1. |
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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
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2. |
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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
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3. |
Bad One
03:12
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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?
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4. |
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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
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5. |
The Meaning of Life?
04:16
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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
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6. |
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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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Marx Hull, UK
Your friendly neighbourhood baghead. @marx01482 on everything
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