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The Humberside Headhunter

by Marx

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1.
Light a joint with the candlewick So dope, so scandalous So broke, yo who you dancing with? No hope, just go and handle shit We would have killed you for the stairs No one gave a fuck but now it seems nobody cares I miss the days of he who dares The sentiment as effective as your thoughts and prayers Speak truth, I am Groot, constant new recruits But can they lay it down in the booth? I'm impatiently waiting for my student loan to come through Part man, part drum loop I put the work in, my energy another person Uncut raw, like before, but a different version I'm still learning, rewind the tape, shift the burden Sacred verses, my dart pierce and split the surface You A&Rs want the next thing I'm riding round in a X-wing Sorry I wasn't what you expected We're still clamoring to make the best out of Brexit I took the train, I was getting up In my day, the way we would train was by getting fucked Making major moves, but still getting stuck All them old fake fools think I'm sweating, fuck Come to think of it I might be Do the right thing, no Spike Lee I write these with a fresh slice of white meat And I don't rap on them fucking type beats Forget your rhymes at the best of times No substance, can't stand the test of time Your puny punchlines can't attempt to step to mine Get me two cokes, with extra limes I love seeing people succeed I hate formula hoppers, that sucks chief You a little kid, go play with Chucky Oh you're on the scene? Don't give a fuck, beef? Nah, I could do without a target Especially not a fool I can't even trade bars with I spit real rap, I preach real talk This ain't a diss track but yo, fuck a Lil Fog
2.
A noble spirit embiggens the smallest man So just keep your head high then all is grand Obsessed with the God, you could call him Stan Timeshare shit, run appalling scams You want me to feel sorry? Nah, I got no pity You can't get bookings in your own city Clamoring for the plus one, wanting to go with me Lose track of gigs, oh mate, I'm so busy Tour so much it's become second nature Keep your guarantee, give a fuck about paper I'm here to demonstrate there's nobody greater Spotify me, tan through all your data The fake make stacks, which I'm appalled at I got more fucking talent swimming in my ballsack Phone off the hook, can't get a call back Check the stats, 'cause what I'm spitting is all facts This is poetry, read it in your dusty books If you can't keep up then you must be shook My style's more dirty than a crusty hook East Hull, Crown Heights, Marx, Ruste Juxx This is poetry, read it in your dusty books If you can't keep up then you must be shook My style's more dirty than a crusty hook East Hull, Crown Heights, Marx, Ruste Juxx This is poetry in motion This is devotion, causing all the commotion These are the skills that pays the bills monthly Now I can kick my feet up and live comfortably Never will I fold in the face of frauds Make the weak rise up and embrace the Gods I wake up in the morning and piss greatness Prove it to the world whenever I demonstrate this Create this ill type of sound New fire freestyle or I write down The trendsetter better than y'all Vic use a big pen or Baretta to brawl Sacred scriptures I got for sale Mama told me to knock you out, rock your bells Quick to smack the spark out your face Chop your dome off, then I chalk the case, shit is dead This is poetry, read it in your dusty books If you can't keep up then you must be shook My style's more dirty than a crusty hook East Hull, Crown Heights, Marx, Ruste Juxx This is poetry, read it in your dusty books If you can't keep up then you must be shook My style's more dirty than a crusty hook East Hull, Crown Heights, Marx, Ruste Juxx This is poetry, read it in your dusty books If you can't keep up then you must be shook My style's more dirty than a crusty hook East Hull, Crown Heights, Marx, Ruste Juxx This is poetry, read it in your dusty books If you can't keep up then you must be shook My style's more dirty than a crusty hook East Hull, Crown Heights, Marx, Ruste Juxx
3.
Bad One 03:12
I'm off my little face in this squalid shithole place Pass the checkpoints in the race and go wash your dinnerplates Step into the ring, you look like a middleweight No time like the present to liberate and win the race The way your feet shuffled, you was tilting sideways The room's already moving, fucking up the vibe mate The devil on my shoulder's getting pretty irate And me and Milky Joe got a deal with Pieface So why wait? I'm making angels in the snow Thirty days of summer, feels strange a bit, I know We'll sell the footage on, might make a little dough And if that doesn't work, just fake it till it grows I trip and drop tabs before I hop on the train I'm sitting there spangled, I do not want the fame And then a little fuse goes pop in my brain Get yourself off at the next stop, he's deranged I know it's all in my head But it's got me thinking that I might be dead Sing me a sad song, 'cause all of the bag's gone Marx, you okay? You're not having a bad one? I know it's all in my head But it's got me thinking that I might be dead Sing me a sad song, 'cause all of the bag's gone Marx, you okay? You're not having a bad one? Buy me Bonestorm, or go to Hell I'm widely known, and I'm stoned as well I'm lashing out, crashing out in my holding cell My rap sheet so large, I'll obviously go to jail Look, spell out my name: M-A-R-X Made the kessel run and back in less than twelve parsecs The kettle drum and track is what I might bar next The ket hole's where I'm at, and we ain't gonna part yet Look I understand what I'm saying's absurd But when you're sat in the dark, not saying a word When you should be in the studio laying a verse And you don't believe in God but start to pray, I'm concerned Truman Show trauma, mate its all fake now Please make it stop, 'cause this shit is played out I run down halls and bang on walls for the way out But I can't hack it so I'll just blow my brains out I know it's all in my head But it's got me thinking that I might be dead Sing me a sad song, 'cause all of the bag's gone Marx, you okay? You're not having a bad one? I know it's all in my head But it's got me thinking that I might be dead Sing me a sad song, 'cause all of the bag's gone Marx, you okay? You're not having a bad one?
4.
I find it funny when me name isn't in the conversation It's okay, take your time mate I'm feeling patient Disc in the tray, play 'em like a PlayStation I don't make songs, me I just make statements Felt happy once, I couldn't handle it Ripped the metal outta Stark and sold it to the Mandarin Only kill beats, throw darts on ill sampling Elephant in the room, don't see me? Still trampling You shook, shaky from the beat by Parknsun No matter what set you claim, support bipartisan Leave you fucked up, Ned Flanders with the spritzer So Yorkshire, use tea as a mixer My work rate unmatched, top grafter Shoot first, pen like Han Solo's blaster Some people seek validation, I don't have to Fuck what you think, I'm my Mam's favourite rapper If I were you, I wouldn't do that If I were you, I would move back And now it's time to face facts We won the war, there's no payback If I were you, I wouldn't do that If I were you, I would move back And now it's time to face facts We won the war, there's no payback The spit kicker, the smoke the piff, sip liquor I make beats, so you see that I mean business So bare witness, I'm ill with the same sickness Still stuck up in the cup with the same stitches The plot thickens, it's like the time stops ticking When I display my gift which is God given I'm still spitting with the quill, tryna pen with it There's no gimmick with these bars, we just keep bringing I'm a God, you can keep swinging Against the odds I get it done while you stay bitching Par and Marx hit the target Leaving man spread eagle like a starfish Spitting venom, more poison than arsenic And with a flow so cold like the arctic So when we're done with your carcass We'll cut you up and roll you up in a carpet If I were you, I wouldn't do that If I were you, I would move back And now it's time to face facts We won the war, there's no payback If I were you, I wouldn't do that If I were you, I would move back And now it's time to face facts We won the war, there's no payback
5.
Predicting pinpoint accurate catastrophic events Decipher methods to make max profit from it Translate the transcript without copping a sweat Just leave him, he's happy rotting to death I'm just tryna figure out what's the meaning of life I think we can all agree from what we've seen that it's shite Before starting school, I could read, I could write And my artist's tools let me bleed through a mic Sloppy journalism and sloppier sex Don't create your own lane, just copy the next Run through your verse, without stopping for breath Prepare your next release, promote, drop and forget Singing my praises, winging for days it's Feeling amazing but I can't take it I love it when a plan comes together I'm buzzin' that the land runs forever Conspiracies manifest and maraud in my mind If you withstand the test you'll be applauded in time He never moved mountains but we'll force him to climb That kinda desperation, you're resorting to crime How many at your school became dealers? Cheaters? Stealers? I wish I could heal 'em You could say that I'm a dreamer I aren't waiting for a hand out, nah, I'm too eager But I haven't got a clue where we're headed All I know is that I'm empty and the tank takes unleaded If you think we're stopping then forget it I can leave you at the next stop but know you'll regret it Do you want it well done? Or do you want it done well? I speak with a silver tongue, Mayor Hans Sprungfeld My advice damn useful Cannot comprehend, got me feeling bamboozled And now the dust has settled, we can call it a day Did you have a nice time? Did you enjoy your stay? Did you dance on the edge of the four-letter blade? Leave your keys at the desk, get your wallet and pay Do you have any regrets? Would you do it all different? I'd procrastinate less, try to be more efficient I'd probably waste more, do less in addition Impossible mission, please stop this tradition I want my flowers, wanna smell 'em Don't leave it too late to show love, just tell 'em Too many leave this world holding grudges Bypass God, let yourself be the judges Until then, make the most of every day Break your back as a slave for the minimum wage Invoice my regret, I'm sending 'em paid If there's any debts left, take them to the grave
6.
Pursue a premature murder investigation The so-called crime sowed the seeds and swept the nation In actual fact, no one did the perpetration Immaculate tracks still stuck in rotation Various names identified as the suspects Painkillers in their piss upon inspection of the drug test One minute they're conscious, another they're thug next Them kinda violations vibrate and go unchecked And championed, this false fallacy preaching Take it back to the days where each one was teaching You could argue, that that was way before my time I'd argue we need some outlooks more like mine I'm bored of conversations about greatest rapper alive 'Cause if it ain't Ghostface Killah, it's Royce 5'9" I scrutinise lyrics, don't even like mine The Grandmaster smokes flash and sniffs on his white lines I did gigs at sixteen, and then I never stopped touring I never said I thought 2Pac was boring Honestly, it's disgusting, I find it appalling How that ever gained so much traction as a story Hip-hop did not breath its last breath in the nineties It was fed through my umbilical and lives on inside me Don't you dare, call yourself a hip-hop head If you promote trash and talk about how hip-hop's dead I'm blissfully ignorant to what goes on in the mainstream Too busy crafting classics while away in a daydream I must have missed the point in being concerned with vultures Who haven't got the foggiest about our culture These so-called mumblers can disregard the elements To me they aren't rappers so their stance is irrelevant I know hip-hop's alive and well If it died, you other crews wouldn't survive the smell Forget chatting on stories I’m bored of hero’s and whories I feel unable it’s painful to try to keep up with glories And trends, and all that type of bullshit that just bends and twists Rips or stops and sticks depending on the whim of some dicks I’m fucking sick mate to the point of projectile Food or massive shoes man to underline the effect I’ve had off you A skewed dude with a screw you attitude in a room Is enough to include the premise that you fight in a feud Enlightening broods to conclude it was you Who always does and do know or knew the latest fad man or the next best thing to come through Is massive bollocks man I’m telling ya, because if that’s where your pride lies Oh my my, good luck guy With your life, I mean Jesus Christ on a bike it’s shite Contrived and sly with all of what the clothes and money implies Calling dum dums with kick drums Mumble rappers barely talking income and bling son or whatever their fucking thing Guns, or dim sum, or big bums? I can’t hear it, it’s not ignorance, nah I actually can’t hear em I'm choosing not to listen so can’t christen me converted I wanna crafted sound now not somebody barely worded shallow and rarely heard and callow it’s tepid at best and narrow on the plain of inspiration and it’s harrowed It’s all style over substance in a abundance And if you think it’s not you’re wrong mate there’s no debate it’s too late I’m gone I can’t wait around to be convinced this sound is doing anything A steady ring of tinnitus I’d rather have than him and us Hacking at the culture when implorable’s become a bore Because we’ve seen a thousand like you all before Hide behind low confidence the consequence is this And condescending thoughts opinions and no common sense The hipster hopper popping up and talking bollocks Get a proper knocking on the noggin Like hip hop it ain’t ever stopping you little knobhead

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released May 25, 2018

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Marx Hull, UK

Your friendly neighbourhood baghead. @marx01482 on everything

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