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An Exaggerated Demonstration of Potentially Fabricated Events

by Marx

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1.
Pretentious and Pointless 01:04
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I'm an enigma, hardcore like Vinnie Stigma Confusing you like the Riddler, rooftop fiddler, Bette Midler I punish pervy priests, slice 'em up God, felony style Who tear families apart like Jeremy Kyle Compelling and wild, frowned upon like sellin' a child Gel and a smile is all they keep telling me now Emcees sound brainless, spitting bullshit to get famous I kidnap Samantha Janus just to fuck her in her anus Can I help you at all? You want anything in particular I'm divine like a minister in any time signature Kick it straight to the point, p-p-p-perpendicular You wanna go against me? Hush now don't be ridiculous I don't produce for popularity, this is pure passion The God ain't concerned with your futile fashions Only diamonds out my mouth, I don't spit wack shit And I smash you way worse than your favourite bad bitch
2.
My First Show 02:57
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Ayo I'm sat backstage, waiting to sound check Wearing the crown vexed, DJ ain't around yet My beats are old school, ya play 'em on a tape deck And I find the promoter to get my paycheck Way back on a eight track, stage dive, play that The crowd buggin', wonderin' 'yo, how does he say that?' The answer is sheer wisdom, talent and tenacity I used to make songs in my bedroom on Audacity Now I stack tracks in Pro Tools sessions With EQ and compression, for my progression They know about my flow and got a ticket to go Mosh pits in the crowd at my first show I make cold cuts like G and Polo I hit the stage in five, I see you in the front row They know about my flow and got a ticket to go Mosh pits in the crowd at my first show Follow me through a solo It's time for my set so act like you know This ain't no tough guy shit, that def fly shit That get high shit, yeah, that's my shit I check 'em like Lil Chris, have 'em screaming woo-hah! Bring my pseudonym to life and slaughter the Bourgeois I go international from East Hull to Shaolin My shows get shut down, due to overcrowding Got fans shouting, like a wolf howling The crowd bouncing, flows be astounding A&Rs scouting, other rappers cowering Make 'em throw the towel in over how I'm sounding When emcees try compete it only ends in defeat I'm smoother than CL when I rock like Pete They're so sweet, only rhyme for airplay I keep it thorough and stay Rugged, just like RA You embarrass your delf don't even try to save grace I lay waste and I rap-a-lot like Scarface I'm on some Redman shit 'cause tonight's the night My first show I've gotta rock the mic I show dun how a real emcee can flow But I probably shunta put that MD up my nose Fuck! The room's turning, stomach churning, I'm gurning Wanna spit flames but I just keep my words in Stage dive, move back, like Dewey Finn Jack Black, I'm wack, ayo fuck this fake Eminem Now I've got no hopes of a rap career I'll just change my moniker, and try another year Weak ass flow and they wish they didn't go Wanting a refund for my first show It's a shame that we never got to see the kid grow Sneak in next time son, save your dough Weak ass flow and they wish they didn't go Wanting a refund for my first show It's a shame that we never got to see the kid grow Who is he? No one knows, just another John Doe
3.
I Can't Rap 04:02
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Yo they say I can't rap so why are my rhymes jampacked? Their houses get ransacked just to tax their tampax Lace 'em with anthrax you better stand back You can get your man clapped with your precious land snatched Suckers act like Marx is inexperienced on the mic Nah son, I been spitting rhymes all of my life I spent the last four years in practice rooms and venues My rhyme book's the Bible the stage a holy temple I'm pulling levers to destroy half steppers Their soft as feathers so I pull their limbs off, like lepers Tougher than leather, and exceptionally clever Nine seven till forever, unstoppable endeavour I'm a lifer however, we never expire Marx'll never retire I resonate through the entire World and I don't require to pass throw a portal This solidified in wax dun, truly immortal If words are weapons, then my vocabulary's an arsenal Fundamental particle, rhyme display's remarkable And Q-Tip asked me if I could kick it I told him call me Predator, 'cause yo I get wicked No need to wreck emcees with excalibur weaponry Force feed them ecstasy to attack 'em with telepathy Chop their flesh in three, that's the motherfuckin' chef in me Disrespecting me, no recipe, rest in peace Marx makes amazing rhymes excellently I murder microphones marvellous and intellectually Systematically dismantle 'em with mathematics They're weak as a crack addict Barely breathing like asthmatics And that's tragic I make magic out of habit Unbelievably lavish God, and never ever static I destroy tracks on cassette, CD and vinyl bitch In a shop full of watches, you still don't know what time it is I'm a maverick, making magic, wreaking havoc, graphic, classic Blast it way past eleven, rhyme display's caligraphic Massive tabs of acid, magnetic, flow attractive Practice makes fantastic, spinning records round an axis Don't focus on skills it's only what you're wearing So labels would sign me if I can my hair and My Mother keeps telling me I should stop swearing For airplay, but Mum I ain't caring Eeyare fuck that! I just leave 'em to bug Continued custom comes back, it's something like a drug And when the radio don't play me and they show me no love I could give a flying fuck like the Mile High Club I been blessed to chin check with finesse Artistic anatomy, amalgamate and coalesce When they thought I would slip, I was put to the test And I still drop bombs like Funkmaster Flex Rhymes laced with fact not fiction I can't is your depiction but you have no jurisdiction This is no prediction, big as the crucifixion But there was no such infliction, God it's such a contradiction Man look, you clearly just ain't got the knowledge I be spreading so much, shit they call me a college And I will put it in terms that even you can understand You can't recognise real, you just ain't a rap fan Peace
4.
Chronophobic Prisoner (feat. Deezkid & Emma Fee) 02:57
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I don't intend for this to be a scathing attack But living in this city got me fading to black I might love Hull, but it's not the end destination 'Cause there's little opportunity, somewhat fickle population Grinding, they don't get me like a bad translation We're tryna get big, call it augmentation But I feel I'm losing value, like inflation And that's no good when your mind's set on world domination I got love for the people who support me to this day But I'm sick of minimum wage working in a takeaway Do one gig a month and receive no payment City of Culture? That's just a new fucking pavement Promoters try pay with exposure, indecent I need it locked down like Chiedu and Deezkid Confident for the future, I'm shitting my pants 'Cause I keep getting fucked over by student finance Deezkid: I'm not seeking attention, only redemption They used to act like I didn't need a mention Now I'm writing more lines than I was in detention I live life on the edges like my name was Benson I been stabbed in the back, game of fencing So I carry on moving, I'm assuming I'm senseless Why's every fucker these days pretentious? I boot 'em in their mouths till their needing dentures I'm sick of this, ignorance, diseased like syphillis Disfiguring my diligence, in fighting it's militant I'll kill a cunt, let me chill for a second I've got anger issues, what do you reckon? Progressing to be a better man, digressing from the smaller plans Passion is my motivation, need that money in my hands I'm living in the city with the grittiest of kids Who would rather sniff a baggy than try make it big
5.
Suicidal Sundays 04:06
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Aw mate, what happened last night? Nothing but a blur, events of a past life My head's fucking tanning and I feel like shite And to make matters worse I'm at work tonight Mike, alpha, romeo, x-ray Why do I get pissed when I'm at work the next day? Hungover to fuck, sickness and a chest ache Gouge out for the rest day would be the best way This 12 hour shift'll just make me suicidal Can't work on a Sunday, says so in the Bible I could kill for a biff and a cup of tea But I'm skint as can be, so I beg my Mother please Do us a borrow so I can get a fry up Reevaluate my life, convince myself to wise up Begging for a day off 'cause my graft'd just be sloppy Plus I'm dying for a bacon butty and a fat shotty Besides, I'm wobbling, I can barely stand Appearance worse than a tramp, Welly stamp on my hand I believe the French call it mal aux cheveux Consequences of poor decisions made the night before Ring Kieren and Cory to establish the story With all the details gory, guarantee they won't bore me As per, I made an embarrassment of myself Double vodka redbull, harassment of my health I shoulda gone to work and got my debt paid off If I carry on like this I'll probably get laid off Payday blackouts, every single penny gone My heads in bits, lips wrapped around a bong 'Cause I grafted Carol's daughter, like Steve Stoute First thought on my mind is get your weed out But I'm slow as fuck, take the piss, I get sick quick Whiteyed in the toilet and it's pure fucking liquid All on my shoes, pre-Monday blues When I see the crew, it feels like watching the news Gas about the night before, shit that I can't recall Memories restored, and of course I'm not appalled No surprise running round with my shirt off If I was suicidal then, pft, now I'm worse off Cringey texts don't wanna read, man I hate this You might get your face licked must think I'm a rapist The worst part is it's not even a shock It's a regular occurrence I make myself look a cock The only saving grace my mates all feel the pain It's torture every weekend but we all stay the same I think I'm the worst 'cause when the drink does its magic I become another person and he's pure fucking tragic Not one girl I'm not tryna shaft Everyone gets a turn, call me Grandmaster Graft Nah, Callum'll have to come to the rescue I just get on their nerves like phone calls from Res Q George has nutted someone, Paddy's got kicked out Wiggy's sparked up inside, Carrick's got his dick out Ben and Steeley are steamed, I'm nowhere to be seen On a one man mission to explore the whole scene I wake and bake in the morning to escape the horror That I'm skint, tragic and got work tomorrow

about

Debut EP from Hull/Manchester based emcee Marx

Press release:
"This EP is a good representation of myself as an artist - pure, raw and hard-hitting; but this is only the introduction. I've been sitting on these songs for so long, I'm just glad to finally get them out, but believe me when I say this is only the beginning."

credits

released April 4, 2017

Recorded, mixed and mastered by Piotr Korczynski
All tracks produced by Subrot
All tracks written by Martin Guymer, except 'Chronophobic Prisoner' written by Martin Guymer, James Danville and Emma Fee

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Marx Hull, UK

Marx is a UK Hip-Hop artist who has been releasing a steady stream of singles, EPs and mixtapes over the past few years. A true student of the culture, the Hull native has carved out a niche on the scene by successfully distilling his passion for Hip-Hop into his own blend of Northern Rap. ... more

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