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Crocker Spartanburg, South Carolina

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

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Track Name: Week 1 Every Time I Touch Mics
(Crocker Verse)
/Carolina baby, but, you already knew that/ Rap's Silva, I'm iller, pound the track 'till it's blue,black/ Fuck should I front for? Comfortable, true facts/ Flip a Madlib and go polly with Loot Packs/ Fresh with the words, Listerine tonsils/ Dabbled in the magic; Christine O'Donnell/ Toss a lil' seed and watch the hens peck/ Then they cry and scream when I leave 'em; Glen Beck/ It's all shit's and giggles, 'till I hit em in the middle/ Self-esteem'll start to dwindle/ Dig 'em even more, if they're lil', very nimble/ Designated hitter, now they wanna call me Terry Pendele...ton/ My spit weighs a ton.../ Your bitch dates a....bum/ You feed 'em, I beat 'em/ Suckas are too lame/ Fantastic bastard, all I know is a blue flame/
Track Name: Week 2 Pie With Aunt Bee
(Crocker/ Verse 2)
/Ride beats, flow'll stray, colder, Jon Benet/ Or Benoit/ Hear voices, enigmatic like bent stars/ I cast a shadow like that of Goliath/ I'd've crushed David, raps too frustrating/ Replayed the ending to the tune of Waylon Jennings/ Stacked a few corpses and surveyed my winnings/ Massacre the game and converge with clips/ Son of Sam, I am the son of David Berkowitz/ When my time's up and my life's recapped/ I would've eaten enough rappers to force having teeth capped/ Vlad The Impaler, picturesque when I nail her/ Like..who would Jesus kill? And who was his tailor?/ Hate encapsulated with arsenic and a smidgen of lead/ Dear Lord, I am lost in the land of the dead/ Henceforth, barter salvation through the steel of a sword/ Behead Antoinette and keep slaughtering more/

(Crocker/ Verse 3)
/Confined in a rhyme that knows nothing of structure/ In time, the grind realigns and unwinds at a juncture/ It's up to me to tempt fate/ And bleed it like it menstruate/ Grip the pen and squeeze until the ink's raped/

/ Violate the pad with obscene visions and come-on's/ And eulogize departed, who I feel were done wrong/ Brimming with capitalism and a side of fascism/ Outlast the timid and buy and sell women/

With the sickle...I am so damn despicable/ Make an outright diss seem like a subliminal/ Far beyond the restraints of fear or apprehensions/ Rap's "G" with a compass, collapsing buildings/

Mother-fuck the rest of whoever the hottest/ I'm hard, like I finger-fucked a mythic Greek goddess/ Cease fire, lest, you stupid or suicidal/ You brow-beat, I beat bitches with Bibles/
Track Name: Week 3 Who Better Than Me (Prod. By JubbyFUK)
(Hook)
/Better move it 'fore you lose it/ No need in actin' foolish, I'm the best at this true shit/ Walking around askin' "who better than me?"/ "Not you, or you, nor you, or you/ Better move it 'fore you lose it/ No need in actin' foolish, I'm the best at this new shit/ Walking around askin' "who better than me?"/ "Not you, or you, nor you, or you/

(Crocker Verse)
/Molecular structure, will puncture any motherfucker/ That dare stray...or try to cross the juncture/ I'm of a different makeup, a different breed of MC/ That's why I laugh at the gall of ya'll tryna test me/ Best me? I doubt that/ Real shit? I'm bout that/ Crocker; Only cracker bringing the South back/ It's more than swagger or the delivery enabled/ It's what chivalry you bring to the table...bitch/ I'm of a different caliber, a parabola/ You're weak, like five minute trips off Salvia/ I'm incensed for the sick shit, words are endless/ Dimwit, been fit, never try to flip this/ It's on baby boy, what you'd rather try see?/ It's Spartanburg, bitch, like a Southern Fried Sting/ Holler at a 'Bama, Blue Ribbon & some women/ Make use of her digits, then dispose of her linens/
Track Name: Week 4 Jonesin' For A Smoke
(Crocker Verse)
/Saw my man down, he looked teeming with plight/ So...I said some funny shit, like, "Jesus is white"/ Just because I'm a bastard, they won't believe that I'm nice/ Liar! Ask your wife, how I treat her with pipe/ Fuck a check, give me respect and my stamp/ My logic makes sense, I'm after Gregory Grants/ Think your bars hard? I run a sediment plant/ Kid's disrespectful, learn some etiquette man/ Popcorn rappers, hope you choke on a kernel/ /Number one on the hit-list, that you keep in your journal/ Say he best? He's taking a piss, like he's frontin' a urinal/ Heard he sports nighties, likes to stunt with a gerbil/ Refrain from the lane I'm rolling in/ Chill when I'm in, they know it's him/ Grab my nuts then I hold my brim/ Hold your breath and then soak it in/ Say I think I'm better...well it's probably true/ Asking who is next...son, it's probably you/

/Grab your whiskey bottles and imbibe like this/ Son, burn a lil' Lah, try subside this shit/ Not a patron to a party where you wallow in your pity/ So follow all the hollows as I swallow up the city/ St. Pierre status, there's nobody left/ So as I'm waitin' in the ring, I might body the ref/ Damn right I spit coke, X, molly, & meth/ And they a paraplegic frat, won't nobody step/
Track Name: Week 5 Paint Thinner Flow
(Crocker Verse)

/Holla!, Holla!, naw I'm just foolin'/ Crocker! Crocker! Doin' my one, two-in'/ Bastards, baby, this here is a movement/ Bitches be like "Slow it down, you too confusing"/ They wanna be P. Didd., I wanna be J. Prince/ Rap a lot, bitch, and be on my independent/ Six for every album, I'll cover the promo/ Contractual heat-slinger; Hideo Nomo/ Two-faced execs. try and play me for slow-mo/ Play Nelly, "Check the Telly," I don't need you no mo'/ Build a fan base and do my distribution/ Or let them do it, for one-tenth of what I'm moving/ Proof in the pudding, I don't need an endorsement/ "Mr. Ed smiles" tryna feed me some horse shit/ Goldilocks ain't bout to come close to my porridge/ 'Cause you should never EAT, if you ain't work FOR IT!/
Track Name: Week 6 Yuga Universe
(Hook)
/No one man should have all that yuga/
/Yeah..so get back motherfucker/
/Yeah, It's South Crack motherfucker/
/You damn right, it's the Bastard, bitch!/

(Crocker Verse)

/They talk alotta smack, I spit alotta crack/ You keep 'em dozing off.. I keep 'em nodding Jack/ And I'll be hotdamned if anybody's nicer/ Sire ignite the wires until they're splicing/ They fresh meat baby! anyway you slice 'em/ Steroid flow, twenty-four inch pythons/ I will cause hysteria, sicker than malaria/ You're talking to the virus, you motherfuckin' carrier/ I'm a rabid pitbull, standing next to terriers/ Wes Craven calls for tips from me, on how to be, scarier/ Terry never tarried, charting ferries to the other side/ Hounds of hell hollerin', I tell 'em "Let that mother ride"/ Swagger is incomparable, yeah, I'll play the constable/ Lay the law, they break it, then I won't be held responsible/ They shutter at the hard and I chuckle at impossible/ A motherfucking bastard that fathered all the prodigal/
Track Name: Week 7 Sandlapper Swagger
(Crocker Verse)
Caleb, I think they hate me/ They front like they tough and they're bare-knuckle rough.../But I know that they fugazi/ Spit 'till my throat raw, bend every note raw/ 'Bout to plucked and 'bout to fucked like...what you drop the soap for? (Pause)/ Anyway I write 'till I mutilate my cuticles/ Arthritis premature, but, it feel so boo-tiful/ 'Bout that, 'bout that, holler out South Crack/ Every bar "bump," like my mouth done got a gout patch/ Button down shirts with a pull-over sweater.../ Animal control flow; Pull pussy better/ Spit nasty shit like every tooth is abscessed/ Play your beat, I jack it, I'm a motherfucking bandit!/ Bastard, kid, just ask your bitch/ What you can do, when, you task a clit/ Rover, red rover, send them bitches over/ Wouldn't know a fresh cut, if I put stitches on your shoulder/

(Kronkite Verse)
/Outrageous, contagious, amazing, just blazing, Caucasian/ I be in the kitchen just baking until my dough is steady raising/ You runnin', I'm gunnin' for number one, before the summer/ And best believe I won't stop 'till all you rappers are under/ the dirt, ya worth is nothing of comparison, embarrassing/ cause ya all need to stop, if ya career ya cherishing/ You see the signs of the road, all the heads shaking no/ Telling me I'll never make it, my breath I need to save it/ let me tell how I got to where I am/ No money from hungry, greedy Uncle Sam/ I scrimped, dipped, and saved, you limp pimps just play/I'm just here to say, to get out my way/ 'Cause today is the day that I take my frustrates/ Out on whoever steps up to the plate/ Your flows, I will take them, and your hoes I will rape them/ And your lows I will make them my highest expectations/
Track Name: Week 8 Our Condolences
(Crocker Verse)
/Peer into my mind as my thoughts coagulate/ Bind to form the bars as the people gravitate/ Destiny tryna court me; trial, magistrate/ Just picking up on me? Man, damn...you late/Best hide your bravado, war up out my sorrow/ Rhyme technicolor..you seein' things mulatto/ White & black mixture, South Crack fixture/ They count on me, on the low, Outback census/ Open up your senses, this greatness in the flesh/ Born to be an idol, young, chasing after death/ Baruch atah Adonai, they try and cut my wings off/ Try and shift the weight, try and push off the see-saw/ If ain't the best...bear a witness and subpoena/ I'm after cold cash, yo, Medina that's anemic/ Push weight up out my mouth, resembling bulimics/ But, bet it's all fresh, like it's bathing in Febreeze and/ Seventeenth bar and I'm just cutting my teeth in/ Bet I'm spittin' A.I.D.S., see the lesions when I'm breathing/ Worsens with the seasons, believe it when I speak it/ More heat between the measures than "23" & Cleavland/ Got the word from Pico, their talent is poquito/ Tony Clifton swagger, Kaufman with my steelo/ They spy on the kid, like it's Porky's and the peep hole/ Claimin' that you "fire," well, I'm negative below/ President precedent setter, definite deficit better/ Put your chips on me and bet that the deficit betters/ John Wesley descendent, Hardin is my makeup/ Time, pardon what I take up, I'm just trying to save us/ Cut from a fabric, that's now since endangered/ They spoke of my coming like that baby in the manger/ Respect when you hear it, nobody's coming after/ Won't claim to be your savior...Just an angry cracker.../
Track Name: Week 9 Dear 1st Time
(Verse 1)
/Hungover from the night prior/ Twisted as mic wires/ Look over at the clock: 3 hours to light fires/ On a stage, for the first scheduled/ Promotion crazy/ See my name in the ads, emotion pays me/ Feelings never felt/ Shower and change/ Shave in the mirror, lyrics play, and I hear 'em/ Recite 'em in repetition, I burn a set-list/ Feelin' higher than sparrows, like I'ma need a guest list/ Clean my kicks lovely, then I'm up out the door/ Know the songs backwards and now I'm assured/ On that raised platform, my heart skips a beat/ But I stand and conduct/ My own symphonies/ See familiar faces and their pride, it beams/ As I glide through the sky and I ride it's seams/ Girl greets as I leave, been an all day patron/ Said I was the best she'd seen, and I hide my shaking/
Track Name: Week 10 Rhinoplasty Rhymes
(Crocker Verse)
Morally bankrupt, bereft of gems or the jewels/ That was the last thread and I'm fresh out of spools/ So I glide through the graveyard sampling characters/ Picking out traits, building a caricature/ I don't know what man, but something that's pleasing/ Something that they'll notice and they'll say that I needed/ Ever look at your script, and then tire of the treatment?/ How the leads painted ain't at all how you see it?/ So I'ma rewrite and pull from those who have passed on/ Take the best of them and then I'll put my new mask on/ Those who wanna judge and say it won't last long/ I'm not emotional, I just relate to those sad songs/ You do it too, just make an effort to hide it/ I ain't mad at cha, man, we call that survivin'/ Even thinkin' surgery with the help of a doctor/ Wait, who am I kidding? Damnit, I'm Crocker/

(Bridge/Hook)
/And I don't know what idea you had/
/But that ain't this and that's too bad/
/Drag off a smoke and push my roof back/
/Fiddle with a pen and try to make my truth last/
Track Name: Week 11 The Story & The Bars
(Crocker Verse)
/Been a long time coming, patience a virtue/I'm fly and I'm sick, like I suffer from bird flu/ Scared to take chances, worry they'll hurt you/ I overcome, it's just something I work through/ I've had shows with just ten motherfuckers/ So I got up and rocked ten motherfuckers/ Hell with you think about Crock motherfuckers/ Just understand I won't stop motherfuckers/ Naw, this more than a gimmick/ This is more than words put together in limericks/ Or some cliche strewn about in a sentence/ Or a bullshit adage used to push you to finish/ This is milligrams of codeine, stuck in the bed/ With forty sum staples, off stuck in my head/ This is death threats, drug deals, luck had done fled/ Couple guns pointed, D's surrounded by Feds/ 'Fore I could blink, he's looking at seven/ That's real life, I would never embellish/ Was there in the court, when they gave him the verdict/ Gave my brother a hug and then we got back to working/
Track Name: Week 12 Just Fire
(Crocker Verse)
/Deliberate, methodical, thought out as a bombing/ By extremists, cuttin' edge like the side of incisors/ Spit I peel walls like I'm huffing on primer/ Ill right? I disturb still night/ Seep into your dreams; Ellen Page & steel knives/ Hard Candy, flow like I'm rocked up/ The best; 'less you're diggin' Biggie or 'Pac up/ Hell to stop me, you better deal for Jason Voorhies/ If beaten tracks equaled gore.../Then blood would be pouring/ Every line soaring...over your head/ Like it's a B.O.B. hook/ So make a wish on my bars and pretend their airplanes/ Say it's disgusting, say I'm piss crazy/Naw, I'm not a sadist; Just rap's Dick Cheney/ Hit a tiger with a Taser, hope that she maims me/ If you don't speak "Crocker," then...bet it's an issue/ Then I'll fly a plane into your booth, just to make it official/
Track Name: Week 13 Ode To Rappers
(Crocker Verse)
/Fuck letting up, I'm up too high now/ Year old clothes, but son I'm fly now/ Made too many kites, they stay won't tied down/ I'd speak about rap, but I'd just sigh now/ I'm twenty three years, but I sound like I'm 4-O/ It's Sherlock Crock, in "Where Did The Real Go?"/Faking optimism, like maybe there's still hope/ But truth be told, it's the kids that I feel fo/ I'm saying, it used to mean more right/ Now it's but a shell, like a flag with a torn stripe/ Hand me the pistol, I'ma rock her to sleep/ Hear her last words, "I'm bringing Crocker with me/ Have a lil scuffle, watch her jostle with me/ Try as she might she not toppling T/ As she lay in my arms, she tried coddling me/ And with her last breath, said the problem was me/

(Hook)
/I Hate Rappers/ Word To Pack FM/ I Hate Rappers/ They sad as sin/
I Hate Rappers/ They a tad too dim/ And with my ink pen/ I'ma tattoo them/
I Hate You Rappers/ You fucking suck/ I Hate You Rappers/ You fucking suck/ I Hate You Rappers/ You fucking suck/ Like to cut out your tongue/
And put it next to your lungs/
Track Name: Week 14 The Beauty Of Afterbirth
(Crocker Verse)
For my city, neighborhood, the place where I'll die at/ Made a couple calls and swore of a wire-tap/ Followed now and then, cause of cats that I hang with/ Hand of one, hand of all, think it's the same shit/ Paranoid, late night, higher than jet planes/ Seeing headlights, I'm as stiff as cassette tapes/ Sitting on the thought of the moment regret makes/ Watching every word, cause of places your breath takes/...You know what I mean man?/ Seen dumb shit that you wouldn't believe man/ Charge after charge, like I was crowding the paint/ Go in, in the night, be out in the day/ Constantly pulled with the same exact rap/ Searched more times than a dealer at fat camp/ The same ol' police, you'd know if you seen/ But it's getting too much, if it's getting routine/
Track Name: Week 15 The Change-Up
(Crocker Verse)
They talk who they tout, saying dog he steamin'/ But they a joke to me rappin' son, Joaquin Phoenix/ Skill level show they just parsley greenish/ My bars the entree, beg par I'm Stephen/ So do you pop the Tre or do you rock-away?/ I think you take it in the mouth for cheese; Sascha Grey/ Flash in the pan ass; Timothy Tebow/ I give em dope bars, son you feed em placebos/

Beat change, think it's time for reflection/ But fuck that, the hard's on, like a perm-ie erection/ Competition where? Son, procure me the next one/ Ain't hard to understand like a hermie's depression/ Talk about my bars like...he'll befuddle you/ He's too hardcore bitch...E.C.W./ Leader of the New Dawn, Jim Jones shit/ Then I'm ballin' in her mouth...Jim Jones tip/ Herringbone, neck-bone, I flavor the tasteless/ The hard to baking soda, I bring base to the baseless/ Tired of new rappers...you slittin' your wrist yet?/ If I wanted slick talk...then I'd throw on some Dipset/
Track Name: Week 16 A Song Of The South
(Crocker Verse)
/Another stab at the outlet, cultivating the output/ Tired, romanticizing the outlook/ Where the hell do you go just to show 'em you 'bout that/ Tryna put South Carolina up and on out that/ Money put where my mouth at/ Bitch I bed of you doubt that/ Got beef, place where the sow at/ Speak like we're harmless, like we still on some farm shit/ Like that fuck flag where's all of our hearts sit/ Like a blonde on Tosh is all we are/ Like we're ten points away from being fucking retard/ *HUH HUH* kiss my ass and I mean that/ I ain't you bitch and I'll be that/ Verse worsen here, we persevere/ Perverse inner workings choke and surface here/ Crocker, son it's Spartanburg in here/ Ain't close to my level, even purtnear/

(Kronkite Verse)
/Money can make a sweet day sour/ A bitch be in love if you payin' by the hour/ Make a common Joe a foe, when you step in the door/ They smile in y face, but try get what is yours/ I be damned if your hands in my pockets/ Love money so much, President Grant is in my locket/ And I hate greed so lets switch the topic/ As the envious get heated like the ass end of rockets/ I'll stop it, before I hurt someone's feelings/ I was broke where I grew up, now I'm slavin' for a killin'/ Got these haters hatin' hard, got these bitches smellin' dough/ Givin' bread to the Feds, that's why you don't see it at the shows/ I planned to save a little, maybe it'd help if I prayed a little/ All you dogs seem hungry, don't look at me for Kibble/ Here's a one, rent a gun, and buy a bullet if you sad/ Cause the ones who take for granted, never know what they had/
Track Name: Week 17 Mumble Mumble
(Crocker Verse)

/In the garden of Eden, deceptively scheming/ On my next come-up, as I was banished for treason/ Famished for seasons.../So I puffed cigarettes until it damaged my breathing/ Corroded my lungs, but suppressed my appetite/ All this..for just an apple bite, heh../ Cataclysmic makeup broke down to it's core/ Funny, the burdens you take up and then you turn and ignore/ 'Neath the industry, near the light of tall towers/ Son of king...rather play a wallflower/ Go forth and document this whole mockumentary/ Succubus king, helluva responsibility/ Reach for the stars with Joe Theisman's agility/ Wolves still try to make a meal of me/ Creep like *duh* *duh* *duh* *duh* *duh* *duh* *duh* *duh* *duh*/


(Kronkite Verse)

/Whoa, sweet Jehovah's witness/ Console your mistress, pound of blow in minutes/ I'm geeked out my mind as I run from daggers/ As I'm chased by dumb, air polluting rappers/ I turn my brown eye when I learned I'm crowned/ The best in the south, and yet still I frown/ Cause round my town, I see tops down/ And people pulled over, and still see cops found/ Another one dead, another one bled/ See superstar athletes take one in the leg/ Pushin' so close to being able to pull away/ And all it's gonna take is just one mixtape/ I'm dreamin' of drinkin' and being the best of the evening/ As rest get mad as their bitches keep creaming/ Just know when I'm on top, I ain't never leaving/ Fuck you filthy snakes in the garden of Eden/
Track Name: Week 18 Dr. Evil's Hairy Uncle Twins
(Crocker Verse)
/Here's another verse to go over your melon/ With more bars than the home of all predicate felons/ Spit like quarantine be my definite dwelling/ Either I'm getting nice, or my etiquette's swelling/ Why be humble? They don't get it/ Like a diabetic with a Willy Wonka ticket/ Like shit, when I spit, I should hold some crickets/ Cause by the 8th bar, I know, there goes attention/ Dumb hook, slow beat, there's ya a club hit/ But I won't, ya'll suck, and I'm probably dumb shit/ But fuck it, I spit coke, with a side of some Pepsi/ Killing wack off slow, terminal Hep C/ Makes no sense, why try see?/ It's like a list of emcees on MTV/ Hell, that could be me if my joints were hooky/ But I'd rather snort meth and go raw dog Snooki/ Then after I nut in her, straight eat her cookie/ Bet a mill. on the Steelers and go meet my bookie/ (Laugh) Imagine that!/ Like to shoot Billboard and then imagine rap/ Rest in peace G.U.R.U., she ain't what she once was/ Heard the radio, started throwing my lunch up/ The same campaigners, try leading the caucus/ And that shtick tires quick, Andy Milinokas/ So here's some fresh dope for you to put in your ventricle/ So lend a quick ear to the return of the lyrical/
Track Name: Week 19 Party & Bullshit (B.I.G. Tribute)
(Crocker Verse)

/I've been a terror since the public school era/ Arrests, drug tests, buncha shit on my chest/ Full of spit and vinegar, workin' out the integer/ Negative to positive, opposition miniature/ Fuck if I'm white? Most pale in comparison/ Style can't afford like they're Harrison/ Gonna talk but they're hardly mean/ Just a dumb, loud addict son: Charlie Sheen/ Buh, buh, Bastards/ Uh, uh, uh...Winning/ Spit Tiger's Blood....son, uh, uh, uh...Winning/ Here's to my state, that still wanna secede/ And to Representative Bright, that wants our own currency.../That shit's fuh, fuh, fuh, funny/ Our state government's some duh, duh, duh..Dummies!/ The hell are you doin'?/ We're still broke/ And ask the President, "where the hell's my hope?"/
Track Name: Week 20 The Proclamation
/On my o-four grizzle, lil' slow burn sizzle/ Caught between heaven, hell, purgatory twiddle/ It's never what it seems to be, never be as simple/ So i document the trials, 'tween the crashing of the cymbals/ Success if you hear me, I'll never sell my standards out/ Even if that means, that I'll never see my album out/ Nurse another Newport, working on my next scheme/ But couldn't catch the wave if I was piloting the jet-ski/ Probably see some scratch if I compromised my sound/ Be hot up in the streets, be the talk all over town/ But what fucking good is that, when the market is down?/ The only artist 'round they ain't targeting now/ Ironic underground; cause it's over your noggin'/ Never thought, "too smart" could be all of the problem/ Keep begging me to please, dilute the solvent/ Like, that'll be the day, that they neuter a Crocker/