The Muta Scale

by Crocker

  • Streaming + Download




released May 9, 2011

Producers: Prof. Logik, Jubbyfuk, Jack Bandit, C. Magik, & Pico 45, & Q-Tilla. Exec Prod. by Jubbyfuk for Fuk Wit It Productions, Caleb Naquin & Terry Crocker for Lovelorn Records, & Scott Godfrey for Sparkle City Records.



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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: The Muta Scale
(Verse 1) Bind torture kill, I'm but a low key killer/ With bodies of instrumentals that decay in the winter/ Lord forgive my arrogance and misuse of my talent/ But they pushing T like a diss record from Malice/ Stacking all the ashes like Somalian springs/ Stephen, born stoned, like the prophet before me/ Walk tall, big stick, young Buford Pusser/ Might take a beating but it won't be for nothing/ Jesus, if life's a bitch, nail me/ Spartanburg dope runner, I'ma young Vic Bailey/ No is not option, take it off the table/ Keep cheerin' Brock, I want a crack at his Sable/ Compose sonnets subconscious, tell tale of my promise/ Don't spit but I vomit, till chasin' the comet/ My only competition if really I'm honest/ So farewell brother, give my word that I got them/ I'ma raise hell like a scene out of Sodom/ They ain't yet equipped to come answer my problem/ They fade in the shade to grenades that I'm lobbin/ I'm Tyson coked up, blow never will soften/ Treasure how I'm measured, hope they speak of me often/ My word to William you can bet that I'll knock in/ Any door unopened where I'm welcomed/ Shit I'm already up, you better hurry the hell in/ Bleed, Muta Scalin/

/(Verse 2) Propelling forward sonic at top speed/ Classic hardcore, Pamela & Tom Lee/ Man made smack, tongue modeling Roxys/ You try being dope, swallowing pop seeds/ Fresh cut razors, package of Mach Threes/ Great Wall, Berlin, I beg of you stop me/ Hate, but on the low love and you watch me/ Me & two of my aliases make up your top three/ The cookie may crumble but never the cracker/ Decimate the molecules and the atoms of rappers/ Top rope bow, Randy Savage a rapper/ MC, I come after the rapper/ Blithering, Blathering, Bastard/ Mentoring, Managing Magic/ Try and get by me with your packets of swagger/ And I'ma carve out my niche on your neck with a dagger/ That's whats happens when your character's mailed in/ Meet the abyss kid, I head up where you fell in/ Bleed, Muta Scalin'/
Track Name: Catharsis feat. Lindsay Keane
/ I love a menthol cigarette/ I'm pretty simple actually/ Sex, Nicotine,& A Microphone/ Content with being alone, as long as there’s music/ My friends in a cipher critiquing self indulgent trends/ It provides a means to an end/ Down with industry and the players involved/ But if it falls, what's left to bitch about?/How about each other, but that's too easy/ I'm too self-righteous and obsessed with sleazy/ Maybe I'll rediscover context/ Maybe I'll take another bong rip and laugh at Glen Beck/

(Verse 1)
Live from a state that is redder than yours/ Trying to find something subjective in The Cure/ One Blink record away from getting Pompous/ Cutting all my hair off, maybe running for office/ Fashion a cheap pipe, enroll in college/ Start a Panther chapter and distribute some knowledge/ Talk about my hate for whitey, though I'm Caucasian/ Bereft of self-loathing, bitch I'm amazing/ Twenty-three, attitude, and nothing to offer/ Except a dope rhyme and misdemeanor charges/ Defaulted debt and my guise as an artist/ Eyes full of arson and the prize of regarded/ First my city, my state, and then maybe my region/ Such a tall order for god-less heathen/ Not much left but the honest reason/ I can't promise much, but I promise Stephen/

In a haze of love and hate, I feel the lesser/ Tell me life's a bitch, my goal's to undress her/ Talk her into sex, then fuck her on the dresser/ This here is my catharsis/
*repeat once*
(This here is my catharsis)

(Verse 2)
/If I go over your head, I'm sorry your stupid/ Maybe pick up book, maybe you use it/ Insult the people, that's helluva tactic/ Son check the tape, Crocker Is A Bastard/ I think I'm Bobby Seale, Huey Newton/ Fake Larry Hoovers are just Looney Tunesin/ I say, where the hell is a movement/
/Tweet: Feeling used and unusually lucid/ Remember looking up to Hogan and M.J./ Now I'm an asshole and their disciples of Bengay/ Student of the game but I'm lacking a sensei/ With a pen so moody you would swear that it menstruate/ Apple Pie Hooch & a carton of Mavericks/ The label of G.O.A.T., and beside it an asterisk/ Hope they speak of me even when I'm in past tense/ Be a lot of things but never your average/

In a haze of love and hate, I feel the lesser/ Tell me life's a bitch, my goal's to undress her/ Talk her into sex, then fuck her on the dresser/ This here is my catharsis/
*repeat once*
(This here is my catharsis)
Track Name: Climb To Denial
/Inside I see a life that I’ll never reach/ The world will never hear of me, it’s no conspiracy/ It’s just the side that mirrors me/ Is just a bit prettier, than me and all my heresy/ It’s not a secret, but its tucked away in the open/ Figure for all my faults, you might not even notice/ Dreams aren’t tangible, so I turn cannibal/ Shuck and devour the light within fore I what happened to/ Hope’s a precious thing, some take it for granted/ But hope’s all I have for me to paint my canvas/ A vagabond of the arts, hop lily-pad, lily-pad/ All in the hope for me to scribe my Iliad/I’m a long-shot, no Bon-Jovi hook/ Mumble up to God, kinda hope that he looks/ Mom passes Xanax, says to cope with a book/ So I burn a couple chapters, lace my blunt with the soot/

The ladder is for suckers/

Unravels into nothing/

Rather live vicarious

And stare at the chariots/

The ladder is for losers

Battling contusions

Of their own reality

Oh reality/

No Medicare, so it’s sugar pills/ Fantasize bout the steel of a how a Ruger feel/ There’s a cure all, I’ll sure fall/ On the Brim rose path, in another deterred stall/ But then the drive don’t turn off/ Going nowhere fast as I continue to churn raw/ To try and succeed is a conundrum to me/ A paradoxical box that shows nothing to me/ Man that success would be something to see/ And without the thought of that, well what would I be?/ Homicide of dream happens all too often/ By unequivocally scared, that cower at lofty/ Goals, tell Santa all I want is his coal/ So I can shield from the cold as well as keeping it stoked/ That fire, that desire, to put my nose to the grindstone/ And rip away at tissue for the chance that I might grow/
Track Name: Sea Salt Truths feat. Feather Fly Focus & Hillary Keane
(1st Verse; Crocker)
Tantamount, ya'll too Paramount/ Overly emote what you care about/ Reserve what you say to who stands around/ If it ain't about you, then you backing down/ Apathy, oh Apathy/ Humanity is blasphemy/ Everything you say is big is totally minute/ But poverty is nothing, passes totally by you/ Wrapped in your bubble, can't be troubled to shuffle/ Maybe help a family extract their life from the rubble/ That speeding tickets gonna ruin your life/ They could take a couple points, your insurance could spike/ I feel your pain, man in fact I'll you a beer/ In a heated room with T.V.'s and a comfortable chair/

As I let it go, it echoes/
That clock just keeps on ringing/
This day is special, I tell you/
En-capsuled spacious scenic/
The view is skewed, feels anew/
And it slows down my breathing/
Rhyme in blue, I just stew/
They put too much in feeling/

(2nd Verse; Feather Fly Focus)

(Hillary Keane bridge)
Somebody get you an Oscar/
Place your prospective so proper/
There's no other word but me-eeee/
How is that so hard to se-eeee/
Track Name: Stephen's Fort Sumter Sing-A-Long (Prod. By Pico 45)
/Spartanburg bitch, by now it’s redundant/ But old school smooth like a satchel of hummus/ That old school reach like Dikembe Mutumbo/ Still bout as ugly as the actors in Gummo/ Another battle rap for you to tack on the list hon/ Joint for R. Kells to play iffin’ you’re pissed on/ I’m coming for the throne, give if a fuck who is watching/ Illuminati, Masons, somebody stop me/ You better sacrifice every virgin that’s left/ You’re gonna need the supernatural to put me to bed/ If you hated 'Pac, you’ll despise my ass/ I’m white, Afrocentric, and twice as loud/ Straight from a place known for the Klan & the Mills/ Both basically died, but any interest in pills?/ You like Lori tabs? I love Lori tabs! / And fuck window panes, we got wholesale glass/ Ranked last in the union in education/ And first in AIDS transportation/ Dumbest of the dumb, sickest of sick/ A raging hard-on, I’m a belligerent prick/ Vyvanse & Viagra, I’ma fuck her till she’s bleeding/ Think that’s oft-putting, I’ma fuck her still she’s seizing! / The Hills Have Eyes just peek at my populous/ inbred! And we’re gonna fuck your metropolis/

/ Don’t ever come here, lest your handed a pass go/ Paying ten dollars for coffee and I’m the asshole?/ And fuck rap music, I do hip-hop/ You know make real music and watch that shit flop/Intelligent moderate liberal white trash/ Can you say Oxymoron?/ Now Oxycodone?/ Now which one did you know?/ Now who has the problem?/ Tomahawk chop, Chief Jay Strong bow/ B Movie threat, Man you a LawnMow/ Mr. Sandman, bring me some speed/ So they all sing along like a rerun of Glee/ I could speak on the recession and how my chips are failing/ But I’m more interested in gagging Nikki Haley/ She likes tea parties, how bout tea bagging?/ Okay…that was too much?/ Tried breaking us down, now we’re so building/ You nice? You LIE, Senator Joe Wilson/ Um…my swag is so fresh, it’s stupid/ Naw forget all that and just leave “stupid/ Born up in Whitney, but I’m Park Hills raised/ I’m country, I’m urban, I’m scarred as Seal’s face/ Son I’m gonna hit em where the asterisk hurt/ And touch the whole world, no Catholic Church/
Track Name: The Single
/Truth is I hate you, yeah, you that listens/ But my label says chill, wants to scrap my image/ Says you could give a damn for all my difference/ Says you'd would pay attention if some hits were written/ Said that's whats up, scratched my nuts, and then I ripped out my heart again/ Started out Motorhead, then ended up Cardigans/ And if I'm too wordy.../ Then I'll wear that early, least ya'll heard me/ It's unnerving, I keep blurting/ They m-squared, I'm a emcee searching/ pen a def jam, not a L.A. Reid hit/ Turned their swag on, but then I ain't see shit/ If that's what it takes, then I don't need this/ Matter fact, get fucked, and dismount my penis/ this here'll be a hoe down with my demons/ and after I thrown down, you can bet I'm leaving/

Light up my cigarette, be done with dinner yet/
I get tired of seeing dawn/
Eyelids stretching, Mild depression/
Glued to the screen as I write a song/

Down in the Dixie, the view so's scenic/ But there's no scene, not for what I'm weaving/ Worn tapestries from the same ol fabric/ Three piece with a liquor flask, age old sabbath/ A young cottontail tryna fuck like rabbits/ Pocket tucked habits, outta luck magic/ It's all, it's all but a passing thing/ Just a young bastard tryna cash his dream/ Finger rolled point fives, ash in streams/ Put my headphones on and try tax my scheme/ Deal with old friends wanna laugh at me/ Say you still rappin', you sappy Steve/
Track Name: Devil in a New Dress
/They tell me that I'm arrogant/ I say I gotta be, I'm a bastard, and it's time for parent shit/ Who else SC as me, say it like I'm daring them/ These John Does lack the definition for comparison/ The 13th disciple, Chris Rock Shit/ Father, pardon, but they can kiss Crock's dick/ With a hurricane dame, tell FEMA stop this/ I could sport a kilt and still be the Loch Ness/ Tired of being overlooked and underestimated/ I'm too fly bitch, you just levitating/ Scream South Crack till it's resonating/ Till they follow Crocker with I swear I hate him/ My undertaking/ Would burn Palmetto with a stripper in stilettos/ Her dark chocolate fingers bustin down the cigarillo/ Used to make love until her strut stuttered/ Till she screamed and then her cunt fluttered/ Asked if I was jealous, said baby I'm a rapper/ Asked if I was salty, well I am a cracker/ What's the South without Carolina/ Like a Dutch without marijuana/ Am I hot? no I'm a walking sauna/ Exude heat over loose-leaf, phosphorous flow/ Dr.King in me got a prosperous glow/ Followed by your ho-hum monotonous shows/ No pass,don't match the composite of soul/ Turned the game into a place where you deposit your soul/ So I crawled up out of my sarcophagus gold/

/Isis tried Osiris me, but that was one chapter/ Say life a bitch, so then I run past her/
You're only as big as the goal that you come after/ So when you say Spartanburg...think one rapper/
Track Name: Additive Free Addiction (Prod. By Jack Bandit)
/Hello doll, yeah you of the porcelain ilk/ The silver tongued fox supporting my ills/Ignoring the stills, frames of fright and flight/As I ignite my plight, another passage of rite/ The song I crow, another row of oats/ I’ve sewn and must forcibly chew, ignoring that you/ Must endure, but selfishly I skew/ My view to find my self once anew/And again without end/To no measure to your displeasure/ As you search for some way to tether/ Our emotions just a tad bit closer/ Put your head down and continue to soldier/Like I’m your cross to bare/ ‘Till I’m back sauced up and bare/ You tear up, at a loss to share/ Hold me, as if to exhaust my fear/ So I walk to the sink for a splash of reality/ Words ringing true, forgettable a formality/

/Ask for assurance, I bring disturbance/ Seems that it’s worthless, not worth the purchase/ Emotions converging, lookin for service/ I’m barred up again, so the pot you are stirring/ I explained the baggage, then you claimed without asking/ Prone to relapsing, I told you it’s tasking/ Out of control, lacking the traction/ You smiled as if that was the attraction/ Now you proclaim your strength I am sapping/ Once my guard, now left me open to tackling/ Weary of all the love that I ration/ Fearing, the trap door is collapsing/Told me it’s now or never for action/ I laugh and lay prone, whatever, your yappin/ Say that mechanism is sad and I’m passive/ Tried callin bluff, now my chips she will cash in/

/ I’m picking thru verses, she’s steadily cursing/ Finds my bottle after an of hour searching/ Says if this works, then where’s focus on me/ As I study sixteens, I’m hopin she leaves/ Says I never sleep, so how can I dream/ Clouded my means and shrouded my schemes/ Can’t vocalize love, so I express it through ink/ Poems in patois that I’m hoping’ll sink/ Into her conscious, reassure her the promise/ Of commitment made that I intended as honest/ It’s not the drugs, it’s shield I clutch/ That keeps her at bay, and holds me up like a crutch/ Locked in the bathroom, reciting a prayer/ She learned as a child, to keep away all her fear/ Recall a song she wrote, a few weeks back/ Somber the tone, sent a chill up my back, it said/
Track Name: Blue Brew (Produced by Jack Bandit)
/Spit with a swagger that’s so precise/ Kick back with a calm overcome with vice/ Awake by dusk cuz I shun the light/ Keep the booth padded cuz I’m dumb with mics/ Off my shit a lil’ bit but hey who isn’t?/ Say it’s religious how I convey a sentence/ Lonely at the top, don’t complain of distance/ They wear scarlet letters cuz they a shame to spitters/ I do my one-two, crack a brew, and they through/ Deceased to exist better act like you knew/ Pre-existing condition, yeah, I spit till I’m blue/ Say I get it jumpin like kangaroos/ Picasso Crocker, I’ma abstract artist/ My flow toxic, bring ya hazmat garments/ I’m soo brash, please beg my pardon/ But you couldn’t wear stripes if your name was Tarzan/

Introducing the bane of Rap/ Rush inducing, cocaine at that/ Say fuck me, more like fuck you/ Keep jib smacking, ur girl get run through/ Ain’t I?... some kinda spectacular?/ With my wild, un practical vernacular/ The Hollister prodigy, I leave em awfully/ Cut up, fucked up, that’s why they call for me/ Ye of little faith, be the first to go/ Go Serch with flow and Fred Durst a hoe/ You should bow your heads and call me Mister/ The nerve, playing checkers with Bobby Fischer/ Comparing Zack Morris to Dustin Diamond/ Views been skewed, not the some alignment/ If I was Simon, ya’ll would’ve done kicked out/ Just cause you high, don’t mean you piffed out/

Cooler than Miles, Dizzy, Louis, and Blue Note/ Twitch when I spit like I suffered from two strokes/ Sid Vicious proved that you could never be too dope/ Young son of a bitch, try and you’ll lose hope/ Pressed button ups, ripped jeans, and sandals/ A vandal with handles that’ll doused your candles/ Conflicted, afflicted, and lyrically gifted/ Sift thru simp shit while I’m spittin' sick clips/ Dammit Bandit, they don’t understand it/ Artistically, I’m just not of this planet// 1st Hansel & Gretel, now onto sum new shit/ Tired of the confusing, rappers translucent/ The new Rick Rubin, hustle like Russell/ Try me for the tussle and get out muscled/ Stephen baby, smoother than C.L./ Rock like Pete and do me damn well/
Track Name: Pages of the Past
/I'm wary wary, quite contrary/ The hate overpowers, but I don't tarry/Write for the cage bird: Sing canary/ Induced revolution, but it ain't carry/Pfizer is kaiser, I'm too hyper/ So they flip the script,and make me tire/ /But my policy's expired, I'm still wired/ Antitrust quicksand, they still flip grams/ Brother kills brother through the storm of war/ Say it's for our God, it is Lord informed/ Nirvana in store, just perform the chore/ No mind to the pigs, we ignore the boar// Poor keep grounded, while the rich take off/ So I smile for a while that Bern Made Off/ Laugh with my dad, who was just laid off/ And speak of the ways that we sustain more/ Sweat soaked face from his days in the sun/ Shower, roll a joint, start cleanin' his gun/ Smiled when we hung, pride in bein' his son/ And talk now and then about when he was young/ Ridin' in his truck, mellowing speed/ Smells of sawdust and the bellowing weed/ Trip a lil' bit round whenever I'd leave/ Sabbath when he'd drive and I'd stare at the trees/ People put too much in politics/ Cups of faith poured into hollow shit/ Try wrap arms 'round a hologram/ Man, I'd rather be a king like Solomon/ Two party system, what happened to options?/ A hundred mailmans' and not one Stockton/ Tea aficionados, full of bravado/ And just as many skeletons, man, what are you selling?/ Dawg, who are you telling?/ One big prison, directed by felons/ Tappin' on my veins, rap in the rain/ Debating on escaping, maybe grabbing the train/ Ride out west and then fuel a beginning/ And create mirages that I use in my lyrics/ Nurse a Marlboro and thumb through a classic/ Maybe Emerson, and father some bastards/ Get a 9 to 5 and then work 'till I die/ Or hoard some Vyvanse and live in my mind/ Record on the side, bartering time/ Or scrap all of that and just father some rhymes/
Track Name: Big Words (Prod. by C. Magik)
/Carolina Crocker, I come handy with chap-stick/ In case of my success, and you’re compelled to go ass kiss/ Lovelorn Records, on my pinky and brain tip/ The competition gassed up, but baby they ain’t shit/ I am not worried, and neither should you be/ I am Kool G Rap and his first piece of loose-leaf/ Heard the others rhymes, and they didn’t behoove me/ Big word, big word, this where you lose me/ Bastards, ain’t another crew in the dirty/ That deserves our distinction they just ain’t as worthy/ Holler, you heard me, flow riotous spit/ A Robert Blake Beretta with violent clip/ Mal-nourished but I flourish off the doubt they cast/ I have insatiable hunger, they ain’t amounting to scraps/ These a mountain of raps, I beg of you scale em/ I mean it’s insurmountable but who am I telling/ Big word, big word, try and keep up kids/ Hit hard, goofy name, Crocker and Butkis/ Smile but you know that I’m not to be fucked with/ If you spit dope, then when I do is pump bricks/ Bully on the beat, I’m coming for lunch pails/ And that cartoon money, that you write in your duck tales/ Bet I make magic, word to Christopher Sweeny/ And I get all in her mouth like a Mystikal beating?/ Ain’t I a stinker?/ Just fooling around, this is just how I tinker/ But I’ma stop now, lest you say that I’m rude/ Cause momma always told me never play with your food/ Indulge escapism, your entitled to that/ But reality is I haven’t a rival in rap/ So come now, your death knell, were you concede the defeat/ Big word, Big word, I mean Stephen’s a beast/
Track Name: Politics & Prejudice Pie (Prod. By Q-Tilla)
So what the hell's gonna happen when we all go burn out/ Ashes to ashes, won't you melt my urn down/ When I leave just keep the music and the memories/ My flesh is the lesser, all it did was hinder me/ Peace to those close who made a friend of me/ Who recognized there was never a pretend to be/ Sorry for the cynicism, that's just me/ Thanks for all the criticism, I let that be/ These verses & this city dwarf me/ But support me, bet that the pavement ain't ignore me/ Lended me a crutch, when I's struck with a limp/ Been a couple stops, they were abrupt and they bent/ Mentally, physically/ you never end up what you intend to be/ Resentfully some times, I sit and ponder the past/ Take a quick drag and then respond with a glass/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*] /What true passion will take/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*]/ The sacrifices you’ll make/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*]/ The best of you it’ll break/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*]/ And what’s left of you stays/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*]/ What confusion can do/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*]/ What illusion construes/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*]/ The many uses of you/

(You) [*Don’t Understand*]/ And what in the hell you are doing to you/

/Corruption, seduction, money, and scandal/ Prostituted morals for sum cash in a satchel/ Fear, infighting, and perception of value/ Of one-self, brings problems that are nothing about you/ Wanna jump the gun, but your scared if you stand out/ So you blend with the crowd of emotional handouts/ Now it’s a contest of who’s got it the hardest/ Instead of kind words, you play competitive martyrs/ All the while suits start molesting the market/ Economy dwindles, and you forget how it got there/ I take a breath, and I stop, stare/ …..How in the hell do you not care/ Congresswoman shot right out in the public/ And everybody acts like it’s sensitive subject/ There’s that amendment you covet/ Dearly beloved does it feel like your brain took a scrubbing/ Imagine the rich one percent creating diversion/ When between us and them, whose pockets are hurting/ Bailouts to keep huge corporations a rolling/ Uh, I think my capitalism is broken/

/If Obama is Muslim, umm….why would he hide it? /Cause when YOU think Muslim, you thinking Al-Qaeda/ Imagine being hated for the God that you pray to/ Then YOU turn around and ask yours to save you/ Hypocrisy is limitless/ I should I know, I make camp in the tenement/ So much time spent fingering treason/ When it’s a long walk on back to Eden/ Days like these, when I bask in the seasons/ Cause they change on time for a actual reason/Never point a hand or do they call me a heathen/ And give a damn less if I’m Crocker or Stephen/Yeah, I take comfort in that/ Never a crossroads or a juncture for that/ It’s the simplest pleasure, that’ll keep you in check/ One free from creditors or the rules of a debt/
Track Name: Too Close for Comfort (Prod. By Pico 45)
Started innocent, talk and what have you/ Friends for awhile, not a thought to grasp you/ I was doing me, you were doing you/ You were spoken for, they pursuing you/ I was on the sly, and we just conversed/ Tryin’ to clean up, tired of doing dirt/ We’d hit the clubs, maybe blow a few L’s/ Dinners, alcohol, sharin’ stories as well/ I’d give you a glimpse of my glorious hell/ You’d deck me out, ironed shirts with lapels/ Cologne, sweaters, sophisticated the tale/ Khakis, pea coats, looking flyer than hell/ Dating my mans, hell I met you thru dude/ Now, it’s bump n grind, on the floor, in the nude/ You’re not the one for me, nor I for you/ But the sex was too good for me to just be through/

/Two many drinks, too close for comfort/ But it feels so good to touch ya/

/Too many times I’ve tried to neglect/But it feels so good to touch ya/

Do they know, do they know/ See there’s another missed call/ Prolly found the wrapper, and he ain’t touched you at all/ Every time I speak to him, I think of your curves/ Doing a slow grind on me, going to work/ Paranoia keeps creeping and I think my boy sees it/ Every time that I greet I see him start swinging/Beating my face in and hearing him screaming/ Over and over, your name he keeps repeating/ Just one more time, and your man’ll catch us/ In his own house, being a bit too reckless/ Baby don’t tell me you love me, just indulge me/ With carnal knowledge, my appetite is bulging/ If he finds out, the consequences are endless/ Knowing neither one will ever forgive us/ Just one more time, and I swear that we’ll end this/ But for right now, let me drown in your senses/
Track Name: The Battle for Your Attention (Prod. By Prof. Logik)
Sum low fidelity heat courtesy of Logik/ Spartanburg to Southside, the Professor & Crocker/ The lesser will object, dwell on the contrast/ But that’ll dispelled with a hail of my bombast/ Hit em with bomb raps, the hydrogen ilk/ Kid think ‘fore you step, let your vitamins build/ Living in inception, wan stifle the real/ But these are real ills with sum frightening stills/ Truthfully, I’m eulogies ahead of you kid/ I’ve killed more dreams than the movies could build/Bars fulla dopamine like Peruvian fields/ You Johnny Depp blow, just a movie for real/ I let go of life in pursuit of my goal/ No job, no degree, just these dice that I roll/ Mother disappointed, Father disappointed/ Whole time with a rhyme, like you sure that is poignant/ Feelings disjointed, I’m off of my axis/ Building a name that you link up with bastard/ Hell, sometimes I ask if it’s tragic/ Then I snap back, relax, and go nurture my habit/ Stricken cataract, but I’m moving with passion/ Don’t know where I’m going, but you bet that I’m mashing/ In my 91 Honda everyday on the road/ Out hittin' up the crew and cultivating these flows/ Guest spots, shoots, press, shows, and the tapes/ And all with no budget, this is straight off the faith/ From respect and friendships, son can you say the same?/Getting mad shit accomplished based straight off your name?/

And fuck your lil crew, they’re a joke to us/ Piff, Smoke, Puff, you're but a toke to us/ Death took a vacay’ and eloped with us/ Then he handed me his hood and said hold it up/ Get toe-tagged and bagged, fucking with me/ Career struck matched and ashed, it’s nothing to me/ And sure I’ma afraid, of your spandex jeans/ Does your mom know you stay Tampax clean?/ Putting on a high heel sandal show/ Walking out with a gay-guy camel toe/ Feel this for for real like patch of Braille/ That your whole life sounds like a massive fail/ Either you can lie or comply with your mind/ But I’ma lay it out truth line after line/ Give a fuck for trends or the signs of the time/ Just understand bitch, Carolina is mine/
Track Name: The Pot & The Kettle (Prod. By Jack Bandit)
/Another night, another womb, another tomb/ Drink as I, fill another womb/ She replies I'm coming soon/ Then longs for me, as I leave the room/ Cycle is repeated, oh repetition/ Manic depressive mission, feeling defenseless/ Inward tension, numb incisions/ Swayed another from indecision/ And when I hold her, I get colder/ Shunning the angel, atop my shoulder/ She wants embrace, I want a taste/ Touching her face, it's a disgrace/ Without compassion, flees with action/ Lust is gnashing, I'm ecstatic/ She's my lover, I'm her bastard/ Weigh on her forever after/ First I build it, then I kill it/ The pirate of love, here to pillage/ Breathe the smoke, to ease my conscious/ Smother honest, broke the promise/ If ugly's ironic, then I'm Adonis/ And with her body, she'll pay homage/ Keeps returning, like I'm astonished/ But her love, I can't acknowledge/

/Frustration, sedation/ Caught up in the trap of this self-seperation/ Who are you to judge, you rolling blunts/ Poppin beans and in debt for fronts/ Arm in a sling pointing out my crutch/ Working up the gall to use the word enough/

/Oh depression, love depression/ Hug depression, stuff depression/ In these bottles, whether pills or liquor/ Pierce me, subdue me that much quicker/ See Em & Roth, and still you stall/ Where's the club shit, the fuck you on?/ I'm not Marshall, no synonym/ I'm just Crocker, he can have Eminem/ What about girl, and what about her/ You can't keep a broad, much less Spartanburg/ Seeking redemption thru your words/ Your so contrived, dumb, disturbed/ Teeter totters throughout my head/ Ask me again, why Matthew left/ Fifteen years and your brother steps/ So tired of that song, wanna push eject/
/Cheers to the child my lord had taken/ For the man I killed, flew away that April/ For my self-deprecation that enables/ For my free fallin' when he rocked the cradle/ For hearts I took and smash to pieces/ People I love decayin' and fiending/ Family fighting diseases/ Fibro, hepatitis, and H.I.V./ Face withered so much you can't I.D./ Lest I mention addiction, sickening friction/ Opiates, dopamine/ Barbiturates and Coca Beans/ Morphine patches, mid afternoon relapses/ Another forty, fallin' backwards/ Hit's the ground, pulse collapses/ All this shit is awfully taxing/
Track Name: Things I Should Not Say (Prod. By Jubbyfuk)
TThey ask me what I mean, what I know of the culture/ Staying picking my brain, carcass and vultures/ Alka Seltzered out, so tired of the aching/ Unless 'Ran come back, ya'll primed for the taking/ Ride of your life, I'ma beef till it's bacon/ So titillating, the thought be amazing/ Rappers so funny, try move me with looks/ Kid, killing themselves, they Rufio , and I'm Hook/ Stare and they look, wonder my motives/ Say on I'm on a incline, then why the erosion/ So hard to keep footing without a support beam/ Call my label owner but now he ignores me/ Album bout finished, but that's on the shelf now/ Chain-smoking heavy, two seconds from meltdown/ Child nearing birth, chance that I fathered it/ Pray that it's not, pray that it's preposterous/ Probably a cop-out, but had to acknowledge it/ Me and her mother cool but I ain't for a father look/ Prisoner of the cycle, ask mine bout fatherhood/ I"m too immature, can't do what a father should/ Got me thinking bout exes and scares that we shared/ Things that I said and then how they would tear/ Them all to pieces/ Too fucking selfish, for even my fetus/ Fuck it I'm leaving/ Here me say it now, but you're why that I'm breathing/ Self made martyr, can't stand how they treat you/ Can't let em do it, can't see em defeat you/ You never left me, goddammit I need you/ They lines nauseate, man it's sick what they feed you/ Just wanna stomp em out, grind em out with a cleat shoe/ They fish on the yard and baby I see food/ I scream Sparkle City, South Crack till my voice gone/ Ask em who the best, they act like the choice gone/ Who else spit bars like they live with Tourette's/ Shit I'll even take a breather and I'll give you a sec/..../ And that's what I thought kid/ If my competition cold, you bet that I'm frost bit/ See, my deoxy ribo nucleic acid/ Is of a born alone, stand alone, die alone bastard/ They rhyming poems tragic, elementary shit/ And I hope every bit of this offending you bitch/ You can pretend that you this, pretend that you that/ And of every bit of that'll never hide that your wack/ I raise the bar you couldn't reach with a step stool/ Two time stretcher, I'm the reason that death cool/ Automatic bars, man you see how I wet fools/ They talk a lil shit and I'm spitting a cess pool/ Romancing the stone, I'd beg for your best jewel/ Hear it, laugh, and probably forget you/ Probably feel even dumber man, if ever I met you/ I give em gourmet bars, and yours barely is pet food/Whenever I spit it riles up a spectacle/ Whenever you spit, we beg for receptacles/ I'd rather than dope than broke, despondent soaked in hope/ Than told be told I just went gold, with no artistic scope/ Cats couldn't flip words with thesauruses and trampolines/ Pantomiming fucks acting as if they act is mean/ Walk up smiling, dapping me/ When if I wasn't for good judgment I'd grab clips and unload magazines/ Talking skills, a chance in hell that your surpassing me/ You'se is gluteus maximus; I mean your ass to me/ I'm varsity, you JV, not in a class as me/ You'se a travesty, tragedy, actual faggetry/ Another dumb bitch caught up in the pageantry/ Another dumb bitch to fall prey to my savagery/ Name another cat here that has my kind of tenacity/ Another asshole with my my pomposity/ To step up and put down real brass tax with me/ Villainous vocab, the definition of apogee/
Track Name: The Song You Asked Me To Write
/Let's take it from the top, a young girl with a mother/ Father and brother, as she tucked beneath the covers/ Momma hits the wind not a hint or explanation/ Barely out of a diapers, facing hesitation/ Keeps a brave face though Daddy don't speak much/ Wonders bout her mother and why she would leave us/ Daddy doesn't she need us/ I'm 4 years old, how couldn't she see us/ Momma comes back but to sign the papers/ Finalize the divorce and the visitation/ Daddy remarries and extended the family/ Was subdued by subtraction, now new to the adding/ Loves the replacement, but longs for the real one/ Struggles with her doubts but continues to build them/ Shielded by her smiles and the cloak the she clutches/ Disguised, says she fine, not needn't for nothing/

Shame when your shamed into changing your name/
Bar out of reach, rearranging some things/
Explaining this is life, not the same as a game/
So whose dreams do I reach for?/

Finally a teen, she's becoming a lady/ Let go of momma, ain't thought of her lately/ Head down at home, still seen as the baby/ Cuts now and then, thinks as her pain bleeds/ Tries to keep it cool, though shes forced fake dates/ In and their out, keeps em moving with great haste/ Hits a bowl or two, young, knows who she wants more/ Get cute, catch a boot, straight out the front door/ School ain't enough, prefer some alone time/ But she's kept busy, knows nothing of own time/ Caught with her friend, daddy gave her the first one/ But promise if she slipped, the next'd be the worst one/ Damned if she does, damned if she don't/ And damned is the hand that extends and points/ Tries her luck again, but this one's official/ He flips, screams at her, and starts waving a pistol/
Track Name: You're The Man
/Crocker kid, the name means everything/ Hard, dope, & white like the rock you peddling/ To imagine what it took to get to this point/ Would warp your mind, like your 18th joint/ In a row/ That's a cross between Purp and some high grade Hydro/ Best that you ride slow/ Watch as the time go/ Son...they told me from the jump/ This wouldn't be easy/ Tryna to raise a stump into a tree that's leafing/ 23, broke, and the clock is ticking/ Felt the pressure from the kettle, but I ain't bending/ I refuse to fold/ Bemuse the bold/ Amused with cold...hearted wannabees that lose their soul/ So when it all falls...where's the ruthless go?/...I'm half full, tryna make due with holes/ Word to 'Rane, it's a ruse/ Working on meekness so I can inherit/ A place next to Adam, old friend that I cherish/ To my cousin, sis, I can't even imagine/ To have both walk out and deprive you of family/ No stones, no hate, love you and your father/ Just imagine being young when you look at your daughter/ Please/ To Ethan & Will: You look just like me/ Love you unconditional with all inside me/ Even though me & your mother do not get along/ Not a damn thing'll break our brotherly bond/ And as you mature, beware of the trappings/ Learn your surroundings, be cool with adapting/ Everyone won't be as accepting as me/ Learn before you speak, study lessons, and read/ Watch the company you keep, women you date/ Keep an open mind and pay none to the hate/ If you decide on a god, then do it for you/ It's your life, nobody lives it, but you/ I don't claim a religion, but I know the lord/ I know bein' honest and what it affords/ Brash but I'm humble, but that's for my circle/ Mouth of the hare with the mind of the turtle/ This is for The Gunmen, Logik, Focus, & Theory/ Kronkite, Mason, the closest that's near me/ For Mikey, Scott, Wood, Biggs, do you hear me?/ For Caleb, Bandit, JubbyFUK, & J.T./ For James, Torrey, Sax, & State B/ For Sharpe, Dirty D, Mike, & Lindsay/ Especially Hill, just know that ya'll saved me/ And to hell with the rest, we some Bastards baby/ I said "To hell with the rest, we some Bastards baby/