Fro Magnum Man – Phantom Of Hip Hopera

It’s been a minute since my last track. Mostly because my Pro Tools was busted. A lot of stress and aggravation built up during that time. Music has been one of my main outlets for years. Without it, I’m a miserable, depressed, sorry piece of shit. Anyway, I was so excited to make a new song, I really didn’t take that much time mixing it down. My impatient ass has yet again uploaded a rough mix of a song to the internet. Oh well, how good does audio quality have to be on the web anyway *shrugs*

Without further ado, here is my latest track…
“Phantom Of Hip Hopera”
Enjoy, please leave comments if you dig it.
Thanks.

LYRICS
I’m losing traction, slipping into this abyss
Lost in the mist, sanity hidden behind layers of abstraction
I’m laughing, maniacally so, Eying my foes
There’s a party in hell and they’re all dying to go
Scowl on my face as my anger starts to drown me
Put my middle finger in the air to everyone around me
Of course my performance endorsed by the force
That derives from the side that’s devoid of light source
To attack in strange ways is my method of choice
Throw my CD at your face; let’s say I’m throwing my voice.
The arsonist, set fire to the verses leaving them crispy
Im a miserable bastard, and I’m bringing you with me
Grab you by your lapel; drag you Down to hell, where I dwell
With the foul smell of the rhymes that you yell
Pounding on your ear drums with my sample rate converted
Delivering my sermons with my crucifix inverted.
　
The phantom of hip hopera has risen at last
To take back this hip hop music wearing half of a mask
To lay the smack down on these cats steady ruining rap
The phantom of Hip Hopera has risen at last
　
　
　
Persistant individual stay vicious with this lyrical ritual
Spit specifically for me, because it’s medicinal
Despite your best intetions, to dumb down my senses
My pen renders clever inventions whenever it bleeds out a sentence
I’m ogreish, chewing on bones like dobermans
Your go go dancer, up in da club tracks, I’m over it.
Surrender the mic, or catch a knife up in your windpipe
Raise hell with pins in my head controlling centibites
Persuing these rappers, manouvers move with fluency
I’ll do you in presumably for exercising truancy
From true school, a true fool, who’s weakening the gene pool
You wake up in the AM with your boxers filled with dream drool
You’re the definition of a pest, giving me stress
Tresspassing on my music take your record, prepare for death
I’m coming for you and your ass whole fans too
And any venue stupid enough to employ you.
　
Never made a dollar off this shit, but I don’t give a fuck
They say its part location, part grind, part skill, and part luck
They say when one door closes, another one opens
I’d rather continue kicking the one that’s closed until it’s broken
You piddly little emcees get twisted in my wizardry
Split syllables with symmetry spit lyrical artillery
I’m afflicted with a mission to bless written compositions
This music’s therapuedic, why the fuck else would I do it?
Alot of people may not like this track, I’m fine with that
My forked tongue sticks out seeking prey like diamondbacks
In my auditory laboratory, I tell my stories, with all the gory details
My CD retails
For absolutely nothing, except maybe a tip
Then I’ll slip out of my soul as I spin around the pole
It’s my passion, to give out rations, of my raps
The Phantom of hip hopera has risen at last

Leave a Reply

Click here to cancel reply.

Name (required)

E-mail (required)

URI

Your Comment

CAPTCHA Code *