from by mc∆t

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There are ghosts in my head,
From all the people dead to me
I’ve probably asked them please,
To stop bothering me, endlessly

But I can’t complain,
This quiet pain, isn’t their fault
Just a silly little game my brain
Likes to play,
My thoughts decay,
And display, a resume,
Of the mistakes I’ve made

Fuck this shit,
I’m tired of it,
I’ll grab my bags, out lickety split,
But as luck would have it,
My baggage won’t fit,
Because its MYSELF I’m trying to quit on

I can’t believe I haven’t found a way yet to cope,
That absolutely properly satisfies all of my ghosts,

I’m telling you
I don’t know what to do,
Hopefully by volume two,
I’ll have chewed through,
What I’ve bitten into,
I’ll get a clue, I’ve been askew,
And misconstrued,
Subdued, and imbued with
Emptiness, I can conclude:

I’ve got bad voodoo, motherfucker
Mc delta T = Q

Shoo ghost, don’t bother me,
They’ve been haunting and taunting,
So just can’t you see,
I’m trying to cope with this ghosts,
But I ain’t Bill Murray
Or maybe I am,
Because everyday’s the same,
Oscillate between pleasure and pain,
Learning my sickness is just a game,
Like groundhog’s day, I pay
Attention and sway my way through the dismay
My life portrays, but I can’t contain these thoughts So I say,
through my music I cope this way,
As I hope to convey,
My feelings I display,
Once bottled up, and opaque
now transparent and x-ray,
So with no delay:

I present to you,
the unfiltered and bitter
Withered bewilderer,
in my mind: A carnival for the unkind
I decline to confine,
My rhymes to a certain line,
Fuck that censored bullshit,
I’ll resign before you bind
Me to a certain design,
One that’s refined,
Streamlined and outlined,
I reject that fucking style,
These words have to be MINE
To cope with these ghosts
I feel I’m inclined to define:

Ghost (noun):
One: once alive, but now erased
Two: a mere shadow or trace
Three: A remote possibility I chase

What’s in store
for you, If I score,
and leave sores
I’m a whore out the door

I feel alive
when I feed on you and shrive
A parasite that thrives

I get my fix,
Emotional politics
My fucking bag of tricks

Hell and heaven,
Believe in neither,
So I’m spitting venom and guessing

You can relate,
We’re all dark inside,
Love’s harder than hate

I pine to dine on the rind of your peeled back mind,
After I entwine around your decline

I’ll just pretend
Which goes against,
All I’ve said,
But it’s the end,
And I’d recommend
Dont fucking bend
Backward or forward for any ya friends,
Or lovers and enemies, just try to ascend,
Past your ghosts, dont let them choke
All your words right out of your throat
If we can find a way to cope,
I fucking hope it doesn’t soak
Blood into our coats
But for now I’ll keep afloat
With all these notes mingled with these words that I wrote


from Ghosts (Volume 1), released January 7, 2017



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mc∆t California

i make beats i guess

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