Dead Recon official video directed by Sketch tha Cataclysm
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I see clouds approaching friends, my heats bound to go to bed,
I need now to speak loud, ‘cause these clowns are over fed,
Each round I hold the pen, beats down with no regret,
Loose leaf bound, I seek out, unique rounds to fold and bend,
Now I won’t pretend my teeth growl from swollen head
But keep chowing weak styles, it seems now I’m dope as heck,
And hell is colder when defeat bound from foes defense
My spell is intense it eats pounds of hopeless trends
And swaggers battered to don’t matter
And shattered with fatter blends
The sadness you chatter ends, it’s over friends,
Data gathered shows savages crashing, cameras flashing,
After I rhyme I’m climbing ladders, watch my soul ascend,
They say I’m over heads, I say use focused lens,
Listen close so you don’t miss a quote you won’t forget,
My flows explosion tends to grow to oceans ends,
Big enough to cover coast to coast it’s so immense,
Knowing no expense to sky walking Boba Fetts,
Fly, chalk it up to talking much smarts and loads of zest
As clouds cloak us over head and drops start their slow descent,
I must rank amongst the best alive, prized and known to bless,
Admire this, pi-o-lit, pirating nihilist fire scripts,
Piles and piles of violent dialect piled in files for miles
And tiring never, i sever styles to aisles
Of irisless sights and spit wired, inspire the squires
To levels of science, applying the styles I invent
I impressed everyone, that I have met
Honest no lying man, I am the sire, messiah of writers,
You find someone tighter, I’ll find them a diaper,
When I’m in the cipher I light it, ignite to fire,
Retire then I will quit, I am just tired and out of breath
But forcing the heat out my ole chest,
Course is the beat and my ascent is
Forged in my speech
Fortunately
Born to complete this feat
I must profess.
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2. |
Buck-A-Shuck (Vol. 1)
04:44
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3. |
Heckin’ Tuff (Vol. 1)
02:00
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Verse 2:
Drowning drowning
Swimming to solve the frowning,
Living on couches, dancing on corrugated houses,
Busking and bouncing, not loitering, browsing
The place to be is this pavement I’m pounding
Carousing as problem solving until I’m ousted
The roommate don’t like me, I call it jousting
Erick and Parish, I’m housin’ , dousing
Myself in cologne, account is overdrawn by a thousand. . .
. . . But you know. . . Who’s counting?
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5. |
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I Dug In Deep
for explanations of the demons
With a fo-cus on tweaks
attenuation of the screaming
They said need more sleep
For the creation of the dreams and
Healing pow-ers of rest and
Exhalation of the weeping
Need to de-stress
And press for foes of fallen seasons
Taking weight off my chest
Cause catching breaths can lead to pleaching
De-ni-al of death
Says that were searching for a meaning
For a hero in our flesh,
That brings succession after ceasing
I pondered posits,
went to college on my secrets,
Highs and lows, valleys, peaks, and what is buried there beneath them
And if I’m honest, that which is lodged within my being, leaves no room for caped crusaders,
Just the lessons in my speeches
That may never reach em,
Somewhat a helix, somewhat a sequence
Something to make the suffering sweetened
Oh give me something to give it a reason
The buffer ‘tween nothing and teaching must come to breach
uncover the deep, that i’m shoveling,
something to touch them Or teach ‘fore I’m done
and Give up and just jump in the deep end
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Who’s got that new bop with moves dropped confounding
And proves not one dudes got a groove half as rousing,
That chews slobs that knew not with tube socks astounding?
Me. That copped a brew pops and spewed conscious moon rocks
Due to a stew a tune that when dropped makes balloons pop,
Lopped, heads rolling from the stock when consumed hot
Shit. I’m in a mood. Got a chip I gotta lose
Gotta fix my fucking face I ain’t got shit I gotta prove
Stop, Ain’t gotta prove my level my mettle to pots
Calling the kettle, settle down too much Tupac,
Must be off the oowop, higher than them culottes,
Just do not, got the pussy flopping off the stugots
Bass, tenor, soprano my handles dismantle
Mandibles flapping,
Animal passion, vegetarian to cannibal
Caption reads: damnable, cash in, your flammable ass against what I’ve fashioned can never hold a candle to
I’m open like them sandal shoes, fly’s down, your man’s a coupe,
I’m convertible, concerned that you lack the crew to stand with you
Embarrassing, you lack the vitamins and caroten
Probably not the OCs, I’m my fucking dope, fiend
I push to fucking proceed, push growth and pro ugh
yo I’m the type of problem that you don’t need
Still think I’m the type please, repent and re-write, see you need chill fam.
You are not like me.
Mood
I am in a mood
They got me on my shit I got a chip I gotta lose
Spit like clenching fists and i wish to keep my cool but
I’m in a mood
But
I’m in a mood
I am in a mood
A Little too consumed
They got me on my shit I got a chip I gotta lose
Spit like clenching fists and i wish to keep my cool but
I’m in a mood
But
I’m in a mood
I am in a mood
A Little too consumed
They got me on my shit I got a chip I gotta lose
Spit like clenching fists and i wish to keep my cool but
I’m in a mood
But
I’m in a mood
I am in a mood
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7. |
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"I write poems in empty crossword blocks
that ride your minds treadmill and jog thoughts,
I used to talk in circles but now that i've seen squares
decided to push syllables against sides and work the angles,
I dangle on high wires that have defined liars
and perspire the breakbeats that I rhyme to,
the sun dries lakes just for me to run its surface
and in return I spill enough prose to fill its cavity,
inhale negativity/exhale tragedy,
perform sonnets and soliloquys dramatically,
magically create casualties with gramtically
incorrect phrases that stick without the static cling,
I could score your life with a blank canvas,
create a scene to turn your dreams into a sandwich,
chill on swings that ring of Pete Sampras,
in parks after dark or float on wings of salmon,
that swim oceans to arrive where they've spawned,
and realize all that they were is gone and that, l
ife isn't long, appreciate the cost,
and he who uses his time depreciates the loss,
i've searched my pockets for a muse,
opened my consciousness consumed by the moon,
created a symphony of whistles, never found a tune,
fell in love with the cacophony and rested in my tomb
of which, I've painted prior with my blood and gassed the liner,
so when I speak the lighter I could dwell inside my fire,
liquify my physical, burn throughout my choir,
detoxify my soul and let it rise up out the mire,
let my beats speak volumes,
let my words paint pictures,
let my emotions be the catalyst
that blows the roof off this sucker and destroys all the fixtures,
I want to be the dance that satisfies your speakers
and pleases the orishas of your fantasies knapsack,
look outside its material, exercise an aerial,
through outlandish prose and flows of abstracts
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8. |
Oct 7th (Vol. 2)
03:10
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Verse 2:
What it is. . . What it really was
My whole focus since thoughts became perfidious;
Insidious, examining gaps, seeking the pick me ups,
Sneaking sips of a pint whipping in city bus,
A lady spazzing, another passionate on their phone,
A Father dragging his kid asking to keep it close,
An addict captured in throes,
On my 15 minute drive but 2 hour commute on this to take me home,
leaves falling and tree passing like memories,
Cops harassing, reminding me to set me free
From my mistakes, and always seeming in jeopardy,
Shit risk taking and falling to what is tempting me,
Several transfers, so I’m on my toes, and keeping stock,
Of what I hold, and when it’s cold knowing to keep it hot
Pulling cord, people entering as I leave my spot,
A picture of life going on after I reach my stop.
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The 50x50's Connecticut
This is the home for the works of Sketch tha cataclysm & Deto 22 and their collaborators.
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