Kill the Editor!


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Making music is difficult, especially when you have a voice in your head that tells you that nothing you create is good enough. Jay Smooth (Ill Doctrine) calls that voice the "Little Hater; I call it "Satan's Editor." He's like J. Jonah Jameson—only more angry—and hates everything I make.

This little project is my act of defiance. This is me ignoring the bastard, and FINALLY putting out some new music. This is my effort to shake off whatever insecurities I have, and getting back into the groove of putting out content. I hope you guys enjoy.

This is only the beginning.



released June 7, 2012




CASTLE Greensboro, North Carolina

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Track Name: Back Down to Urf
take me to your leader!
no truce. i come in hostility.
the objective is to enslave emcees and kill beats.
the diet of the masses is rotten produce.
cultivated by niggas that lack experience.
couldn't hang even if they brought the noose.
couldn't catch up even with the right condiments.
my bombardments on tracks assert dominance
and make you forgettable like drake vs. common sense.
i'm the type to make a devil seek providence.
to the gallows with these commoners.
i guess they can hang.
their monikers should be "lil' brain."
Or "sound lame for lil' fame."
get mauled tuggin' the lion's mane.
that poncho won't help, yo.
you'll still get soaked steppin' my reign.
NOVA. movin' at light speed, can't slow us.
rap giant. renting space on my shoulders.

left, but i'm back down to earth, i'm...
def, but i don't think you heard, i...
chef, when i cook up a verse, i've...
landed, take me your leader!

i stopped trying to be "cool" a long time ago.
rather kick flows that's dope as a line of snow.
have you excuse yourself from company to powder your nose.
earbuds in tow. hands shaking trying to slide plug in your ipod.
'cause the flow strong as 22 inch python.
ninjas only hard when they turn that mike on.
your pad is not a canvas, that's just somethin' you write on.
your beats ain't live, it's something you got hype on.
tongue stay sharp, can't fuck with the knife work.
ciroc got 'em loose, but can't pen 'em a tight verse.
cats copy anything they catch in an advert.
star of the trek, i stay killin' these red shirts.
defy gravity. get it mad at me.
then watch it snitch on me to a physicist.
got punchlines but you niggas ain't lyricist.
tortured niggas enough, it's high time i finish this.
Track Name: Just Lemme Chill
suburban life leaves the muscles in your strong arm atrophied.
too much complacency and not enough stackin' cheese.
nigga tryin' to eat. i need cake, fuck the calories.
diet if you want, i'm workin' toward a fat salary.
"yo, word on the street, frank, is that you somethin' sweet."
cats talk beef, but they allergic red meat.
talk big dough like i'm unaware that talk is cheap.
chicks talk shit, but when i'm present, don't hear a peep.
huh. guess i forgot where i came from.
ran into an old homie, told me that i changed some.
had to. moms went to jail plowin' snow.
tryin' to get us out the hood, scared her son would be next.
when your moms risk her ass traffickin' them O's
just to make your life better, man, you gotta show respect.
but folk hate peace like the Bush administration.
that explains why these lame motherfuckers keep hatin'.
i mean really hatin'.
and not that bullshit you find on your twitter timeline.
trust me, there's a fine line.
hate is when a homie play friendly while constructin' plots.
need a cooler story, bro. your movie's never gettin' shot.
it's why i keep my circle smaller than a wedding band.
very few homies on the team, that's including fam.
and if you feelin' froggy, leap, nigga take a chance.
bust a move, stop talkin' with your rapper hands.
niggas love fuckin' with the devil till its time to dance.
make you disappear. i'm a magic nigga. bagger vance.

fancy myself a "hippie," but my reptillian brain lust violence
like everybody else's. the upperbrain is helpless.
self preservation is the first law of nature.
figured that's why folk always acting all selfish.
fuck 'em. i'm a get this dough and mind my binnis.
frank is in the game for love, but really could use the spinach.
fuck a day job, but i ain't bout the trappin' life.
and i ain't quite naive enough to think 'cause i be rappin' nice.
that folks are willing to give up their bread like diabetics.
though i keep hope alive, i know reality will dead it.
tried to do the college thing, but i really didn't feel it
like a size queen taking pipe less than 12 inches.
disillusioned by the lame niggas and fake bitches.
and suckers tryin' to test me like a pop quiz.
what is it about me that make 'em wanna bout me?
put me in a box, then they try to ten count me.
walk' to the percussion of my own drums, son, fuck your rhythm.
i see you homie, don't make me go dumb like ralph wiggum.
have you spillin' your guts like a dutch when you when split 'em.
these newports'll take my life long before you get to kill 'im.
Track Name: CastleRoll
Man, these AriZona teas are gonna give me diabetes.
Thinking 'bout death's got a brother feelin' skeevy.
The Reaper caught Hev in just 44 years.
If the body is a temple, mine looks a bit seedy.
Gotta stop eatin' emcees then.
'Cause this wack shit is cloggin' my arteries.
Stay gettin' in that ass, rap name should be “Sodomy.”
You must've had a lobotomy if you think you're hard as me.
In other words, my Kung Fu is unparalleled.
I shadowkick it, and send a microphone to hell.
Think of a way for that to generate wealth.
No clue like Blue gettin' hit by a bus.
Speakin' of. What happens to Steve in that scenario?
With no one to give him a clue, he'd probably kill himself.
Yo, where Steve went?
I'll be 80 years old.
Still huntin' drum breaks like XBOX Achievements.

G-Bang, North Carolina. I love you,
But the dreams conceived here are all stillborn.
It's hard to swallow in this jagged little pill form.
And the forecast is always shit storms, so I'll be...
Looking for more. I might be back though.
Tryin' to get up out of Ye's Rav4.
Mos said I need to obey the speed law.
Like, “swervin' in that fast lane ain't worth the crash, lord.”
But this second gear shit is getting boring, I'm...
Making noise, but these niggas still snoring.
Fuck it, I guess I'll be their worst nightmare.
My microphone can't handle a session without riot gear.
Tell them emcees to cut it out, dude, I'm rhyming here.
I hear these cats talking 'bout how they're raw.
But they got me feeling how the sample said before, like,
“looking for more.”
Track Name: O M G W T F B B Q !
u must realax. it's just the cold facts.
its really gonna suck so lil homie hol that
is it too heavy?
i heard its hard to carry
ur bound to get fucked cuz nobody keeps their cherry
whoa nelly calm the fuck down
gotta learn to walk before you learn to skip town
go & find buddha
herbs may soothe ya
& watch for the fish actin like barracudas
eyes pon moola
granny is a tutor
i know u want control but resist the urge to mute her
its deep
danny glovers voice in 'the shooter'
deeper than the entry of a ho bags cooter
(wassa cooter?)
i'll tell u when ur older
speakin of get some better names for your folders
jot down wisdom
bark it over riddim
kiss mary jane. hey tiger go get em

its gonna suck! (its gonna suck!)
its gonna suck! (its gonna suck!)
its gonna suck! so ya gotta brace yaself!

life gets stranger
hide if ya want but ya cant avoid danger
trouble will find ya
ya never leave the radar
life is a game might as well be a playa
fam pullin capers
lies about the maker
sneaky little deacon tryna take alla ya paper
theres no manual & no brochure
no tutorial & theres no tour
miserys a cannibal & it wants urs
u can deal widdit or cry till ya hoarse
heres what i would do
go inside the boof
fuck what they want just focus on the troof
dont believe nuffin if it gots no proof
& neva luv nobody if they dont luv u
let em know if its the wrong way when they rub u
& thats all i got the rest is up to u duke!
Track Name: I Gave That Bitch the Playa Voice
chillin like a villain
weed smoke got my head touchin' the ceilin
that ak-47 do be killin'
niggas tappin' out, too twisted
i'm still getting lifted
like the skin on joan rivers
face another L
Chill came through with bitches
and niggas straighten up
like a drill sargeant walked in
and frank is still coughin
let my eyes focus
he brought an asian bunny wit 'im
and her body's smokin'?
somebody get the stoker
tryin' to start a fire in this muhfucker
think quick, I pull out a marijuana sucker
maybe if I get her high enough
then I could touch her.
i'm thinkin like a pig
and matter fact I might cuff her
she is that bad. criminal
ay, what's your name?
tryna chill witchu
got a fat sack I wanna kill witchu
and maybe we can chat in the livin' room.
Shorty laugh like, “yo, that's your playa voice?
so, i'm guessing that you figured
that would make me moist?”
had to laugh at that.
i mean my game was genuine as a laugh track.
she told me past that.
apparently she wasn't like these other women
can I get a do-over?
let's take it from the beginning.
tryna spark a flame
the conversation is kindling
penny for your thoughts? no skimping.
it's all in the pimpin'.
Track Name: Kill the Political Cartoonist
i saw uncle sam playing god like morgan freeman.
staining lady liberty's gown with semen.
thought she had him wrapped around her fingers.
till he put her through the wringer.
and hung her out to dry with all the others.
ain't that a motherfucker?
speakin' of, he drillin' mother earth.
and won't stop until he makes her squirt that black gold.
where his heart used to be now resides a black hole.
justice wasn't a bitch to fuck wit.
but old sam took advantage of her blindfold.
diamond studded cowboy, no rhinestones.
while folks eat out the trash and can't find homes.
all i can think to do is sit and write poems.
what can you do?
sam's entourage is the boys in blue.
provide food for thought and he poison the stew.
there's a chosen few allowed to prosper it seems.
sam told me everybody can't make it.
said he wants change, but i'm paranoid he's faking.
i think he wants change, can tell how he's bankin'.
he really thinks i'm stupid.
always hollerin' broke, but i see him with that new shit.
fuck that, nigga, i know who you're crew with.
told my little sis if she was raped
that resulted in a seed, she would HAVE to cultivate.
with no support like a feminist at a bra burning.
can't let a child interfere with his yearly earnings.
if poverty struck it, the world'll still keep turning.

it's ill like that, but it's real like that.
talking out of line will get you killed like that.
whatchu sayin', bruh?

it's like a political cartoon, but way too real.
won't feed you much, but he'll give you steel,
and ship you out the battlefield and get you killed.
stupid. the way niggas love sam
make me sort of think he got a contract with cupid.
arrow to the brain, high time i remove it.
and go after the shooter.
sam and these other cats, scheming on your moola.
robin hood the poor, then sellin' em pipe dreams.
to get fly, you can feel the gust from his right wing.
his bullshit is like a form of art.
taught his boy he could let the gun spark.
then he shot trayvon. he was scared of the dark.
the jake said tray asked for it.
wouldn't add up if stephen hawking did the math for it.
didn't think they would go down that road but they floored it.
they talking 'bout 'better safe than sorry'.
and i hear we're supposedly post-racial.
man we can't even achieve post-hateful.

it's ill like that, but it's real like that.
and talking out of line will get you killed like that.
Track Name: 'Posed to Be
man, i'm supposed to be famous, hangin' out with Yeezy.
a life so sweet, it'd give me diabetes.
and i would make beats, and pass 'em off to Jeezy.
and have my sisters bug when they caught me on T.V.
get my mom a crib, force her to retire.
celebrity rumors. heard i'm fuckin' with Mya.
haters taking shots, only to misfire.
my crew most wanted, American al-Qaeda.
supposed to see the grammy's, surrounded by family.
shout out to my ex! that bitch can't stand me.
red carpet shorty, first name's Thandie.
Indiana Jonesin', I'm tryna raid her panties.
source of your envy. hangin' out with Tiffy.
making beats with Darkchild, rollin' up a spliffy.
Pharrell want a verse? i'll be there in a jiffy.
sippin' on scotch while the private jet lift me.

tryin' to live the crazy life.
tryin' to see the fame and them crazy lights.
that Fitty, that Diddy, that Jay-Z life.
'cause life's much better when it's crazy, right?

i ain't supposed to be broke, feelin' all down.
rollin' up reggie, can't find loud.
girlfriend left me, she didn't wanna drown.
scared of troubled water, so she skipped town.
cookin' up sounds, beastin' on tracks.
i learned that havin' talent doesn't translate to racks.
cats wants beats, but never got stacks.
it get me riled up. i must realax.
i ain't 'posed to be depressed. not giving an eff.
swag on zero. fuck how i dress.
friends talkin' slick. say it with your chest.
or don't say nothin', and move on to the next.
mom ain't 'posed to worry. tryin' not to struggle.
i'm starin' at a duffle. contemplatin' hustle.
where's Lady Luck? she supposed to cuff you.
and Life's supposed to chill, then eventually love you.