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Lyrics
(Intro: 0:00-0:45)
(Noise of a lock clicking, door groaning ajar. Steps across wood flooring.)
(Voice A - Low register, even, lethal)
Come on in, darling. Stood here expecting you.
Gotta put this mess on record.
(Verse 1 - Voice A: The Tally)
She stepped across carrying a store sack plus scars.
Claimed her former man treated her as walking fragrance.
Erection firmed up, mind went slack, lethal pairing.
Enlisted myself for combat in an uneven republic.
Opening stretch was "so thankful," giving oral like payment due.
Come week two, the sex turned into pure complaint.
Refused mouth, refused rear, only craved shoulder kneads.
Started labeling my main suite "joint territory," dropping her hairs in my basin.
Spotted her pills stashed in luggage lining.
Gone unprotected eight weeks, so whose pills sit in that case?
She claimed "cramp relief," I snapped "Lies, that's the fib shelf."
This isn't sharing space, it's dying care for a slut.
(Verse 2 - Voice B: Southern Edge)
Ugh! Hoe!
(Cadence turns more pulsing, strained)
She launched into "fits" (fits), sobbing over messages from years back (years back).
I'm funding the sessions that stop her belonging to me (belonging to me).
She craves "heavy talks" at 3 in the morning midweek.
About father wounds, while I'm stiff and aching for days.
Got her a pup, figured it would grant aim, a point.
Now I'm strolling a small breed, scooping waste, I'm lost.
She imported energy, but the charge ran out.
Now the place reeks of her smoke plus her remorse.
Her input? A spent pad overflowing the bin.
Plus the mute act when my stiffness stands obvious.
Damn!
(Bridge - Spoken Break)
(Noise of a can cracking open, extended gulp.)
(Voice A, casual, icy)
Know the costliest item anywhere?
Complimentary sex.
Because it never comes without cost.
It's the first installment.
On a loan of suffering.
I'm the lender.
And you... face seizure soon.
(Verse 3 - Voice A: The Books)
So I opened a log. In my phone notes, like a fool.
Broke down the pain. Time to recite this thing.
"June 14: Wept through that comedy, insisted on takeout. $38.75."
"June 20: Called my 'manhood intimidating.' Crashed on the sofa. Spine wrecked."
"July 4: Skipped the displays, needed to 'work through it.' Ruined the night. Priceless."
"Constant: Drains every drop of heat. My rinses became planned cold plunges."
You're a charity outfit living off my income stream.
A feelings scam, and I'm the final sucker waiting.
You aren't a partner, you're a risk dressed in my shirt.
A stunning, penniless hex.
(Verse 4 - Voice B: The Cutoff)
Yeah... So I halted the flow.
(Measured, paced cadence)
No more delivery charged to me (nah). Stashed the streaming clicker (spot?).
Began staying out "extra hours," actually at the club receiving oral under my jacket.
Returned reeking of scent plus shame, made her inhale it.
She asked "Another female?" I replied "Nah, it's my pride, I located where you buried it, you witch."
Quit sex on the mattress, began it under the spray.
Fast and icy, zero affection, just seizing control back.
She labeled it "distance," I labeled it "rehearsal for the vacant half."
The sole ride she gets now is the feelings ride she built.
(The Reveal: Outro - 2:30 long stretch)
(Track shrinks to one looping warped bass tone plus a distant siren clip.)
(Voice A)
Wanted the surprise, darling? Take this.
I recognized you the evening you "wept" at the lounge.
My friend Marcus saw you in 2022. He displayed the messages. Identical messages.
The luggage. The "no options" tale. That store sack.
It's a routine. You repeat it every year and a half once funds vanish.
You hunt a man owning property plus a weak core.
You settle in. You close off. You gather "feelings harm" until he snaps and funds your exit.
A complete con.
(Track vanishes totally. Absolute quiet for 5 seconds.)
(Voice B, now a separate, frostier figure - the true tone)
So I played the ideal target.
I allowed entry.
I logged each phrase.
Each sob.
Each falsehood.
(Noise of a recorder activating. Replay of HER words, faintly warped: "...he hurt me, I only require shelter a short while...")
(Voice B proceeds)
Look, counsel has guided me from the start.
This isn't kicking out.
This is organized crime charges.
You aren't a renter.
You're a habit.
And I... supply the proof.
(Noise of two clear knocks on wood: THUD. THUD.)
(Voice A, last instance, hushed)
Finished.
(Noise of entry. A woman's inhale. All audio and beat vanish at once to nothing.)
Details
GeneratedAug 19, 2026
Duration4:38
LanguageEnglish
Style
Relentless, graphic underground rap. Fusion of Ice Cube's "No Vaseline" fury and Kevin Gates' "Satellites" tuneful, revealing roughness. Track crawls at a threatening 75 BPM. Rib-crushing sub-bass landing like a blow to the torso. Isolated, warped piano phrases evoking terror film scores. Snare cracks as sharp as firearm reports. Hats appear sparingly to heighten strain. Delivery masters persona shifts: Voice A a harsh, straightforward, scorn-filled low register—articulated, distinct, savage. Voice B a coarse, Southern-accented cadence, tuneful amid torment, deploying raw shouts ("Hoe!", "Damn!") and strained tones. No vocal hook. Mix stays deliberately unrefined and barren, shoving voices ahead like a face-off. Vibe stays smothering, strained, and harshly grown-up.
Credits
Prompt by
MysticPrince
MysticPrinceModelAria v5.5
