by Lewis M.

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released October 13, 2016


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Lewis M. Providence, Rhode Island

Lewis M. is a boston-based (and Providence born) poet, beatmaker, and MC. He has performed at the Apollo Theater in NYC, The Smithsonian, among many other venues. His beats retain a refreshingly simplified approach to hip-hop production that harkens back to the boom-bap of the 90's while remaining fresh and new.

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Track Name: Riot
Look me in the eyes, son.
I’m battle-hardened.
Avoid embarrassment, this ain’t the shit
you should be starting…
So, nigga… don’t tempt me.
I’m a fucking carnivore
devouring your carnival. Notice…
that any plan of beef against me
is fucking hopeless.
I’m coming for my piece.
Ain’t gonna be no peace.
Entertaining the idea of
my defeat’s a fucking reach.
My skin ain’t no butterscotch,
it’s darkness. And, I love it.
They said I could be anything,
so one day, I said fuck it.
I became a fucking beast.
Bloody fingers when I eat.
Stone Cold Stunner to my enemies.
And, who’s my enemies?
Is it a mystery? Please.
It’s them backwards fuckers
who look at me like I’m a disease.
I rap with purpose…
They said my shit was worthless.
What they really meant was priceless.
No dollar can buy it.
When I approach the mic,
I’m aiming to incite a riot.
If you got the gasoline,
my nigga, here’s a lighter.
I notice…
Niggas think they know me…
A cypher to myself, b.
Can’t recognize my self. See
a vision of identity
reflected in sidewalk puddles,
dishonest mirrors
often reflect only the struggle.
That’s why I never look at em,
I judge myself just fine
without being reminded of
my ugly mug. Ain’t no love
living here, nigga.
I just an overzealous fuck-up.
Smile through my teeth.
Let panic escape me
when I exhale, son.
Prevailing wisdom of a cynic.
Crumples sheets of paper
that I haven’t written yet
are wallpaper to the inside of my eyelid.
Reminder of my failures…
Caress every crease and wrinkle
like it feels familiar…
When they ask how I died just…
Tell em I burned to death while
trying to write some fire.
Born in the flames, so I can’t smell the smoke.

So, you’re walking home, right?
Just got paid.
Exhausted from all the bullshit
day to day.
You’re ready for some rest.
Best believe a nigga’s spent.
Can’t even enjoy your dough, cuz
most of it goes to rent.
And, then you’ll have just enough
for fuckin’ ramen.
Homies ask if you wanna go out,
and you’re like “nah man”…