Moon Unit by Louie Letdown

Yo, shout out Homemade Spaceship, Sammy Seeds in the studio, Westminster Productions.
All my opps are rational, I smoke them like a flower pole.
Roll up something powerful, you can get it popping with me.
Used to wait an hour for some flour back in Johnson City.
Now a couple ounces cost your boy about 150.
Lately I've been going silly, in the beat lab writing midi.
I'm just trying to eat and all these other rappers picky.
Coming for their necks, they gon' see me like a fucking hickey.
But for us, it's different.
Consider again that dot.
That's here.
That's home.
That's us.
On it, everyone you love.
Everyone you know.
Everyone you ever heard of.
Every human being who ever was, lived out their lives.
Cooking with the homies, that's the way the session's supposed to feel.
Dollar bin crepes, closest thing I'll get to record deals.
Industry is fake, so I don't expect a check is real.
Book me for the low-low, cause right now that shit's a fucking steal.
Hit em with the truth, till they don't know how the answers feel.
Running all these tracks, yet I end up on the hamster wheel.
Smoking on a hundred bads in the booth like Thundercat.
Going off, I fucking snap louder than a thunderclap.
I'm the one with hella trees, chiefing at the Flocka set.
Half the crowd's on ketamine, you're looking like some Wobbuffets.
Music, that's a lot of stress.
Push on, yeah we gotta press.
Gonna make it impact, even as the one they thought of less.
Overlooked and yet I ask, can you tell me what they see?
Rapper and producer and a DJ, what else do they need?
Grateful yet I'm jaded, motivated just to make it count.
Faded yet I'm patient and I'm waiting for the chance to bounce.
From this distant vantage point,
the Earth might not seem of any particular interest.

• Dubstep
• Electronic
• Hip Hop
• Hip-Hop
• Rap
• beats
• everything in between
• global bass
• lyrcist
• lyrical hip-hop
• underground hip hop
• United States