolutionary point about addiction
instead try to string together a sentence that could ever phase me
only after you do that can you truly call yourself an emcee

i'm writing callous death threats on the tips of arrowheads
aiming them directly at your head, to tear your throat to fucking shreds
so you can no longer vomit forth bullshit that filters from your head
man, i'm twice as good as you even under the affect of psych meds

you've got less collective talent than a middle eastern ice hockey team
couldn't even write a good line, let alone a rhyme scheme
do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into?
i play your youtube videos with friends so we can laugh at you

if people play your songs for comedy, you haven't really 'made it'
in fact, every single person i know has said they fucking hate it
you got 'live your dream' permantly etched into your skin
well i'm here to warn you jay, this is where the nightmares begins

and i'm freddy krueger, except this time i'm not the villain
and i'll do to you worse than what the fuck did to children
so call me a monster, i'll make sure you never prosper
all your rhymes have less depth than the current bucks roster

something.

find the shortest distance between my head and my heart
and cut the nerves at their roots so the impulses won't start
i'll completely detach myself from this unrelenting shame
until i can interpret each day as not being the same
if he [god], has indeed favoured our undertakings
he's blessed me with apathy and uncontrollable shaking
with every night i've awoken, covered by the thin sheets on my bed
with abhorrence and melancholy dancing their way around my rotten head;
projecting films onto my eyelids and playing xylophone on my teeth
rewiring all the circuitry til i perceive indifference as grief
someone hold me until the snow melts in the timid, fleeting spring
and i'll suffer another seasons cycle before i quit everything

null

so goddamn arrogant, stuck so firm in your ways
reaching for the strings that only can hypocrites play
with half as much wit as what you're supposed to
frayed and flailing from every piece of my father that drunkenness stole
but dear god, no, we simply mustn't blame the ethanol
instead it was the smoke of flowers that caused the harm
and not the other forms of toxins that came through the arms
if i stopped spending half my fortnight money on sess
maybe instead if i spent it on drink, you'd be impressed
i'm not a failure, you're just dissatisfied with your own
you've got more pulleys and screws than you've got fucking bone

hazy eyed head highs - turn me up x ab-soul

alright, a 19 year old kid so my life is 'fuck it, improvise'
i'll live amongst melbourne train lines and hazy-eyed head highs
sorta switching between all sorts of assorted glass pipes
and people say to me my lines should be called 'the white stripes'
what did you expect? i was born no future generation
flicking lit bics to scorch and inhale satan
hiding inside commodores til' smoke crack burns black
or paper turns black; this writing shit i have knack
and a wit and cunning as sharp as d.b cooper's
as sharp as twenty degrees of the sharpest harpoon shooters
word is he carries more bars that your local penitentiary
bred into him because this country's built on felonies
it's why every aussie rapper fronts like a crip
but it's the same shit that falls from their fucking lips
'married to the rap game' is the stupidest tout
because if rap was your bitch she'd contemplate every escape route
or she'd kick you out before you got the chance to unpack
you moved to my neighbourhood; i bested you at verbal combat
what i really mean is i'm so out of your league
you can't even muster a sixteen without feeling fatally fatigued
so i guess i should give you an advantage for free
i'll switch to third person so you're not actually battling me

'owen? he left, now hatred lives here instead
that emo fucks dumped somewhere across state half dead'
i heard he was tossed from the side of the train
and now the damages exceed the extents of his own brain
and the crime report stated suicide with no body
apparently, the government took it to perform an autopsy
and experiment upon him to find that exact element
hidden beneath the sediment; melancholy and hateful eminence
i mean emcee, forgive the mispronunciation                    
feel free to quote though, this is all misappropriation
to feed viral vloggers and language contortionists
the equivalent of the internet's back alley abortionists
these scummy fuck's are calling me fucking heartless
the reality is i learnt to follow my head more and my heart less
honestly i'd prefer my phone off than me calling it quits
so if you're calling me for what i have, man i've fucking had it
i'm constantly looking over my shoulder for daggers
unanswered texts and missed calls push me further along the social ladder
i think carry pidgeon should be my primary form of communication
cause no fiend would trust their drugs to the feats of aviation

i'm not a judas goat or your personal fucking trafficker
one morning my parent's could find me hanging by the bannister
or as evidence marked 'number one' at a murder scene
shell casings, battle scars and everything in between
i clawed at the walls til they were bare brick and mortar
smoked an ounce down a quarter to make consciousness shorter
shit's kinda fucked when happiness can be confiscated
packaged 1998 and put it into circulation
now childhood nostalgia's become endless malaise
elysian field of wanderlust burn on for days and days
the heat radiates; like a kiln to the clay
and if pottery weren't so frail we'd be stuck in our ways
i'm loading words into the chamber of a furnace smith n'
melting them down to see the diamond in the rough glisten
master hate crimes; dismiss my real name
i took a baseball bat and hammered at the fragile mind frame
and kept swinging until the foundations gave way
buckled under it's own weight, broken bones and x-rays
police tape marks the outer reaches of the debris
let the rubble crumble beneath and leave me fucking be

euphoria - havok's theme x the alchemist

ladies & gentleman, i'd like to welcome you to tonight’s show
i've nothing really planned to the extent of watching grass grow
or blow, watch this kid master mad synonyms
roll em’ up in a bible verse and reventilate back into him
started writing sixteens after my sweet sixteenth
call me king author, pen mightier than any sword sheathed
killed at least five kingdoms worth of failure ink charmers
spoke or thrown arrows and daggers never penetrate my armours
i should have poetic licence revoked for hideous malpractice
i'm so deep in this shit i outweigh the counterbalance
and dropping bars has never gotten me any higher
or any lighter, sparking up the leaf rolled in papyua
twenty copper shots to switch up the artisan genre
stay gold like alchemists and hard like blunt force trauma
in a hostile environment; firestarting burn lithium
and paper from the garden of eden to breathe in elysium
in forms of cancerous ink, rolled words on the page
dreams sprinkled inside; costing a minimum base wage
salary, that’s just a common misdemeanour
which propelled me to a felon that’s what makes a mister meaner
judas scapegoat; story bent, caught with grams - greenhanded
understand it? it just the way all the fucking farmers had planned it
currently hiding out somewhere between sirius and the sun
smoking green outta bags, watching gilligan’s island reruns
avoiding all the chemists who learnt to keep us awake
all their chemical experiments were only for their own sake
'money's better than anything a drug could ever lace'
i'd usually agree but however in this case i'm off face
and i ain't had sleep for like three or four days
i'm stuck somewhere between a daze and a herbal haze
so money falls short of happiness, it's true what they say
but it can be spent on drugs and i'm usually happier that way
i'm praying like kendrick, i hope that euphoria can slow dance
maybe teach me to waltz, loosen up my stance
maybe perchance show the difference between lust at first glance
and being alone on train tracks screaming 'what the fuck is romance?'
here, we'll make this 44. magnum my opus
apparent i'll never write one; always too faded to keep focus
cause i'm not half as real as half these kids spitting from broken homes
not using this shit to suppress an x/y chromosome
really, i still look up to both my mother and my father
and this idolization will last from here until thereafter
until i'm on my knees by step-father and holy ghost
hanged, drawn and quartered and scattered along the east and west coasts

ONE HUNNA

using my 100th post for an accurate representation of last year/this year.