i will just do people’s bidding for lyrics from now on. first come first served.

Haunted
rEVOLVEr
“Abysmal”

Come a little bit closer.
So I can see what you taste like.
A pale face. A vision of suicide.
Dead ends and a St.Jude figurine.

Bury me in a shallow grave.
So the dogs can dig me out.
If I die tonight, well that suits me fine.
‘Caus I’d be better off covered in lye.

This one is abysmal.
This one is a oneway ticket down.
Some say there ain’t nothing to lose, but I lost that too.
So what am I gonna do?

I sold my soul for a reasonable stake.
The devil done paved the way.
And I’ll claim the prize ’til the day I go,
When all hell comes to carry me home.

A beckoning shape. A crow to lead me on.
Lower me down below.

This one is abysmal.
This one is a oneway ticket down.
Some say there ain’t nothing to lose, but I lost that too.
So what am I gonna do?

The Peripherol know the cold centre of hate,
It burns clean and kills the pain.
It’ll cut you open and spit in your eyes.

A foul spectacle to behold.

A beckoning shape. A crow to lead me on.
Lower me down the hatch and swallow me whole.

Here I go…

A crow to lead me on? what the hell is that about? what’s wrong with crows? they got a bad rap, man. crows are just birds. Ravens too.

MC Lars
Laptop EP
“Mr. Raven”

We got EAP in the house tonight, Edgar Allan Poe.
America’s favorite anti-transcendentalist.
We’re taking this back, way back, nineteenth century style.

Who’s that (who’s that) rapping?
Who’s that rapping at my chamber door?
Mr. (mister) Raven!
All up in my grill like, “Nevermore.”

Kick it! Once upon a midnight dreary,
while I kicked it weak and weary,
Dark and cold just like Lake Eerie,
Brand New sample, someone clear me.
While I nodded nearly napping,
suddenly there came a tapping.
Up like, “What?”, this thunder clapping
in my brain like graphic Halflings.
Staffing me, I put down Milton.
Cell phone mute like Paris Hilton.
Open window, halfway built-in.
Times a changing like Bob Dylan.
Twenty-pound bird black as could be,
cold feet cold eyes aimed straight at me.
Grim face, grim stare, death carnivore,
quothe that raven “Nevermore.”

Who’s that (who’s that) rapping?
Who’s that rapping at my chamber door?
Mr. (mister) Raven!
All up in my grill like, “Nevermore.”

I miss Lenore, my Annabel Lee,
taken by angels from me.
Alone with books (hey that’s me!),
harbinger of death visiting me.
I said, “Can I help you, evil prophet?
If you got a problem, look, I’ll solve it.”
He checked my hook, DJ revolved it,
perched on Pallas, chalice dropped it.
“Tell me sir, please, if you can.
Am I good or evil man?
What can I say, what can I do,
when will I be rid of you?”
“Nevermore,” quothe he at me,
hating on this fresh MC,
Satanic raven, Nietzche glee,
killing me softly like the Fugees.
Now I feel worse, my verse is terse,
joy inverse just like Fred Durst.
Call a nurse, disperse my thirst
put this process in reverse.
Wish I’d had some warning first,
MC Lars, ’88 hearse.
Now I’ll never be Slug or Murs,
under that black raven’s curse.
The raven’s eyes still have the seeming
of a demon that is dreaming,
Lamplight over him still streaming,
hear my screaming, hear me screaming!
My soul still floats there on that floor
and shall be lifted nevermore.
Afflicted calm, like Michael Moore,
canonized piece, US folklore.

Who’s that (who’s that) rapping?
Who’s that rapping at my chamber door?
Mr. (mister) Raven!
All up in my grill like, “Nevermore.”

Who’s house? Raven’s house!

All up in your grill, bitches.