by Crocker

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more. Paying supporters also get unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app.

      name your price




Crocker's debut album. 2 years in the making. Lovelorn Records/ Fuk Wit It Ent.


released May 22, 2012

T. Crocker, Jr, J. Mathis, G. Grant, J. Poole, C. Diamond, J. Johnson, G. Fowler, D. Harris, L. Gage, K. Houten, J. Tripam, H. Hakim, T. Aiken, & T. Bru



all rights reserved


Crocker Spartanburg, South Carolina

Co-Founder of LVLRN RCRDS (Lovelorn Records).
Your Favorite Rappers Favorite Cracker
Spartanburg, SC Native.
Marxist Gnostic.

contact / help

Contact Crocker

Streaming and
Download help

Track Name: Intro (Prod. By Krosswordze)
What’s the tone? Do you feel it in the hum?/ Incinerate the in between, finger and thumb/ Move that pen with the stroke of a confident man/ I just write what I feel, be accomplishment damned/ Now seven years in, felt eternity pass by/ Some still pretend to see, like sporting a glass eye/ Battles, shows, flow, Whose Rhyme Is It Anyway/ Barely made gas money, played like a Penny fade/ I figure for a legacy, they might say Bastard/ Followed by Yuga, then Rapper, & Cracker/ Helped build some artists, myself is included/ Played defendant and the judge, and adjudicated Judas/ Turned from didn’t do shit, to plotting a movement/ And made a couple dollars out of handful of two cents/ Bar after bar, I question if I can stop/ And if I’ll look back bitter or with reverence and stock/ This is finding Syd Barrett, skitzed ,talking to God/ With Brian Wilson ‘side him making music from clocks/ That fine line skated ‘tween obsession and delusion/ Expending all your fluids, fiending for infusion/
Track Name: I Emcee (Prod. By JubbyFUK)
/Feast your eyes on this, the incomparable bastard/ Most obnoxious of crackers, bout to stomp on the axis/ Tailored is the name, it's how my moniker lasted/ Black head to toe, death harbinger fashioned/ Fee, Phi, Fo, Fum, bout to conjure some skid marks/ Gather for the show with fire torches and pitchforks/ You cats write your raps like: "The hell I do this for?"/ I spit twisters and toilets, watch it swell to a shit storm/ I see no threat, like blind bitches at truck stops/ Funny like scene kids explaining what's punk rock/ Like a gullible fuck makin' a wife out of a jump off/ Flow crack cunts, you just know that it come raw/ Throw shots at Horus 'till it's pissing the sun off/ Then Heru steps and humbles him with a dumb loss/ Eat him, then burp flames whenever my lungs cough/ Amen-Crock, I'm what you stare at a "one" for/, run, I real emcee/
No...dumb, dumb, when I speak/
The boogieman's here, it's intelligent white trash/
With shit so fresh, thought it's tinted with lilac/

This the throw down , bitch, the line in the sandbox/ Cause I'ma pour it on 'till the beams in the dam rot/ I define sick, I use the word as my mascot/ Vomit stuffed hammocks, honey basted with crack rock/ Tryna kill Father Time, on the low, cause I obsess/ Mother Earth fronts, pumps brakes when I progress/ "X" him, Fuck her, six feet and it's on brett/ Developed one hell of an oedipus complex/ I don't wanna stunt, skinny bitches are cunts/ I think club music sucks, most rappers are punks/ I think club music sucks and most rappers are punks/ If R&B's on, it's cause I'm finna to hump/ Some ol' Lena Horne or Donny Hath, I'ma bump/ No cool, high strung, they stew, I come/ Haikus, they shun, I bruise, they puns/ Butt of the joke, you asshole/ Son I spit, like I pack Skoal/

Came to smoke and kick ass...and I'm down to my lucky/ Scrunchies and jean skirts, son it's gonna get ugly/ Gon take that and bop, like your publishing Puffy's/ Fuck you 'till you cry and you tell me you love me/ (Whoo!) Pause to infinity!/ I'm what made Medusa cold, night I took her virginity/ Herpes to the game, son, you'll never get rid of me/ Pop up, awards night: watch everybody get finicky/ Brian Pillman resurrected, Adderall, & erection/ H.E.R. stripped 'till she's naked, nine inches for skeptics/ Yeah the truth hurts, and I'ma beat 'till she's septic/ 'Till the backlash deafen & they're calling for medics/ Programmers beware, censors ready your button/ Cause this is what happens, giving books to a bumpkin'/ Learns knowledge of self, esteem gets to jumpin'/ And soon he's poppin' shit, like, what's the use of the ruffage?/
Track Name: I Think I'm Black (Prod. By Pico 45)
That boy go bananas, throws fingers at cameras/ Is too open when he paints his picture up on a canvas/ Likes to reference G-d and then follow with damnit/ Has a problem with is heritage, continually trash it/ Did a track, with a Muslim, claimed our country was fascist/ in the Vid, he made selat, the hell's with that shit?/ Bet he's a sympathizer, or a terrorist worst/ Started singin' "Kill Whitey" last show that they worked/ Stood up, on that stage, with that arrogant smirk/ I'm sure he's insecure, and a terrible jerk/ Keeps mixed company, blacks, Jews, and the like/ Like deep down inside, he's ashamed that he's white/ Saw him in the Jailbirds, spent a couple of nights/ Bet his mother is disgusted, keeps him out of her sight/ Bet when she speaks with her friends, never speaks on his life/ Pretends like he isn't there, just to save her the spite/

/Heard his open mic failed, as did his hometown showcase/ Never made money, so they showed where the door breaked/ Heard that DJ backed him, one that spins at the club/ That's controversy filled and but that's welcoming is/ Heard his ole lady left him, and he shattered to pieces/ That's what they both get, both slandering Jesus/ Talks about suicide as if he's screaming to see us/ Like look at me, look at me, he's either sick or defeatist/ Heard his real label split, acts left in the process/ So, he started a new one, like this one will progress/ Don't make real music, and he sucks at the fake shit/ And he'll never have a song on a radio playlist/ His album's never dropping, been coming for two years/That single came and went, everybody like who cares/ And if it does drop, hell, I'm sure it'll flop/ Who you know would buy a record from a rapper named Crock?/

/Yeah he mae selat and I back it completely/ Don't like it, don't care, give a fuck how you see me/ This country isn't fascist, hell look at the brackets/ Of taxes between politicians and the national average/ Far as being white, shit, it is what it is/ But I won't live a life being proud of the shit/ Far as my crew goes, those people are family/ Keep 'em out of your mouth, don't misunerstand me/ The jail shit was dumb shit, really nothing of mention/ But outta that came Bandit and Devine intervention/ Mom's proud, in her way, she just hates that I'm broke/ Far as the shows, thanks for the five you paid at the door/ Sparkle City's still up, hell Scotty's behind me/ Lovelorn's growing wings and we're working on flying/ Buy it or your don't, but peep the progress to here/ Shit, I hate my name to and Catharsis is here/

/Don't pay him attention, he don't know who he is/
/Little insecure prick, pretend he flow and he spit/
/Boy wanna be black, tries to show that he is/
/Crock? Name suits, he should know that he's shit/
Track Name: Soul On Fire feat. Feather Fly Focus (Prod. By Prof. Logik)
(Verse 1) /Conflicted since a youngster, black, white, or whatever/ Labels I avoided, lost sight in the weather/ Re-steered the ship, brought light cause I'm clever/ Never lost verbage, concise for the ever/ Said pick a side, know your kind, hell the are you speaking/ Said this, said that, said the other are weaklings/ Man there with me, last day of the weekend/ Putting money in the plate and teaching the seedlings/ Quoting anecdotes of love and unbelievable faith/ Though beneath he restrained, was concealing his hate/ Till the inner city came, playing late in the day/ Thought the game went awry, and the flock went astray/ Man built a mob and they politely conveyed/ That the shepard lost his way and no longer could stay/ There ten years old and I'm feeling betrayed/ Banished all my friends, and no longer we played/

(Hook) I was young and naive, thought thinking was free/
Looking for the truth, that was sinking in me/
Didn't know there was lines in the city I see/
And love ain't seem what I believed it to be/

(Verse 2) /In Arizona they picket, running out the illegals/ Be the same politicians campaign for the steeple/ Reaffirm their faith to their section of people/ To ward off suspicion they're corrupt or they're evil/ Now they wanna profile, to help with the seizure/ Both sides with Jesus, either church or cathedral/ All in a land that don't belong to us neither/ Damning God's people, protecting our freedom/ Up in Newberry, heard a man took a beating/ That led to his death, from the Earth he was leaving/ Pigs said a hate crime ain't thought they concieving/ Though he was dragged eight miles, barely breathing and bleeding/ Kids without a father they loved and they needed/ And a wife all alone left to pick up the pieces/Plastered on the news, primetime in the evening/ Headline fodder for whomever to see it/
Track Name: A Note For Ray (Prod. By 10th Letter)
Kin to the mill but raised in the city/ (Excuse Me) *pause* Can I have a number two and a side of self pity?/

Pop covered the spread, he was young and impetitious/ Mama pushed textile, and did what was best for us/ I was nine or ten when mom met a lawyer/ I needed a constant, he seemed to support us/ I was playing ball, Bulls head like a taurus/ We bonded over life and switched up the decorum/ He spoke about his ex and the child that they lost/ Told him I'm here and that we'd weather the frost/ Got to know his dad, we were treated as family/ It all seemed real and I savored the sampling/ Mike, or Dad as I had grown to call him/ Would take me round with him, be laughing and talking/ Would go by the office then might see Paul/ Said he used to box and stuttered when he talked/ We'd never stay long, didn't think much of it/ Just knew my new dad and how I loved him/
Used to bump Pac and make believe he was thuggin'/ I was down with it, though of rap I knew nothin/ I'd visit my neighbor, help strengthen my game/ And me and Mike would play, and he would show me some things/ Tryna be 2-3, I ball at the rec league/ My game was stiff, B's smoother than Pepsi/ Soon Auburn passed and Michael was crushed/ Mike lost his dad and was bout to combust/ See Mike had moved out, though I ain't know why/ Was trying to be cool, thought I was gon cry/ To paraphrase dude, it felt like the song died/ You know, the one inside, plays thru long nights/ Last time we spoke, he picked me up from the house/ I said I missed him and what's the problem about/ He shot me a story and drove over to BJ's/ Copped a No Limit and kept it on replay/ But Mike fucked up at the expense of a client/ Soon came the news, state suspended his license/ The paper ran a piece, thus the tensions were heightened/ And what would followed that were anger and violence/ Woke to the first, cops questioning Michael/ They put him in cuffs, made sure he was liable/ He was bi-polar, though we didn't know it/ And Mom had kicked him out after finding him coking/ He came once more, though I was at Terry's/ Then he fled to Three Rivers, all shaken and scary/ After his discharge, he's facing charges/ Six to a year and the state disbars him/

Year and some change, Mom marries up Ray/ We hardly ever spoke, had nothin' to say/ Shit after two, I'm dealing with pain/ Thats why close never happened, just a nod with a name/ Been here since eleven, and I feel it a shame/ That I didn't say I 'preciate that you stayed/
Track Name: The Devil Is Dope (Prod. By Pico 45)
/Sicker than 3 kids, 2 cups, 1 priest/ At Penn State dressing small boys up like Chun Li/ The devil is dope and I’m slicker than linoleum/ As I stand atop my podium, mouth secreting opium/ Got the nod from Misses Reagan, errbody yellow cakin’/ Dare you try stop, that’s quite an undertaking/ Come now before accident happens, this actually rapping/ I kick dope bars, I actually trapping/ Tie off 'till your vein burst, and feel your vein squirt/ Then that rush hit the brain then you're hittin' paydirt/ Smash! Sick as midgets fisting chickens/ Then bathing in it's blood, voodoo, singing hymnals Christian/ Fuck bars, I write bricks, pure Bolivian finest/ Pounding on my chest like a simian primate/ White devil, white devil, best watch what you come with/ The white devil is dope but that's fucking redundant/

Holler if you need it, warp needles to pieces/ Pure as the steeple that’s atop a cathedral/ O.D. ‘till your feeble, they’re portions are meager/ I got enough stashed you’ll be geekin’ till Easter/ Lucifer askin’ God to pull tight on the tourniquet/ A cavalcade of dopamine, ask and I’ll furnish it/ Test not, know better, no cuts in the formula/ Or bleed out, see now, I had reason for warning ya/ You’se lightweight, I know better, stick to your flex bars/ See the real, read the real, bitch it’s carved in my flesh scars/ You’se a chump to a freak, just a bump to a Ki/ You’se alotta things kid, but not fucking with me/ BeetleJuice, BeetleJuice, say my name of wax/ I rap, there’s tracks laced atop my tracks/ You’re dope like that muffin, not enough that it matters/ I’m so fucking dope, that real dope should be flattered/
Track Name: South Carolina (Remix) feat. Lindsay Keane (Prod. By Prof. Logik)
Verse 1) From mud boggin', outcast-ed, broads with fake eyelashes/ Spaghetti straps, tribal tat on the small of her back/ Couple kids by twenty-five, shit car with a flat/ Waitress, Waffle House, liquor flask in her bag/ Night school to be a nurse, heard they're making some scratch/ In between changing diapers and her bum ass man/ He draws a check for his back, steady poppin' some tabs/ Now and then, see him scratch, and nod off to the fan/ Likes to drink with his friends, reminisce on the past/ Then stumble back to her room, drunk, and beg her for ass/ She'll relent annoyed, fake moanin' her gasps/ And roll over unfulfilled thinking how can this last/ Went from star quarterback to now balding and fat/ Used to be that he could, now pretends that he can/ Swear she would leave, but he's got her convinced that nobody else would ever want her or her kids/

Land under my elders lie
Tie one off for that which binds
Rebel flags and turpentine
South Carolina

EBT, No fortune five
Sunday school and pay our tithes
Four by fours and Shepard's pie
South Carolina
(Verse 2) Mill hill methlabs, pretend step-dads/ Kudzu's where you're left at/ Grandmother help raise you, feed you, and bathe you/ Just as a big hand, as anybody that shaped you/ Where "I need to go to church," is a popular phrase/ Whereas I'm hungover, you're watching the game/ As a kid, Sunday's best, fill the plate with some change/ Start to nod off, Mama taps on my face/ Where the stars and the bars are still proudly displayed/ But more than half of them don't know of Jefferson Dave (Davis)/ Carthartt, Camouflage, or Khaki's & Collars/ The rest rock off the rack, either Ross's or Marshall's/ Bumpin' Eminem, Lynn Skynard, or Jeezy/ But take em to the Jets (Projects) watch em get uneasy/ Start imitating shit that they see on the tv/ Confusing real life for shit they heard on a cd/
(Verse 3)
Jayzod is fighting a war
She was my girl but I can't see her anymore
I hope somebody sees in her what I see
Cause it's all she needs to be what she wants to be
She's so much sweeter than face of security
She wants to combat of all of her impurities
And all her teachers with their faces of disgrace
As if she should know...She should know her place

South Carolina
South Carolina
Track Name: Sitting Shiva (Prod. By JubbyFUK)
(Verse 1) /Where to start, where to start, so many moments picked apart/ Thought that was where the story stopped, but yet you brought another arc/ A twist that you had insisted on, just keeping in the dark/ Ye, another tale of turning marks into a scar/ You pushed to see the clouds that I had fought to tuck away/ And when I brought them into view, you went and called upon the rain/ Downplayed the significance, assured me all the same/ Just vent within these instruments, the past is fraught with pain/ Word's don't do it justice, what it meant for to share with you/ Excavate those corpses, open up, and lay them bare with you/ Cliche turns of phrases like, "I Love You" and "I Care For You"/ Have been but all replaced, I wish nothing but despair for you/ Handed out that hope like it was just enough for me to hang/ Played me for the guilty party, shackled me in chains/ Funny all the nerve you find when time has all but waned/ How it stopped was how it started, ‘nother lover, hidden shame/

(Verse 2) /Not a bit of this is fiction, though I wish it all was written/ Just a clever little tale that I whipped up and got to spitting/ Sure I think about you, but it’s you, as if you died/ Muse upon our memories, our tailor made goodbye/ The honesty you asked of me, apparently alluded you/ I’m guessin’ what to do with you, apparently diluted you/ I wonder if you’re empty, if there’s anything consuming you/ Apologies, I’m making peace, with all I had to do with you/ This is not my absolution from my part in our diffusion/ But mine was not betrayal, nor shrink wrapped in a illusion/ When we separated first, you asked of me to take that drive/ When I call about your cheating, you tell me your too high/ So I do it all in person, for two hours, and to your eyes/ But you won’t pick up the phone, you tell me that your too high/ So toast a fallen angel and the sky from whence she fell/ And for everything you find when you looked beyond her veil/
Track Name: Stereotype feat. Kerri Van Houten (Prod. By Prof. Logik)
First started rapping just to deal with my issues/ Didn't know where it would go, but now look what I've been through/ Different crews of different hues, with my paper and pencil/ Pressure to succumb, to rock club instrumentals, Got to see the real, guns, gangsters, & drugs/ Nickel bags of flex and different caliber slugs/ Affiliations, rankings, and the families within/ No business, but we'd drink, get high, then we'd spit/ At the point it was three, far as beats and the rhymes/ But what I wanted, they didn't, we couldn't keep it in line/ Up to now no shows, and it's spring of '09/ Four years, no album, nothing to show but the time/ Save for battles in the P's and a few in Atlanta/ The Apache on Tuesday, just beating they ass up/ By now I know the culture, and it gave me identity/ But nothing's come of it, 'cept conflict and memories/

Novelty don't dawdle/

Your clock ticks...time's borrowed/

Find your pride you swallowed/

Fire your shells...or follow/

/Started booking gigs, shit pay, or whatever/ With my producer's band beside me, first shows did together/ I miss it, we were clever, even covered my single/ Do the set, drink some beer, kick back, and we'd mingle/ They got offer from a label, Bandit mentioned my rappin'/ They really wanted them, but figured, fuck it, a package/ Band balked, broke apart, and I felt it was tragic/ Left to myself, recorded "Crocker is a Bastard"/ Label started booking, on paper, impressive/ Though with each show I did, I stated feeling the pressure/ Did Jersey for a buck with Kronkite on probation/ Did Mill Springs, clean, no cursing or raging/ Eve of Thanksgiving, trekked up into Nashville/ I was broke, they ain't promote, no gas, at a standstill/ So I crashed in my car, Kronkite in the backseat/ To catch a morning MoneyGram and drive back on a tad sleep/

/Now the Sessions/ Muta Scale, and Crock's Audible Palindrome/ Underground Transmission, my people are proud of him/ Just a dollar and a dream, no budget or nothin'/ Just Lovelorn Records and these shows with the Gunmen/ Could've failed, should've failed, every instance afforded/ But I'm here, give a damn, if they tried and aborted/ No Minstrel, Sambo, just my life & bravado/ A beat and a pen and a smoke and Moscato/ They try box me in like overnight is the motto/ But I knock 'em out the box like cues from D'Amato/ No gimmick, no dance, no ceiling or filter/ My b.s. standards are not open to pilfer/ Call me what you like, crucify as you see fit/ But don't ever compare to the rest of that weak shit/ If it means less sales, I'll re-up on my Ramen/ And continue in my role of hypothetical problem.
Track Name: I Am An American (Prod. By Jack Bandit)
/Pentagrams, goats, and pagans/ Everyday folk'll claim em/Bring your shaman out to shame them/Tap the youth, mind enslavement/ Till they drop their bills and change in/Shuffle in, it's the arraignment/Dumb or smart, no child's behind/Fail at life or fall behind/In line, in line, in line/Waste your money, waste your time/ We will never forget September Eleventh/3000 plus, left to perish/Entered war based off the merit/Pearl Harbor based off the merit/Lusitania, the same, I swear it/Who profits off war? The Government!/(Who profits off war?/ The Government!/ /Bow your heads, say your prayers/ Protestants, say they care/ Muslim hands up in the air/ Bombs fall like rain, and we stare/ Mash on compassion, find your traction/ Pledge your love, and mind your faction/ Take pride in your tribe, that's all you got/ Least that's the word and thicks the plot/God & Allah ain't a pairing that's tight/ Nod to the Prez, he's swearin' he's right/Sound the alarm, and get the stereo tight/ And for God's sake, please stereotype/

I am an American/ United we stand, divided we fall/ I am an American/ Subsidize your pride, proprietors call/

Now judge, judge, judge, judge/Divisions will never budge, budge/ Cops riddle bodies with slugs, slugs/Then they plant the drugs, drugs/Police brutality's a staunch reality/ Not a hip topic or rap formality/ They hit Sean Bell with fifty shells/ A day before his own wedding bells/ Prejudice is like apple pie/ A part of our roots, and intertwined/ Prejudice is like apple pie, a part of our roots and intertwined/

I pledge allegiance to a country of immigrants that raped, plundered, and pillaged
every village of the Native people. I pledge allegiance to a country that reveres Paul Revere and the rest of the rebels that deemed taxation without representation a war-worthy offense, but wanted African-Americans of the Civil Rights movement to march calmly for their freedom. One Nation that believed in separation of church and state, but slid "Under God" into our pledge of Allegiance with the help of Dwight D. Eisenhower on June 14, 1954. God Bless America.
Track Name: Newton's Cradle feat. Walter Kronkite (Prod. By Walter Kronkite)
(Verse 1) /Down in the state they won't acknowledge/ South Carolina, trife and honest/ Smile when you see me, ripe with bomb shit/ I could never fall that's word to autumn/ Damn I got em in my pocket/ Check my pic, it's in her locket/ In too deep for me to stop it/ She give brain like she a scholar/ Then they hate me, call me Bastard/ Sure they suck, but then they plastic/ She a six, she screw my average/ All this just for a piece of badger/ Trim and slim, let me begin/ Came to sin and to swallow gin/ So when I say, hoe, follow him/ And grab condoms out the dollar bin/ Should have never offered entry/ I stain clothes, Ms. Lewinsky/ I burn thru rubbers, Crocker Penkse/ Bring em flowers, Not Forget Me's/ Call they boys, try and get me/ Pillow cold, below fifty/ Out-shake the lames, i 2 shifty/ Carry weight, no strain or shifting/

(Hook) /Just in case you're wondering/ I swear we don't want money/ And we not wanting cars/ It's like we're stuck in prison, way we stay with all these bars/ Crocker said to kill it, so I promise no more scars/ And they way we murder this, It won't be hard to catch a charge/

(Verse 2) I’m a simple man with simple needs/ Fifth of Sam and a pill of speed/ Adderrall, no Asher Roth/ No offense, but I’m not at all/ Here for college, no smarts tonight/ If it’s art, hope her parts are right/ In search of curves, ass and thighs/ Pound of makeup, glassy eyes/ Skirt that’s hiked, legs for days/ Bi, and she’ll cross like Hardaway/ And gotta have sum attitude/ Out her mind, lost latitude/ So baby and come dance for me/ I advocate your travesty/ I’m a slut, you’re a slut/
Make like squirrels and catch a nut/ Yes I’m vulgar, inappropriate/ But there you are, smiling, knowing it/ You say want no strings attached/ I’m just trying to unlatch/ You’re bra and all, and watch you fall/ On the bed, smiling sexy/ Taking stock, no investing/ Have an issue, matters pressing/

(Verse 3) Cheers to the prudes, I love you too/ Say you don’t, but I know you do/ I’m not here to cast a stone/ I’m just here to have some fun/ Had some women, bit too frisky/ Spider hands, webs a flicking/ Try to tickle, I’m relenting/ Take that home to the man you been in/ Had some clingers, had some lifers/ Had sum wives, but no survivors/ It’s all in the name of lust/ Know that fact, and I that you trust/ Love my 'Nilla, love my chocolate/ I love you all, I’m a loving Crocker/ One more time, cuz I’m forgetful/ I’m just here for something sinful/ Cheers to vice and what your into/ Whips & Chains, things suspenseful/ Lets just fry some butter baby/ I don’t need another baby/ Betty Crocker nutter baby/ While were at it, just for kicks, go and grab your mother baby/
Track Name: Dark Matter (Prod. By Walter Kronkite)
(Verse 1) Hold me baby, I'm feelin shaky/ I'm not the man, that there out to make me/ Identity fraud, no there mistaken/ There's more to me than beef and the bacon/ Hold that tourniquet,don't wanna see it slip/ I won't prod untill the needle drips/ Please excuse me and my feeble fits/ Been up for a while and I'm seein shit/ You think God listens when we pray to him?/ I'm not really sure what I would say to him/ Maybe I could sum it up in milligrams/ Maybe I could hang from the ceiling fan/ I'm just playing, please don't leave me/ Though I need you more, than you need me/ It's too dark, turn on that tv/ Look there's Iraq, man I'm wheezing/

(Hook 1) /I think I see Heaven, that's a light for certain/
/I think I see Heaven, that's a light for certain/
/ I think I see Heaven, that's a light for certain/
/I wonder if there's Night, up beyond that curtain/

(Verse 2) /Daddy went to see a man about a dog/ I saw the same man about some Adderrall/ Feeling about as raw as the Jena Six/ Bout to see a friend with sum benefits/ Feel those muscles clench and then I release/ Another part of me up inside of a freak/ I miss Meghan, I miss Brittany/ I miss eighteen, I miss pity/ Shannon, there's Adam, he looks peaceful/ I'll point out his niece if I get to speak to/ Baby where am I? still here with you/ Could you grab sum paper and sharpened pencil?/ Would if be cool for us to drive by Mayview/ Mom & Dad are there and I'm trying to stay to/ Just for a sec., heard Uncle was AIDS free/ Hope they don't ask bout me coughing lately/

(Hook 2)
/I think... I see Heaven/
/I think... I see Heaven/
/See Heaven..../
/I think I see Heaven, that's a light for certain/
/I think I see Heaven, that's a light for certain/
/ I think I see Heaven, that's a light for certain/
/I wonder if there's Night, up beyond that curtain/
/Baby just grab me if I start submerging/
/I hope this here doesn't cause a determent/
/You're such a rose though, deserving to flourish/
/Don't know about Heaven though, trouble discerning/

(Verse 3) /Did I say to you, I had just saw Hugh/Said God had a plan and it'd come when it's due/ Told me that he loved me, be seein me soon/ Walked out the wreckage and bid me aideu/ This is fever ain't breaking, I'm still shaking/ And baby your pale and not conversating/ Where's your medicine, forget you should take it?/ These here instructions'll help me explain it/ Ran into Robert, stopped for a visit/ Last of Pa's brothers, I owed him to listen/ Chatted for few then he showed me the door/ Week later gunshot, body to floor/ Feel a calm coming over, shaking has stopped/ Baby, come look, I maybe can walk/Wide awake now, for a sec. I was dozing /Wait, that's the light what was coming and goin/
Track Name: Role Play feat. Hillary Keane, The Apollo Theory, & Hafez The Beast (Prod. By Prof. Logik)
Scandal they seek, tell me scandal brings me into/ The public forum, but I don’t want em/ I can’t see em and I’m not fiendin/
Where’s your blaccent, tell me where’s your acting skills at?/ I don’t do that, I spit truth raps/ Make that booth clap and bring that boom bap/

(Crocker Verse)
/They throw me gimmick after gimmick, image after image/ Another idea to make me cringe and grimace/ What happened to spittin? Should I blame the crackers?/ Or should look around at peers and then blame the rappers?/ They tell me talk black, the fuck you mean?/ Some ol' Sambo shit , should I grin and preen/ Better yet, should I sag my jeans/ Say Brett, Say Shawty, and then act like teens/ Make up a lie that I was raised in the projects/ So if I use the N Word there's not a cause for you to object/…….. The hell do I look like?/ With that ignorant shit, you think that I’m dumb right?/ I’m Stephen bitch, for either better or worse/ Brash, arrogant, and with a legible verse/ That stands for the culture, not the shit you perceive/ This 100 proof, the shit you swallow is weak/
Track Name: Dreamin' In Dixie feat. Walter Kronkite & Breakadawn (Prod. By Walter Kronkite & JubbyFUK)
(Verse 1)
/Time speaks to me with haste and vigor/ Says: clutch your brush and create your picture/ I'm down on my luck, but I'm up on my skill/ Without an audience, though, to receive or to feel/ But I pursue it for the movement, and the trophy of truest/ To breathe on a mic, in a rhythm that's fluid/ So, for now, I grab my smokes, and a pen in earnest/ Let go of inhibitions, throw my fears in the furnace/ Dream up a following, and a label to furnish/ All of everything I need to show 'em I work it/ Nod my head, to the progression of illustrious chords/ And push to goal of my industrious chore/ Not adulation, but respect that I covet/ In the eyes of the public, competition is something/ But it's nothing to me, I smile in defiance/ They're nothing but some lambs, in the presence of lions.

/But I don't know where I'm going, hopefully to the top/
/Even if I fall, I'll be damned if I stop/
/I push, I crawl, I stall, I try/
/To keep a dream alive, that just won't die/

(Verse 2)
Used to hustle bootlegs, in exchange for some mic-time/ For the promise of a dream, that maybe I might shine/ Used to write about Mary, then about Terry/ Then ride the beat to wherever it carries/ Pick apart myself, mostly just for the hell of it/ Just a young man, tryin' to scale my Everest/ For Terry, know I love you, I just missed you a lot/ Imagine being young, and all you want is your Pops/ Darlene, you're a queen, and a pillar of poise/ Kept food on the table, and smile on your boy/ To the haters, I'm the truth, and you're a fool to deny it/ Fly in the sky, the position of pilot/ Told me write a hit, or prepare for the silence/ I said "I ain't the type to fall and go quiet"/ I write what I feel, and what I see through my iris/ For better or for worse, for peace or for violence.

/But I don't know where I'm going, hopefully to the top/
/Even if I fall, I'll be damned if I stop/
/I push, I crawl, I stall, I try/
/To keep a dream alive, that just won't die/

(Verse 3)
As I fly away to vacate the premise/ Pitching my lyrics in a hope for a listen/ Not wanting one million or a chain that glistens/ But like Tom Cruise, I’m on a mission/ I’m running with the pumas, invisible in the room, but/Mesmerize by a tune Hun, we move sun/ That means fire, (Hot Heat)!/ And pity those fools who (Not Me)!/ Eat emcees, medium rare/
And plan to do it ‘til I lose my hair/ I show no emotion, all you do is care/
/You're taking my quarter, it’s collect call fare/ The galaxy can’t hold me, the industry couldn’t mold me/ These women want to hold me, so why am I so lonely?/ So I tighten up with only seconds left/At the buzzer with the ref blowing his last breath/

/But I don't know where I'm going, hopefully to the top/
/Even if I fall, I'll be damned if I stop/
/I push, I crawl, I stall, I try/
/To keep a dream alive, that just won't die/
Track Name: Why So Simple? feat. Walter Kronkite (Prod. By Walter Kronkite & JubbyFUK)
(Verse 1)
I find myself through a bottle and amphetamines/ Zoned out, closed up, anticipating weathering/ Son, it's Stephen, can we speak about redemption?/ I'm on pins and needles, frozen in suspension/ Backyard, Victoria, working on a cigar/ Pen in my hand, man, devising up my next bar/ Out and about, they asking 'bout my head scar/ Others, bout my music, ask if I'm the next star/ D's in the basement, mixing up the medicine/ I'm on a stage, loud, bitching like a reverend/ 'Till the next club, politicking like a candidate/ Bandit's in the back room, playin' with a mandolin/ Plotting out the next move, area we canvasing/ Tryin' for some net worth, scheming on the back end/ Take turns on the soapbox, speakin' on our hate of/ The puppets on the radio and how they try and play us.../

Why so simple?! Why so simple?!
Why so fickle?! Why so fickle?!
Why so simple?! Why so simple?!
Why so fickle?! Why so fickle?!

(Verse 2)
It’s a cold world, so you better bundle up/ No socks, no shoes, no Daddy Warbucks/ Took shit promised to the center of the heart/ Being told the game’s over before I start/ That shit hit you like bricks if you ain’t ready/
I want to make it rain, surprise, no confetti/ I’m racing for the money like my name is Andretti/ And my lines stay heavy, smooth like I’m riding Chevy/ Hands stay steady, right on track, never leftie/ The rest are going backwards like Go!, set, ready/ Just really know how hard I want to /And I’ll do anything besides sell my / And I can put it on life, you count on / Like I put on for Hip Hop, instead of rap/ And I guess that’s why all the others are wack/ I’m fact, they fiction as a matter a fact/

*Repeat Hook*

(Verse 3)
/Now...Look at the doggy in the window/
/Another cute mutt that's impeding on your kinfolk/
/Singing along to hoes and endo/
/Wonderin' why in the hell should I sit for?/
/I said "Shit, ask Rosa"/ Or any other pioneer or dope composer/ They say "Naw Son, spark that doulja"/ "Write another joint that ride for me and my soldiers"/ I respond with "Read a book son, find some composure"/ "Learn about culture and looking for closure"/ Told me I'm a a square, "We can't bop to this"/ "Man, shorty won't rock or gimme wop to this"/ "My box in the back won't knock to this"/ "Man Crock, no offense, but this a crock of shit"/ I said "Son there's more than being on the block with chips"/ They say you piss in the wind, but can't stop the rich/
Track Name: Meade, Speed, Weed (Prod. By Ty Bru)
(Verse 1)
/Blue Moon draft, that Fuck it, slide me that and my Newport pack/
/Hey everybody! I'm socially awkward/ Like a groom & a groom at a Protestant altar/ 'Feez, Was Jesus an Emam?/ Hair like mine? I mean, shit, uh, KEG STAND!/ I rock the party while your girl's gettin' naughty/ Then I rock her body 'till she's glued to the potty/ Hey DJ! The fuck is a dub-step?/ Nevermind...I think that's enough yet/ White people...W.T.F.?"/ Coupled with the "X" that shit's making me sea sick/ you believe yet/ Who everybody bites, but nobody respects/ Heat, you feel the degrees yet?/ Thumb to the knuckle, you feel my degrees yet?/

/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/

(Verse 2)
Meade, you know: "Drink," like preferably beer/ Or "Burr" if you prefer, but I think that that's weird/ Add XO, Adderall, and I'm gravy/ Max Bigaveli, start feeling wavy/ Tune into the Factor and I scream at the TV/ Like that bald motherfucker can actually see me/ Uh, I meant "The Shore," see my girl J-Wowsers/ Copyright, Kronkite, put my Bic to the Bowser/ Slang so hard that I'm seemin' incredulous/ Bread with my wine, my swagger is Methodist/ Like...guess who's back...again/ Crocker's back! Yeah, no, that's him.../ Like "Fist pump bros! We don't love them hoes!"/ And I'm too fucking poor for a HMO/ If I put this out...does it make me slow?/ (Well...does it?)

/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Meade, speed, weed/
/Simple as can be, that is all I need/

(Verse 3)
Who likes beer pong?! You like beer pong?!/ I like a fat ass and a beautiful clear thong/ Joe Rogan stoned, eating a deer dong/ A.D.H.D. meds adorning my beer foam/ Five-Percenters teach "The majority's ignorant,"...not that that will play to your sexual benefit/ In fact, try talking, respond with some confidence/ Show her that you listen, man, pay her some compliments/ Ay, Mitch Daniels, you look like a corpse/ Pale as all hell, with a mouth like a horse/ I mean...Satellite! Back cup and it's over/ Here's to hoping your mom still looks good sober/
Track Name: Cause You're Mine (Prod. By Pico 45)
(Intro Verse) /Well here's song number three, another song outta me/ Tied in, died in, can't escape from out of me/ Another victim to the wave, again lost out at sea/ Depression in the flesh, it won't bow out of me/ Still smell your scent in the bed which I sleep/ And when I dream, in it creeps, and I swear I hear you speak/ But the loss you left me with wasn't built for the meek/ And it's so hard to stomach cause the reason is weak/

(Hook) (Cause You're Mine....)/ I had to choke on my pride/(Cause You're Mine....)/ I tried not to collide (Cause You're Mine....)/ I held hope 'till it died/ And you played it off like....

We had our in's and our outs, hell I took on the chin/ Every time you broke down, I went and built you up again/ Lover and a friend, tried to thicken up your skin/ Asking pennies for your thoughts, you felt conflicted with your tin/ It's like the tears never stopped, you might have thought it was scripted/ Cause every other minute, new reason to pivot/ If you weren't digging graves, they were ridiculous ditches/ I start to point them out, you start getting defensive/ When we first split, you asked to do it in person/ And I showed and I talked cause I felt you deserved it/ You cried, I cried, I felt a feeling of worthless/ So I musterered up a laugh and tried to smile through the nervous/ Poked you and you prodded, tried to get me to open/ Eventually relented and I showed my corrosion/ Watched you evoke and then mold my emotion// And for what? (Cause Your Mine…)/

Show after show, man we did them together/ I’d stare like a kid with a thought of forever/ I couldn’t think of anything more intimate baby/ Than singing out with you, it was different baby/ Eyeliner, skirt, you looked sensuous baby/ Unrequited love, it felt genuine baby/ Laid vocals, did tracks, curled up, kicked back/ If anything put me at ease, well it’s that/ That mirror, our reflection, well now it’s cracked/ So now I pine for a Jones that I won’t get back/ Any thought of love, well, now it’s lapsed/ And it’s sad…../

(Hook) (Cause You're Mine....)/ I had to choke on my pride/(Cause You're Mine....)/ I tried not to collide (Cause You're Mine....)/ I held hope 'till it died/ And you played it off like....

Still ponder on our love, it’s been a couple of months/ I could sit and I could stunt, but what’s the good in a front?/ Exchange calls and texts and such, when’s it’s ever enough/ All my people like, Crocker, man, what in the fuck?/ It’s done, you know it’s done, why put your face to the sun/ You enjoy getting burnt, is it giggles and fun?/ If that love was a arm, it’s now a pitiful nub/ But still you’re still scrubbed out, though surgery’s done/ I say, it isn’t just me, man read this text here/ Dude, let it go, she won’t be here next year/ It’s obvious she’s loves me, she just hate’s that I know it/ It’s why the bush is still beaten, with no signal of closure/

So ho hum, ditty, ditty dum/ Afraid of getting back, cause it’ll look like I won/ Like she’ll be stepping back, to the square root of 1/ But I wish you wouldn’t…../ (Cause You’re Mine)

At least that’s what I believe, maybe it is naïve/ Maybe every card’s played, not a one up your sleeve/ But the last time we met, I saw you struggle to breathe/ Your eyes start to dance like…/

Ms. Keane, Ms. Keane, oh what a web we’ve weaved/ Ms. Keane, Ms. Keane, how many one more things?/ Does he know when you’re with him, that you’re thinking of me?/ Maybe I’m just tripping, but it’s easy to see…./

The never-ending saga, songs, limitless fodder/ Pen it, feel it brimming, though my sentiment’s bothered, and it’s/ But for now, I’ma just let the instruments holler/

Yeah, I feel the break, and it’s barely even/ don’t sleep much at all and I’m rarely eating/ Yeah I’m still spitting but I’m scarcely singing/ And I’m only half now, love, sincerely, Stephen/
Track Name: Southern Piano (Prod. By Pico 45)
(Verse 1) Withdrawn one mo, but I can't figure out/ What the hell it's gonna take to bring me out/ Seems deep south, do you see me now/ No...No... Don't believe me now..../ Everything it took, all the doubters/ So I stepped up, put money where mouth was/ Watched everybody and come leave, took and run from me/ Bill Withers'd up and took the sun from me/ Smiled and made a lunge for me/ took my love and put a gun on me/ Cooked my goose, called it done for me/ Stuck with these traits that dime define me/ Headfirst in with the noose of timing/ Matter fact, just tie me/ Naw, no joke, I ain’t lying/ See that light and you can feel it dying/ Lost in the bar count, wired and tiring/ Tired of admiring/ Exhaust inspiring/ Live conspiring/ You fly, I’m flying/ You sigh, I’m signing/ You in line, I’m realigning/ Call time for timing/ Now smile, we dining/

You feel that? It creeps in…/ your skin, in it’s seeping’/ you’re lost or you’re leaving’/ you’re wheeling’ or weeping’/ I breathe in the feeling/ It lifts me to ceilings/ Exchanges with demons/ for fiendish completeness/

Verse 2) Never grew up, had no instructions/ Found this here, and said, then fuck it/ Now without it, can’t fucking function/ Now without it, I’m fucking nothing/ Money like strippers, can’t fucking touch it/ So I get on here and say fuck the public/ And I fucking love it/ Love it so much, I’d fucking fuck it/ Like without me here, who fucking does it?/ …..Like I fucking does it/ Make their lips move like a fucking Muppet/ Now that’s fucking something/ They gums just bumpin’, still I stand next to them, then I’m next to nothing/ My tongue get a run and I fund conundrums/ Come to far to let go, before these bars echo/ Before I let death know, be damned if my steps slow/ My ethic is hectic, I spit indigestion/ That rips through intestines, and bleeds out your septum/

(Verse 3) Talk shit like my rectum, get down like depression/ Bars born out of flexin' & naive obsession/ It is what it is, tragically funny/ Pockets full of lint, but I'm magically money/ Either dark as the night or manically sunny/ Blasphemous trying to be pious or something/ Like maybe one day, I'ma up the ante/ Then you'll look up and you'll understand me/ Back from the gavel and the urge to damn me/ Pat me on the back, maybe call me family/ Maybe it'll happen, maybe I'll strike rich/ 'Till then I'ma push, skinny broad and dyke fist/ Uncle Luke I'm a sick fuck....everybody they tense up/ Why...can't they understand/ That I risked it all for this, there's not a back-up plan/ Pissed away the future just to do what I can/ You talk of who you are, son I act as I am/ Let it ride.....if it falls/ Mother fuck a regret now/ Occupy thrones..../ Tell the king he can step down/ Bold...I feel I'm the best now/ (Whoo!) Got it off of my chest now/ Now I'ma stop chasing my breath now/ Last rhyme before I put you to bed now/