distilled (prod. j. cole/reprod. mizzy mauri) / 1985 x j. cole

cordae missed the point harder than a shard addict in rehab

gotta accrue your funds to give to christian louboutin, you fucking scab

gotta give some on to guccio gucci and louis vuitton

gotta turn shitty brand names into a fucking antiphon

and drive commercialism deeper into the hip-hop community

and use dolce & gabbana silencers at every opportunity

i guess with your icy wrists and whips so foreign

it's easy to measure your net worth in H&M and ralph lauren

is this really what you want? pills, whips and thots,

lean, xan and pot, fucking percs and alcoholic shots?

gotta distill, package and pawn for consumption by the hoard

cause this utter whitewash's the driving force behind selling records

made a mockery of sacred cows, sorta like a slaughterhouse

seeking reactions that even joe budden couldn't fucking rouse

throwing punchlines that pusha t couldn't telegraph

destroying all in my path, dre couldn't see through the aftermath

forgive me lord metalface, for i have sinned

i've watched satan personify into the guise of all our kings

he's laced all drugs with fentanyl and clipped every weightless wings

while controlling each my limbs with vodoo and hidden strings

keeping the masses sedated through sociopolitical taxation

and reforming all the revolutions into a pathetic half-rotation

he's taken saville and r.kelly and dressed them deep in armour

and assigned materialism as this generation's personal martyr

which is fine i guess...

since everything's turned commercial and it's all fucking pop now

synth and trap drums become hip-hops new sacrificial cash cow

lyricism is dead, cole's conducting the post-mortem

astrally projecting his findings through genius' internet forum

rap's red soviets slowly sharpening their bayonets

to cut the heads off our GOATs and stitch back together as a baphomet

to perform some sort of ritual, to save us just in time

to not suffer another generation of takashi69s, yeah

i hope you all wither into a feverish state of decay 

while demonstrating to youth how to most efficiently fuck their lives away 

and write some bars about cause that shit will make you hard

keep licking your fucking wounds until the skin has deformed and scarred

slit your wrists with broken pipes you've used to get high

and stitch together the plastic bags to try and warm yourself at night

so you can make it real appealing for the kids, idiots and drop-outs

everything secondary to your insufferable strive for clout

as progressive as shekau stopping child suicide bombers

as self-aware as james holmes in a threesome with elliot rogers

but you can do it better and maybe commit suicide successfully -

preach your manifesto through faulty frequencies and melodies

and take no advice unless it's got an 808 and it's vulgar

appropriating the internet's self-deprecating meme culture

build walls around yourself, stockpile hand-grenades and moltovs

and prepare for the dip from your inevitable fucking fall off

please shoot me in the head during my first american tour

deify me like biggie, L, proof and tupac shakur 

names in my mouth but i can't wash away the taste

of the injustices over bass and snares we constantly create

all the 808s and numbness hidden behind a lack of substance

and glorify behaviours that are utterly self-destructive

hip-hop's fore-father aren't angry, they're just really disappointed

the only silver lining is that kendrick's already anointed

nickles for narcotics (prod. the alchemist) / in a dream x hodgy beats

there’s gotta be a quicker way i can rid myself of hate

or maybe suppress it down to melancholy for my sanity’s sake

so if it’ll filter out slowly, i’m not enough patience to wait

so if sober slowly, fuck it, i’ll constantly self-medicate

there's a developing pattern here, though i doubt any of it matters

i'm just a pariah that scaled way too far up the social ladder

i'll keep flogging at a dead horse, pull back hard on the reigns

and use sisyphus as a personification of my emotions once again

if he god, has indeed truly favoured our undertakings

he's blessed me with nothing but apathy and uncontrollable shaking

i'll remove myself from the gene pool before i piss in the waters

trim family tree's branches before they entwine with your daughters

in fact, i'll throw down poison to rot away at the roots

and salt the earth to be sure none of the seeds ever bear fruit

i'm in a constant audition, forever fucking fidgeting

i fear i'll never come off as anything more than mildly fucking interesting

i'm scared i'll never stop balancing atop this human-shaped knife

scared my short-comings and animosities will be the sum of my fucking life

are these shitty rap tracks or a code 31 through a CV scanner?

watch me stutter and stammer trying to uphold my falsified swagger

until i fall and i stagger exactly like every other time

and i can arrange each insecurity into a scheme that barely fucking rhymes

that won't make it to the top twenty so this shit won't pay me a penny

i'll drive so drunk i'll crash your beer bong right into a bentley

so if you wanna follow a trend, how about you do this instead

and chase the light shining through the bullet hole in the back of my fucking head

i'll never escape my misanthropy but that's the way it's supposed to be

i'm trading nickels for narcotics because it the only thing to ever comfort me

i'm sure i'll soon surpass my inhibitions, vices and anxiety

and i can trade my ambitions for a mere week or two of sobriety

i will burn down my each pretense to build bridges from the matchsticks

and keep myself anorexic by practicing my mental gymnastics

i feel like a fucking disease, but i'm sure i'm only benign

amplifying the genes for anxiety and furthering it down the blood-line

i won't crack under the pressure, by my own intent or by error

i'll take every friendship i have and i'll rip and tear and severe

play my head as a percussion instrument and my legs as violins

i'll keep myself hyper-vigilant marching through foxholes in my skin

shield myself in armours that are too soon set to disintegrate

i swear the pressure on my shoulders has now turned to bearing weight

please help me into obscurity and become another silhouette

fade gracefully into the background of hazy memories you'll eventually forget

topical rap song title (prod. walteezyafn) / keke x 6ix9ine

i'm still in a super great place mentally but i'm beyond sick of shitty love poems for the moment. back to writing horrible, shots-fired raps that will never get popular. esskeetit.

writing a self-portait stylized as a caricature

deconstructing high-art with your own ignorant literature

each angel on angel dust, formed from dreams they crushed

i pray to the good lord that they'll be dead within the month

smoldering smokey like an industrial-era machine

from ashtray full of roaches and bags stained by amphetamines

uppers turnt to downers, this pattern's awful repetitive -

with white twist-top bottles and relaxing purple sedatives

oh dear god, what's addiction? what's abuse?

what is a lack of self-awarenessness, is this what you choose?

you've still yet to catch onto what the point of the joke's about -

laughing at your self-destructive ways and always shutting people out

best be careful pulling devils back through the needle tip

with veins of porcelain holding a syringe in a pistol grip

you may as well lean back and take it straight to your head

maybe cock the trigger back and take it aurally instead

waterboard yourself with the same shit used to baptize -

commodify your addiction, spread your zeal and fucking advertise

crush spirits more than drugs you synthesized

irrationality in high supply when scum don't die but multiplies

simply a fucking punter not understanding the mechanics,

of the modern dark horse race of heroin against xannax

follow the ill will of lil pump and takeshi69

and pick a few more lean rappers off of the assembly line

praise child rapists and idolize X (the woman beater)

integrate angst into every facet of your demeanor

like cloud rappers putting depression over beats to drop it

and trivializing mental health to a trendy fucking topic

a pissing contest of whose chemicals are most imbalanced

several slacktivist campaigns to further compound my malice

because since kendrick and earl did it, i guess therefore

it's now accepted rapping suicide outside of horrocore

with the grace of a ballerina with two broken ankles

dancing swan lake at gun-point through nooses and tangles

til their speech slightly stumbles and their steps begin to slur

scapegoated and shot dead just like the romanov's were

washed up like a hydrophilic release views

you're migos in a fair fight, motherfucker, you lose

like big sean passing predatory behaviour onto desiigner

i'd call it GOOD music but mumma didn't raise a fucking liar

you'll drop quicker than cambridge analytica's facebook shares

reach the heights of dee barnes just to "fall down the fucking stairs"

go and scribble down a verse in the shape of a malignant magazine

cock your pain and agony and squeeze to end this tragedy

to try to live a life maybe slightly less plagued

by thoughts of chemical spitfire and dull turncoat blades

and the images of martyrs sacrificing their swine

to the whetting steel against your broken, brittle spine

you said if i really loved you, i wouldn't let you go astray,
but it's hard to keep you static when you're forever running away.
constantly plunging in and out of uncomfortable situations.
clearly apparent how much we care for each other by kept-up communications
but the isolation gives me a chance to slowly twist within my head
the longing thoughts and memories into pure hatred instead.
deal with your insecurities like i deal with depression,
not well or effectively, simply have it feed your regression.

this poem will remain unfinished, along with all of the rest
i'm too sad to gather the words to properly convey that i'm depressed.
i fear i can't starve it off with pretty words any longer,
i'm failing to hold it at bay, even with all the metaphors i conjure.
i should have followed my faulty plans rather than thinking it through
and then maybe i'd have found a way to be able to rid myself of you
so that the bitterness can seep into the space which you once occupied...

i wish i could cheat on girls and have them ultimately crawl back to me,
that i could be the one to fuck up and yet still receive an apology.
i wish people would return to my manipulative ways with emotion,
but everybody eventually gives up on fixing that which is profoundly broken.
i am slowly fading, sustained solely on spite;
i fill myself to the brim with hatred to help prop me upright.
i don't think i've fully justified being totally alone on this earth
but i'm sure i'm getting what i deserve and not what i think that i'm worth.
i cannot recall exactly where this bend turned to a break
nor can i pick precisely the point where the pain turned to an ache.
i've completely forgotten when i started to lean so heavily on this crutch
or when absolutely everything became just all too much.

i'm giving this my all, i'm trying my absolute best
to not lump you together alongside all of the rest
but i feel i'm failing quite spectacularly, i fear i'll be replaced.
i'm so afraid you won't want me again until i am entirely erased.
until i am finally the piece of shit you swore that i never was -
ignoring the exhaustion and all the hardships i have caused.
i'm really fucking sorry, i need the oppurtunity to communicate
that i have yet to go a single single day where i do not carry your weight.
i will always run back to you no matter what you've put me through
because all my days still seem to always start and end with you.
i cannot shake the lightest of blues that is your eyes,
how they are so damn wonderful and how they would hypnotize.
i'm begging do not forget that i will be right here
whether it takes but several months or rather, several years.