Mic Has a Pulse

Unhinged East Coast boom-bap with comic-book aggression and basement-funk swing, a head-nod tempo that stomps then moonwalks mid-bar, Vocals are wildly elastic—nasal taunts snap into whispers, sudden laughs cut the beat, cadences zigzag without warning, Drums hit dusty and impatient, snares popping like knuckles, kicks thick as subway doors; bassline rubbery, playful, slightly unhinged, Chopped soul stabs, cartoon FX, and vinyl coughs frame dense multisyllabic rhyme avalanches, internal ping-pong schemes, cadence switch-ups, and punchlines designed to entertain before they even land

Yeah…
My equipment need therapy
Let’s go

I rap like caffeine snorted by insomnia,
Bars twitch, pace manic, brain full of piranhas, bruh
I crack jokes mid-threat, slapstick with malice,
Punchlines do parkour off the edge of my palate
I treat the beat rude, spill drinks on the snare,
Then apologize later like it’s planned and fair
My flow shape-shift, mood swings in a sentence,
One bar Saturday cartoon, next bar federal sentence
I juggle vocab grenades, pin half-bent,
Crowd duck when the syllables crash where I meant
I’m here to entertain, not explain what I do,
If you blink on a bar, that’s a you problem, dude

I don’t rap calm, I rap like alarms goin’ off,
Smile on my face while the cadence pop off

This mic got a pulse, feel it jump in my grip,
Every word do damage when I open my lip
It don’t just record—it reacts when I spit,
Turn a bad mood loud, turn a joke to a hit
This mic got a pulse, yeah it thump when I talk,
I don’t walk on beats, I do donuts and park

I bend syllables sideways, chiropractor flow,
Crack spines in the sentence, then laugh and reload
I rhyme animated, eyes bugged, veins pop,
Sound like my thoughts tryna sprint out my top
I’ll flip cadence mid-word just to trip your brain,
Like “why he stop?”—that pause was the flame
I’m unpredictable, prank-call energy,
Setups so long they need parental therapy
I’m serious jokin’, I’m jokin’ but sharp,
Like a clown with a blade and a criminal art
If rhythm was prison, I’d dig out with sound,
Leave a hole in the bar and moonwalk out the ground

Crowd lean in every time that I switch,
They don’t know what’s next—neither do I, that’s the trick

Now the mic start arguin’, said “Chill, you wild,”
I said “Nah, keep up—this abuse is styled”
It said “You peak the levels every time you snap,”
I said “That’s called emotion, learn to handle that”
It buzz when I lie, hum when I’m raw,
Cut out when I fake—won’t amplify fraud
Said “You joke too much,” I said “That’s my blade,”
Comedy cut deeper than the threats I don’t say
Now we co-dependent, feedback romance,
If I lose my mind, it enhance the advance
Crowd think I’m rappin’—nah, we both perform,
Me and the mic in a toxic storm

When your tools got opinions,
You either quit…
Or evolve

Heartbeat still ringin’.
Song over.

2792/7500

Yeah… My equipment need therapy Let’s go I rap like caffeine snorted by insomnia, Bars twitch, pace manic, brain full of piranhas, bruh I crack jokes mid-threat, slapstick with malice, Punchlines do parkour off the edge of my palate I treat the beat rude, spill drinks on the snare, Then apologize later like it’s planned and fair My flow shape-shift, mood swings in a sentence, One bar Saturday cartoon, next bar federal sentence I juggle vocab grenades, pin half-bent, Crowd duck when the syllables crash where I meant I’m here to entertain, not explain what I do, If you blink on a bar, that’s a you problem, dude I don’t rap calm, I rap like alarms goin’ off, Smile on my face while the cadence pop off This mic got a pulse, feel it jump in my grip, Every word do damage when I open my lip It don’t just record—it reacts when I spit, Turn a bad mood loud, turn a joke to a hit This mic got a pulse, yeah it thump when I talk, I don’t walk on beats, I do donuts and park I bend syllables sideways, chiropractor flow, Crack spines in the sentence, then laugh and reload I rhyme animated, eyes bugged, veins pop, Sound like my thoughts tryna sprint out my top I’ll flip cadence mid-word just to trip your brain, Like “why he stop?”—that pause was the flame I’m unpredictable, prank-call energy, Setups so long they need parental therapy I’m serious jokin’, I’m jokin’ but sharp, Like a clown with a blade and a criminal art If rhythm was prison, I’d dig out with sound, Leave a hole in the bar and moonwalk out the ground Crowd lean in every time that I switch, They don’t know what’s next—neither do I, that’s the trick This mic got a pulse, feel it jump in my grip, Every word do damage when I open my lip It don’t just record—it reacts when I spit, Turn a bad mood loud, turn a joke to a hit This mic got a pulse, yeah it thump when I talk, I don’t walk on beats, I do donuts and park Now the mic start arguin’, said “Chill, you wild,” I said “Nah, keep up—this abuse is styled” It said “You peak the levels every time you snap,” I said “That’s called emotion, learn to handle that” It buzz when I lie, hum when I’m raw, Cut out when I fake—won’t amplify fraud Said “You joke too much,” I said “That’s my blade,” Comedy cut deeper than the threats I don’t say Now we co-dependent, feedback romance, If I lose my mind, it enhance the advance Crowd think I’m rappin’—nah, we both perform, Me and the mic in a toxic storm When your tools got opinions, You either quit… Or evolve This mic got a pulse, feel it jump in my grip, Every word do damage when I open my lip It don’t just record—it reacts when I spit, Turn a bad mood loud, turn a joke to a hit This mic got a pulse, yeah it thump when I talk, I don’t walk on beats, I do donuts and park Heartbeat still ringin’. Song over.

0/500