Psychedelic Swamp

Underground hip hop, jazz, modern rap, 808’s, heavy bass, heavy bass distortion, super bass, mega bass, glitch hop, vaporwave, chiptune rap

V4.5

She stuffed the cigarillo fat like a hydrogen blimp, with uncommon skunk bark. 
I’m puffin’ on green that came from a shaman that talks to his shadow in junkyards.
I’m dipped in a bucket of dab oil & moon rocks, trippin’ like ten legged crawfish. 
She bouncin’ to this shit, fully equipped with 
stickers of The Boondocks & quotes from The Office. (Dead serious)
I’m slappin’ the bassline with lobster claws,
while she deep-throat a bottle of Pepsi.
Got barbecue stains on my tank top,
reekin’ like car seats from Phoenix to Tallahassee.
My hustle got holes in the ozone. My weed?
It got dimensions that float like an angel. (Straight up)
I’m slicin’ the mental like pickled pig knuckles,
thrown straight on your picnic table. (No napkins.)
I pulled up in backwood flannel,
with hash in a satchel that smell like burnt brisket.
She doin’ exquisite backflips on couches,
her ankles locked up like a haunted house misfit.
I roll up a towel snake, stuff it with hydro,
bless it with peppermint extract (real shit).
She moanin’ in tones that ain’t human,
rollin’ her eyes like a contactless head crack.
My whip smell like twelve generations
of cheating uncles & seafood gumbo.
I pour up the lean in a blender with horchata, pollen, and crumbles of mumbo. (Don’t ask me why)
She suckin’ my soul out my toes,
in a Motel 6 tub filled with fire ant lotion.
I’m dappin’ up death in a truck stop diner,
chewin’ on red beans and rice emotions (salted).
I’m boilin’ my trauma in Dutch ovens,
laced with possum skulls & sage bundles.
She cacklin’ hard in a sundress that shine,
when the moon hit her stretch marks & knuckles.
Got resin that look like a sasquatch cough,
in a pickle jar sealed with a shoelace,
and I spit like a time-travelin’ cuisine chef,
winnin’ a cookoff against ten toothless roommates.
My flow got that old Bayou Brothel high,
off insecticide fumes from a hot shed.
I’m slidin’ through rehabs of junkies & strippers
who memorize ghostlines from potheads.
She laced up her boots with feathers from a goose,
then backed it up slow on a bread crate.
My meat in her mouth while she hummin’ Forever My Lady,
through barbecue ribplates. (Elbow-deep)
We lappin’ up syrup like basset hounds,
dreamin’ of jello shot bathtubs & ghost hunts.
I’m postin’ on porches with witches who talk,
like they mixin’ up spells in a cold blunt.
She flippin’ her wig in a kiddie pool,
full of Kool-Aid and Vicodin milkshakes.
I’m rollin’ with gypsies who tattooed my verses
in Sanskrit across their neck veins. (Bless ‘em)
I’m built like a truck bed coffin,
filled with expired prescriptions & deer jerky.
I speak in a dialect no one can follow
unless they been struck by a forklift full of WorkKeys.
She squirtin’ like mangoes in hurricanes,
jigglin’ thick like she got tree trunk ankles.
We fuckin’ on pool tables tilted with roaches,
throwin’ dice next to Dunkin napkins & bagels.
I’m higher than flip phones taped to a ceiling fan,
spinnin’ in slow-motion bar fights (true story).
She snortin’ her demons through old Bible pages,
and I’m blinkin’ the brights like a car-light.
I’m spittin’ like hogs in a poker den,
loaded with hot sauce and hash raffle voodoo.
Got legends in Memphis who say I’m a menace,
with sentences that slap like a shoe do.
I’m twistin’ up reefer, deeper than pits
between watermelon tits for my ex-thoughts.
My mental got stories from roadside psychics
who charge in fried chicken & sweat socks.
She talk with her teeth like a freak on a leash,
then bounce like a storm on a backroad.
We chillin’ like villains in a spaceship
with reptilian aliens tryna tap phones.
Pulled up in a bucket of ribs,
blunt in the lips, and a woman named Cinnamon twerkin’.
Came out the van with a mic in my hand,
band playin’ on point & perfect. (No soundcheck)
I’m hittin’ guitar licks like Slash wearin’ a top hat,
spittin’ these hot raps like Carolina heat.
She poppin’ like pickles with glue on her nipples,
dancin’ to my songs in her grandmother’s seat (swear to God).
I’m speakin’ in triple-stack wordplay,
spiralin’ every Thursday till I can’t retain what’s in my brain in the worst way.
My bong stem got resin so thick,
it could fossilize woolly mammoths in a three wise men church play.
She suck like a leech, like a creature in heat,
with a vape full of Baphomet’s chapstick.
We fuck in a truck that’s on cinderblocks,
rollin’ through swamps on a flatbed of micro-dot acid.
My lingo’s a jigsaw, undercooked in a dish raw made of crushed thyme, paprika, red wine, and switches.
She speakin’ in tongues through a Ouija board whisper,
her back arched like testimony bitches.
I’m pourin’ my thoughts in a crockpot stew,
with a wrench and a frog leg revolver.
She moan like a goat with spliff cherry in her throat,
chased with a fifth of that bootleg’d dissolver.

4763/7500

She stuffed the cigarillo fat like a hydrogen blimp, with uncommon skunk bark. I’m puffin’ on green that came from a shaman that talks to his shadow in junkyards. I’m dipped in a bucket of dab oil & moon rocks, trippin’ like ten legged crawfish. She bouncin’ to this shit, fully equipped with stickers of The Boondocks & quotes from The Office. (Dead serious) I’m slappin’ the bassline with lobster claws, while she deep-throat a bottle of Pepsi. Got barbecue stains on my tank top, reekin’ like car seats from Phoenix to Tallahassee. My hustle got holes in the ozone. My weed? It got dimensions that float like an angel. (Straight up) I’m slicin’ the mental like pickled pig knuckles, thrown straight on your picnic table. (No napkins.) I pulled up in backwood flannel, with hash in a satchel that smell like burnt brisket. She doin’ exquisite backflips on couches, her ankles locked up like a haunted house misfit. I roll up a towel snake, stuff it with hydro, bless it with peppermint extract (real shit). She moanin’ in tones that ain’t human, rollin’ her eyes like a contactless head crack. My whip smell like twelve generations of cheating uncles & seafood gumbo. I pour up the lean in a blender with horchata, pollen, and crumbles of mumbo. (Don’t ask me why) She suckin’ my soul out my toes, in a Motel 6 tub filled with fire ant lotion. I’m dappin’ up death in a truck stop diner, chewin’ on red beans and rice emotions (salted). I’m boilin’ my trauma in Dutch ovens, laced with possum skulls & sage bundles. She cacklin’ hard in a sundress that shine, when the moon hit her stretch marks & knuckles. Got resin that look like a sasquatch cough, in a pickle jar sealed with a shoelace, and I spit like a time-travelin’ cuisine chef, winnin’ a cookoff against ten toothless roommates. My flow got that old Bayou Brothel high, off insecticide fumes from a hot shed. I’m slidin’ through rehabs of junkies & strippers who memorize ghostlines from potheads. She laced up her boots with feathers from a goose, then backed it up slow on a bread crate. My meat in her mouth while she hummin’ Forever My Lady, through barbecue ribplates. (Elbow-deep) We lappin’ up syrup like basset hounds, dreamin’ of jello shot bathtubs & ghost hunts. I’m postin’ on porches with witches who talk, like they mixin’ up spells in a cold blunt. She flippin’ her wig in a kiddie pool, full of Kool-Aid and Vicodin milkshakes. I’m rollin’ with gypsies who tattooed my verses in Sanskrit across their neck veins. (Bless ‘em) I’m built like a truck bed coffin, filled with expired prescriptions & deer jerky. I speak in a dialect no one can follow unless they been struck by a forklift full of WorkKeys. She squirtin’ like mangoes in hurricanes, jigglin’ thick like she got tree trunk ankles. We fuckin’ on pool tables tilted with roaches, throwin’ dice next to Dunkin napkins & bagels. I’m higher than flip phones taped to a ceiling fan, spinnin’ in slow-motion bar fights (true story). She snortin’ her demons through old Bible pages, and I’m blinkin’ the brights like a car-light. I’m spittin’ like hogs in a poker den, loaded with hot sauce and hash raffle voodoo. Got legends in Memphis who say I’m a menace, with sentences that slap like a shoe do. I’m twistin’ up reefer, deeper than pits between watermelon tits for my ex-thoughts. My mental got stories from roadside psychics who charge in fried chicken & sweat socks. She talk with her teeth like a freak on a leash, then bounce like a storm on a backroad. We chillin’ like villains in a spaceship with reptilian aliens tryna tap phones. Pulled up in a bucket of ribs, blunt in the lips, and a woman named Cinnamon twerkin’. Came out the van with a mic in my hand, band playin’ on point & perfect. (No soundcheck) I’m hittin’ guitar licks like Slash wearin’ a top hat, spittin’ these hot raps like Carolina heat. She poppin’ like pickles with glue on her nipples, dancin’ to my songs in her grandmother’s seat (swear to God). I’m speakin’ in triple-stack wordplay, spiralin’ every Thursday till I can’t retain what’s in my brain in the worst way. My bong stem got resin so thick, it could fossilize woolly mammoths in a three wise men church play. She suck like a leech, like a creature in heat, with a vape full of Baphomet’s chapstick. We fuck in a truck that’s on cinderblocks, rollin’ through swamps on a flatbed of micro-dot acid. My lingo’s a jigsaw, undercooked in a dish raw made of crushed thyme, paprika, red wine, and switches. She speakin’ in tongues through a Ouija board whisper, her back arched like testimony bitches. I’m pourin’ my thoughts in a crockpot stew, with a wrench and a frog leg revolver. She moan like a goat with spliff cherry in her throat, chased with a fifth of that bootleg’d dissolver.

0/500