Prompt / Lyrics
[Intro] [needle crackle, warped carnival organ] Welcome to the ditch side Gator eyes in the floodlight Rust on the "keep out" sign You still crossed that line (hah) [Verse 1] Mud on my boots, black grin Lantern swing slow by the trailer skin Mouth full of graveyard jokes I spit Every word taste copper and spit Got a jaw like a cracked old mason jar Keep teeth in a box in the back of the car I been carving my name in the pine for years It bleed sap and it drink my fears You a city little lamb in a hog pen Think it’s cosplay till it all sets in Hear a laugh from the tree line, wrong pitch See a dress on a scarecrow, same stitch Cross nailed shut with the barbed wire halo Cornfield choir sing, all off-key alto I don’t warn, I welcome Two seats left in the bedlam (climb in) [Chorus] Backwoods freakshow, pay at the throat Ticket is a secret that you never should’ve spoke Step right up, one by one, get chose We don’t close, we don’t close Backwoods freakshow, mud on the floor Every little sin got a crack in the door Smile for the knife-edge, strike that pose We don’t close, we don’t close (nope) [Verse 2] She walk out the barn in a veil of flies Lipstick smeared like a failed sunrise Tattooed script of a dead girl’s prayer Runs down her neck like she cut that dare She lick rust off the nails in the fence (mmm) Call that communion, taste that sense Make saints outta sinners with a side-eye glance Got a ring made of vertebrae, promise dance Voice like a hymn sung under the floor Says, "You look lost, you’re what I’ve been looking for" Tongue split sweet like a serpent joke Syllables twist like the kudzu choke She don’t sell flesh, she sell bad choices Choir of crows all mimic her voices Say "yes" once, now your echo mine Pinned like a moth on a clothesline [Chorus] Backwoods freakshow, pay at the throat Ticket is a secret that you never should’ve spoke Step right up, one by one, get chose We don’t close, we don’t close Backwoods freakshow, mud on the floor Every little sin got a crack in the door Smile for the knife-edge, strike that pose We don’t close, we don’t close [Bridge] [record spinback, distant dogs howl] Who’s that in the ditch with the gas can grin? Who’s that in the field say "come on in"? Radio static spell your name so slow Every dead channel still says "don’t go" (too late) [Chorus] Backwoods freakshow, pay at the throat Ticket is a secret that you never should’ve spoke Step right up, one by one, get chose We don’t close, we don’t close Backwoods freakshow, mud on the floor Every little sin got a crack in the door Smile for the knife-edge, strike that pose We don’t close, we don’t close (never)
Tags
rap, Hybrid horrorcore cypher over distorted boom-bap drums and scratch-heavy turntablism, male and female vocals trading verses. Dark ambient drones and corrupted field recordings under gritty dark-synth bass, with eerie folk-tinged acoustic plucks in the hook. Verses feel claustrophobic and close-mic’d; choruses widen with layered whispers and distant screams, subtle tape delay and reverb tails building a creeping, cinematic dread., freestyle, tone, dark ambient, turntablism, dark wave, horrorcore, folk, noise, hardcore
Duration
3:12
Instrumental
No
Created
3/25/2026