Distant: Verse 1: I never thought I'd be the kinda guy to do this But truth is, I'm in over my head with this music. It's tragic how i got all of my eggs in one basket But tell me to rearrange them your askin to get your ass kicked. That's it. Wish I could go back like magic. Friends are disappearing like a rabbit in the hat trick. Feelin like I'm spongebob, without my homie Patrick. I’m bat shit insane opposite of fantastic. Unhappily lackin apathy. As my raps gain fast vast mass rapidly. Slackin on my sanity. Ignorin my family. The ones who love me are casualties of tragedy. That is how it has to be. I wish it was a fallacy. Pushing folks away always seems to be my strategy. All these people mad at me. Tunnel vision avidly. I hope gradually this eventually pays my salary. I’ll stack that cheese. Pre-Hook (x2): Ayo I’m gettin frickin sick of tryna fit in. You think that you’re the only other person with opinions. I’m never quitin on a mission in this business. This big risk, got me feelin ever so distant. Era’s Hook (x2): I finally found it in the space in between the notes Feeling trapped on a roller that would never coast Feeling lost on a path none have ever chose Now the melody can turn and away it goes. Verse 2: And it’s gettin harder and harder, I’m socially retarded, but my rhymes are gettin sharper. Yeah my bars are gettin smarter than graduate from Harvard. My vocabulary’s larger than a laboratory mouse herd But everything always comes at a cost. A wedding ring, a couple friends that I’ve gained then lost? I feel the pain and man it drains, I feel so exhausted, Can never look back cuz when I do I’m always nauseous. And it’s not something want . Rather one thing I need, it’s becoming taunt. I just wanna be heard, want people to know of my art. But it’s hard when you go and seclude yourself from the start. I love being by myself, but I hate feeling alone. That’s probably the only reason for these songs. I power down my phone. Get into the zone, And drift away until the day I’m sittin on a throne. (Pre-Hook) (Era’s Hook)

Lost Road: Hook: If you don’t know where you are going Then any road can take you there. Verse 1: Above Average rhymes are haphazardly disastrous and when I am touchin the microphone it is miraculous, in actuality I’m really that talented, The best writing skills in the game have been inhabited. When I was a kid, I never knew how to fit it, but then I found this rap thing to voice my opinions. From the beginnin, I knew I was different, You see that cliche rap ain’t my intentions. Not to mention the drugs and alcohol, Never thought I’d be straight edge, but I guess I am after all, Destined to fall, flat on my face or straight into a wall, But nah I rose above it all for a greater cause. Expectin nothin less, than a great applause. When I step in a room, rappers get out my way because. They got respect for a killer on the microphone, Do it every night, never fade away, styrofoam. (Hook x2) Verse 2: I was caught on a lost road. I thought I lost hope. But that’s the cost of a cause that is odd, bro. And so I pause on my iPod noddin off, Dreamin and schemin of how I’ll never stop growth. Well, that and nachos. My body’s pilot auto. Hope I’ll win the lotto, so I can chill in a grotto. And only work on this music I’ll do it fluid legato Stayin happy’s the motto, but lately I’m feelin hollow. That was before I heard this dope ass track, The music is my crack, abuse it like my school backpack. I’m cool that’s that. Don’t fool yourself with tools that’s wack. Choose class, no snap backs, just smooth ass slaps. (Hook) Verse 3: Ain’t a single clue about where I’m goin My mouth is a spout when I’m flowin. So I follow unknowingly Holding onto what’s gonna be rumbles kinda like thunder be Fun is undone in front of me. Under bundles of donalds beats. My flow mystique, makin people move they feet. Got the soul of James Brown with the heart of a geek. So to speak, I’m a nerd when it comes to rhymin words, So fools like 2Chainz make me wanna go berzerk. cuz Their simplicity got me pissed it’s a mystery how their hits makin history so I diss with no empathy Got the pen of a mental retard they got downs, Hard? more like clowns. I’m scared by they sounds. So I choose the big the bigger man, Make sure my songs of full of vigor and sicker until the bitter end. Then slap it on twitter and hope I get some fans, Goin viral like chip the rips alligator jam. It’s who I am, A blueprint of what I planned, It’s lucid, across the land. The music of who is grand. That’s ME! (Hook)

Uncharted: There’s this girl I know She say she likes the way I flow, But can’t recite a verse I wrote, Despite excited faux emotes. So why do I always invite her to my shows, when I know that she’d rather stay at home all alone? Ummm, I guess I blame it on my chromosomes. The kinda guy to lie around waitin on his mobile phone. And when I still don’t a text, I lay and moan and groan, Known that it’s time to throw the towel in and hold my own. I’m growin older and wiser with every song I write, Everytime I touch the mic I smile and I like my life. But at night, it’s quite the opposite and so I try to put my feelins into words and purge them so I never cry. Never say die, cuz a frickin Goonie. Ruthlessly proven to all groupies I’m a looney toonie. Cruelly judgin me like people think they Truly knew me. On the real I’m just another artist who is stupid Moody You don’t like how I spit, I’m too nice, and too white for this shit? Never light up a spliff? Or I’m not white enough, sly with my witts? An unintelligent loser who gets hyphy and lit? Man, I grew up on 90’s rap, and sega genisis. Hadoken yo fools out my life like ryu’s nemesis. The kinda guy who try’s to stray away from prejudice It’ll benefit your case if you know who you’re messin with. The kid who was obsessed with The Fresh Prince, Tony Hawk champion smashin his best friends. Attackin foes in super smash bro’s on the daily, I had a pokedex before I had a ukulele. I’m never gonna forget where I’m from, Northern California considered the bay to some. Not a poser just a nerd from Santa Rosa No exposure cuz I don’t smoke herb and live kosher. It’s a fact, that my raps won’t attract, all the masses, and so I’m askin you, can you blast this? I never slack with tracks, stack em up like acrobats. Pack a powerful punch for lunch and have smack for snack. My greatest problem is my self motivation I hate it. Sometimes I can’t even right a line of a statement. It’s outrageously crazy lately. I’m feelin crazy lazy. Playin games or with my lady, should be writtin verses daily. And I’m not. And it erks me. But every time I write a song it’s sweeter than Hersheys. They thirsty for these verses but I don’t get a curtsy, When these suckuhs try to cop my skills like they was Kirby ya heard me? Stop comparing me to other rappers cuz I’m white. I write different than atmosphere, and me and Slim don't sound alike. I swear if ONE more person calls me Vanilla Ice. I’m finna flip a bitch go to the kitchen, get the sharpest knife. Thanks to the internet everything has to have a genre. I guess it’s horror core if I say Imma stab ya momma. What if it’s ironic, smart, and it solves a problem? Then I guess it’s conscious, but I just call it awesome. So, go ahead and try to label me. I’m stayin super sayin til the day that I die and my rhymes savory. Ya’ll are stuck in the mainstream, away from me. I’m free to speak my mind, other rappers sign to slavery. I know I’ll only probably sell about a hundred copies Sellin out is not an option, not when that means gettin sloppy. So I’ll remain the awkward white rapper who’s fat and stocky. Not a hobby, embodied in every awesome word I’m jotting.

Fresh Mints: Verse 1: I heard that ya’ll like punchlines, Well did you hear the one about the rapper who don’t rhyme. Oh wait, that’s every rapper that’s on the radio, It’s crazy though, it seems like theses suckas are stuck on lazy mode. I don’t ever wanna hear hip-hop is dead, When you ain’t bumpin me, you bump chief keef instead. Me? Intelligent individual, treat my art as if it were the centerfold While everyone else is solely focused on the visuals, Fast cars, chains, hoes, and residuals. Imma be one to teach em all the principals. I’m the king of the syllables, you swimmin in the kiddy pool, Pitful rhymes is typical. Here we go, another rapper blowin up, Illuminati ain’t shit, give it up, I heard enough punk, Quit comin at with these stupid remarks, your logic’s kinda funny. See you belong in a crashed car you fuckin dummy... Hook: When the time comes the people gonna find me bury you inside the rhymes that I'm writing Bring the knowledge in the proof when you're fighting Taking only truth on my path to the mighty. Verse 2: Above Average is comin correct While Era’s beat steady thumpin they chest. the crowd as pump as it gets. bobbin their heads While this shits bumpin they get stressed freakin out thinking bout what's next. Yes, It's me more deadly than Bruce Lee I’m the white terry crews, Triple triple OG Homie. Come and see me on the streets. I beat the beat up call me chris brown, this shits re re. That retard flow so artful. If skill was alphabetical mine would be aardvark bro. I’m at the top of this list, rockin this shit. Not sayin it’s off the noggin, quit your commentin trick. We’re very aware that it’s writin it’s actually a rarity to see one of these verses that isn’t. But the thing about my raps is they happen to be business. Put a cap on all you yappin we the best, now I’m finished. (Hook) Verse 3: I’m the best at bustin’ raps on this planet Above Average plannin damage with mics he’s been handed. The camera is candid, you stepped into the mind of a insanity can't you see that I’m the rapper that’s clearly got the advantage B? I guess I got a bit vanity, But shit, lookin at your bitch I could’ve sworn she was a manatee. Can it be that this is cuz you wack and cannot stand to me. Or is just because the fatties seem to be your fantasy? I ain't here to judge I’m cool with that. But make my bitches booty clap before they get scooby snack. I bet it’s hard for you to get groupies in the back Of your “Tour Bus”, they ain’t fallin for yo hoopty act. Ugh, you better be bringing that heat if you're comin at me. your crumblin mumblin never on beat. Youre fumblin stumblin over your feet You're done get over it g Cold shouldered a piece of meat You wanna piece of me well so did you bitches ovaries

Saloon: Verse 1: Now once upon a time, not long ago, There was a man with a plan, and a heart of gold. He was a drifter, rode in slick, swifter than a whisper. Hip holstered heater, was a gift from his sister. He promised he’d return treasures and riches. And a federal prison wasn’t what he envisioned. But one decision would grip him a couple warrants and wishes. A collision with the law could end it all for his business. Lucky for him, he happened to be quick on the draw. The fastest gun in the west, yes, the best of them all. Droppin anyone that stood in his way straight to their knees. But a job went south that should’ve went down with ease. And so he, needed a safe house, a safe escape route. A place that he could stay and lay his head when things would break out. But where to go? He knew he had to know soon, Before shit really started to pop off, like a balloon. Hook: (x2) At the Saloon. Go grab round at the bar, play cards, after dark, start drinkin at noon, At the Saloon, We’ll chill and smoke a cigar, And throw darts, no marks, just a couple of goons, Verse 2: He rounded up his posse, told the cops “Don’t try and stop me!” Not too odd to cop a crop of guap but broadly not a copy. Now he got the sheriff awfully hot and thought that he’d be sorry, If he tried to stop him he’d make sure his shot would not be sloppy. All he needed was a single big robbery. Bring back the gold and the cash back to his property. And fightin poverty was a product of oddity. Probably win the lottery and distribute it properly. See, His only goal was get the money and run, It never was his intentions to go and bloody his gun, But the sheriff was a twisted old drunk, Good and evil seamlessly equal when people seem to perceive them as one. And so our passionate anti-hero protagonist, Grabbed the cash and dashed as fast as opposite of molasses quick. Right then and there was where the sheriff met his doom, Now it was time to relax, and kick back. (Hook x2)

Dream Sequence: Verse 1: It started as a dream from a zero self-esteem teen. The opposite of lean, when he stepped on the scene. Slept on it seemed, no respect for his team, Cleverly better than every MC in the ring. So the kid started rappin just for the hell of it, He was out of his element, dealing with hella pessimists. His rhymes were excellent. Executin perfectionist. But folks was negligent to the youngins intellegence. He was hella spent, never tryna get the cheddar, mozzarella settlement. To him, rockin a show was sex, and he was celibate. just a single opening gig to him heaven sent. Music was his medicine, somethin that settled him. Did it for the betterment of himself he’d never quit. Not the shit, all he wanted was to be relevant. Steady chasin his dream sequences til he’s celebrant That was it Verse 2: But then he woke up, Back to munchin cold cuts, Stank Ran to the bathroom, he had to throw up, Rank, Knownin he had no fame was a cold one. Lame Back to rappin all alone to no one. Blank, He was over that. Told his folks he’s growin old and drove the Chevy Nova, Roller coaster to the coast to boast his golden raps. Attract some labels with his hopes, dope fables, finna bulldoze haters, No coke nosed woven trash. It’s spoken fact. That if you wanna make it then there’s no holdin back, No strings attached no thinkin act. React to the crap that they threw at you. Independently producin music that you knew was true. So he flew the coop. drew a slough of stupid tunes, stupid I mean beautiful. Tunes, I mean musical. The juvenile was tryna prove that soon he would suitable inscrutable evidence lead to him wreckin usuals. He started gettin booked receivin different looks. Believin in himself-wealth he was livin good. In a different hood, the rapper was misunderstood. And soon he would be known by everybody, man he had em hooked. What I’m tryin to say is that you gotta put in work. Luck is a factor but rappers gotta make music first. Dapper slappers worse when crappy slackers don’t smash a verse. Never kickin back cuz music is a savage curse.