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letra de scan // bleed // repeat - kxllinme

[verse 1]

i’m not your normal rapper rappin’ ’bout pateks
i’m the type to send a fiend through your set with a tec
he ain’t flossin’ — he frothin’, still rockin’ a vest
from a boost he forgot, smellin’ like cigarettes and death

you flex on your story, i’m dodgin’ regret —
with a blade in my sock and a past in my breath
you braggin’ ’bout ice, i seen rocks in the flesh
not the kind that you flaunt — the kind k!llin’ the west

don’t compare me to rappers who lie for a look —
i been workin’ a register, not writin’ a hook
this ain’t drip, it’s bleach stains and nicotine t–th
where the cameras don’t work but the pain still peeks

where a regular’ll rob you and call it respect
then ask for a discount like you ain’t seen sh-t
you rap like the trap — i rap like the curse
like a shift that won’t end and a fiend gettin’ worse

my aisle got blood, yours just got threads —
i don’t rap to impress — i rap for the dead
(yeat)
[hook]

flexin’ on the ’gram with a $40 dollar fade
while i’m duckin’ flashbacks in a register cage
you want likes — i want out. i want rest
this ain’t rap, it’s a graveyard desk

chain look heavy, but your soul look broke
i’ve seen fiends wear guilt like a mink and a coat
you post for applause, i post from the pit —
b-tch, i talk pain, you just cappin’ for cl!cks

[verse 2]

i see your gold chain — cool, now dodge this shift
you ever count bread while a fiend loads a clip?
you rap like the struggle, but your shoes too clean
i seen real pain p-ssin’ on a snapple machine
he said “my daughter used to love the peach tea,” then cried
while his p-ss hit the floor and his soul f-ckin’ died
i don’t do punchlines, i do panic attacks
barcode tatted on my lungs, don’t ask
i bag trauma with gum and a half-dead smile
while the light above fl!cker like it’s on trial
you flexin’ your label — b-tch, i flex rats
i seen a junkie eat crumbs off a mousetrap
you post a new chain, i post unpaid debt
with a fiend in the frame yellin’ “y’all ain’t left yet?!”
i got homies who steal from they kids to eati got ops who od’d in the manager’s seat
(where’s the narcan?)
keep your patek. keep your scammer sound
i’ll have your t–th in the lotto tray —
smile for the cam now… and say “f-ck around.”
they say god don’t clock in — well i do
with a drawer full of sins and a smile that’s see-through
you ever hear your name whispered by a price gun?
you ever count change while your sanity run?
third shift switch with a twitch in my neck
fiend ask “you good?” — i said “nah, i’m next.”
i rhyme like the camera blinked morse code
like a soda machine’s about to explode
i’m an omen with coupons. i’m the glitch in the fuse
i’m the “void item” after bad news
i don’t got bars — i got sirens and tape
where your mixtape play in the hands of a wraith
i’m token if he never made it
em if he clocked out jaded
jid if he rapped from a panic room
gibbs if the plug had bad mushrooms
doom in the blender, still cookin’ a verse
i’m ye in the plate
dot in the leak
a patek in a p-wn shop with blood on its t–th
i’m not your typical rap-cap deliverin’ visual
i’m visceral — fiends in a ritual, literal plague in the pitiful
i pivot through political cynical pit stops in a stolen vehicle
with a tec in the trunk and a prayer that’s minimal
you rap ’bout patek? b-tch, that’s puhthetic
pathetic —
i sold squares to squares in 7/11 ethic
i see demons dance on receipt paper rolls
where a fiend l!ck the floor for a blunt he stole
i been broken. i been bent. barcode soul, black mold in the vent
ptsd with a nicotine tint
i got trauma stuffed in a quart-sized bag
that the rookies confuse for a daily vent
you rock designer? i rock denial
i got punched over lotto, then served a smile
bet your stylist ain’t prepped you to stand this trial —
try rappin’ while a junkie cries, bleedin’ bile
[hook]

flexin’ on the ’gram with a $40 fade
while i’m duckin’ flashbacks in a register cage
you want likes — i want out. i want rest
this ain’t rap, it’s a graveyard desk

chain look heavy, but your soul look broke
i’ve seen fiends wear guilt like a mink and a coat
you post for applause, i post from the pit —
b-tch, i talk pain, you just cappin’ for cl!cks

- kxllinme

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