"UNDERGROUND" from The Isolator by Matt Caliginous

Yeah, man
Spookier than a shaman, ya dig…
Talk to the underworld real quick

Fuck all that other shit
Holla at ya guala, man
Caliginous…
Ya dig?
(“VERSEY”)
VRSY, you a mu'fuccin demon for this shit
Finna go crazy…

This for all my Hustlers and my Locstaz
Hol’ up, hol up,
GANG!

Keep it ice cold like the freezer, man
Fuck around freeze ya mans, ya dig?
Call me the Iceman, n****…
Better yet, call me, Caliginous, n****
Ya dig?

(Verse)
It’s That
Underground, Funky Town, Buck em down
Bunker down in a ditch
In the trenches, dead snitches, red bitches
You Kill a pet, smell the stench
A 100 Guns, 100 Rounds, Run around
Go spin the merry go round
100 Rounds, 100 Clips, Come equipped
Get you and ya money clipped
We runnin’ shit, Gunnin’ shit
Chitty Chitty Bangin’ with a 100…
Cunning as he stunning shit
Stone Cold, Ice Cold like a tundra, bitch
Pay 20-40K for the watch, robbers think it cost 200
If I hit the scene, n*****’ll go insane if they know a n**** got money, shhh
Slumdog billionaire heisman, stiff arm Rollie, don’t touch me
See them street paparazzi flash (on you)
If you got a lot of cash (don’t you)
Leave bodies froze in a pose
Live life Maserati fast (on em)
Foot ball in the field
Had to run plays, packs gotta pass (on and)
Skateboard with the strap (on me)
Run up me, and get clapped (homie)
Keep drugs in my backpack, holding
A jet pack full of the gas (on me)
In my black hoodie, selling packed goodies
Tryna put the money in my pocket
You taking off? We pull out the rocket
Blow ya face off if you try to rob shit
In a Face Off, Like I’m John Travolta
Burning for bread, why I keep the toaster
Thermal tuckin’, I don’t need a holster
Target prac’, turn him to a poster
Cardiac arrest him he slow up
Heart attack in his chest and it’s over
Keep a real vest and not one for show, son
You could get stretched, fuccin with them locstaz
Where the smoke blackens the street, strapped with the heat
Same color Nikes match on the feet
Keys to the city, latch to the suite
Dreams of plotting with a Mac on the seat
Ridin in da Chevy, or the Cadillac
Bumping Ar-Ab, smoking back to back
We don’t chit chat, n***** ratatat
Draw like ink, give a rat a tat

[Hook]
Some of y’all need to be giving that fuccin’ game to y’all lil n*****, man
Y’all n***** dancing with the devil in disguise
Waltzing around like y’all got y’all mu’fuccin’ heads cut off and shit, man…
I ain’t finna play with y’all, man
Welcome To The Underground, baby!
Ya dig?

[Verse 2]
Dark sky paradise
Bet it on ya life, shake a pair of dice, unnh
Deuces came to take ya life, savings and the ice, layaway for life, unnh
Make everybody pay the prices, for they fuckin’ life, struggle and the strife
Living life naughty, shit ain’t nothing nice
Marriage to the hustle, started selling rice
(Got me) feeling like a BG, n****
Shit just too real, UNNH!
In the field blocks, smoke dutty rocks
Rap hustle spitting krill, unnh
Guns hidden in the backyard, drugs & slugs on the front porch
Spark a fiend up wit one torch, please don’t fucc around and get killed
Really in the field, where the shit get real
Where you gotta fight like it’s Holyfield
Are you Tyson? Best be tight, son
Or goodnight son, n***** know the deal
If they flight run, they gon’ go & squeal
If they frightsome, they could go to drill
And they shoot it up like it’s a movie reel
Thunder in the night, at the speed of light
When the heat is right, that’s an evil sight
Like medieval plight, hunger for the thrill
Wolves in the night, hunting for a kill
Drooling for a bite, make em pay the bills
With the type of work that’ll need a scale
Pushers on the blocc, I done seen em sell
Pills and potions, poison and antidote
Powder perc ‘nanas from banana boats
You got Winklevoss coke? Keep the Armie Hammer
When the tables turn, I keep a party planner
DJ’s spin ya block party spinning tops
40 or the Glock, bullets hit em hot
Die with diarrhea, make em shit a spot
Hollows in the slot, headed for the top
Yelling fucc the opps, bail and duck the cops
Black on black crime, kettle and the pot
Straight into the fire from the frying pan
Put his ass out, like a fireman
Pressure making buttermilk n***** flip
Like pancakes under iron, man
To these fake hustlin’ ass rap n*****
You don’t trap n****, stop lying fam
Please stop lying fam, you don’t do that, my n****
Fucc!

(Hook)
Y’all n***** be slacking in y’all mackin’ when y’all lacking, and simpin’ in y’all pimpin’,
Fuck y’all talking’ bout
And you lying when y’all dying, man
Listen, man
But let me add perspective in this bitch, man
I’m bout to go crazy
Hol’ up… OK (OK),
OK (OK), AK (AK),
GANG GANG, GANG GANG, BITCH!
Fucc they talkin’ bout, man
But look
OK (OK)
Look, lo-look, lo-look, unnh…

[Verse 3]
I’m Feeling Cooler than Rocc in Metropolis
Build Acropolis on top Necropolis
When I’m on the charts, ima top the list
Getting to the bag, a Monopolist
Steady chasing what I’m after, dog
I been gettin’ ghost like Casper
Guess I better plan to spill some plasma,
Hard to catch ya breath like you got asthma
Feel the miasma, a little death orgasma
Give you nonbelievers a janazah
Dealing with the heathens and the kafurs
Thuggin in the evening with the bastards
Where it’s colder than A-fuccin’-Laska
Too cool, full of smoke
Lungs full of choke, lenses of locs
Visions to own Benzes and boats
Business afloat, crib with a moat
Something like a castle, fortress where the funds be
Kept the drugs and the guns right behind my pocket like where the Bun B
Feel like a Underground King, I’m a Pimp C, R-I-P, word to Pimp C
These n***** ain’t tryna tempt me
Leave him down below where the temp’ be
Type of beat to make a stripper ass shake
Spit crack, make the fuckin’ ground shake
Earthquake make the fuccin’ ground break
Cook it up with water, make the sound bake
Shoot the joint up, guns in the room
Rubberband money funds in a tomb
And the shit look like a dungeon of doom
Dig a hole, leave em six feet deep
(Underground)

Yeah, man…

• Hip-Hop/Rap
• New Jersey