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released October 28, 2012



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DKTHGK Austin, Texas

DKTHGK (pronounced "deek the geek") is a guy who raps about the things that kinda matter to him and his friends, and maybe some other people too.

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Track Name: First!
Fuck every single hater that said I wouldn't make it in music,
Now I'm playing satyr.
Max Bemis, say anything I feel like.
Punt cunts, meat check fools who try to steal my limelight.
I'm like HPV, almost everybody gets me.
I need to be quarantined because the spit is deadly,
To double x chromosome holders.
Wake, bake, and grind, mix a rillo with some Folgers.
I've been holding back.
And y'all have been holding on
Bloodsuckers are drying up the scene, so I figure I'd ride out from dusk til dawn on em.
Make a bloody set for Tarantino out on my front lawn.
So I'll set the stage. Dog ear the page,
flip back in a couple years.
"Dude, those were the days."
Sitting pretty like I'm in a lavender haze,
DKTHGK is too bright, so I made friends with Johnny Cage.
Made sure to borrow some shades.
Okay, you're right. I hopped on a little late.
Don't try to pretend this is like a first date.
My heart is the captain. My head is the first mate.
Fucking sinister like sex with Kathy Bates.
Never keep a girlfriend, but I always tend eat my dates.
Other rappers can go fuck themselves, masturbate.
It's all they do anyways, I apologize for the wait.

I am only what you think I am.

DKTHGK, for the so called avant garde
Like a SAMO movement influenced rock star.
Wreck on my guitar, I'm a fender bender
that broke necks in the metal scene, without enough tender.
I'm on to the next pair of jorts.
Cracking up over lame rappers, like I'm watching funny sports.
I'm humored by their lack of game.
They lack aim. I lacked fame,
So I decided to take over, the facts change.
I'm your new favorite dream.
Harder than the drums bang.
Paradiddle new rhythms, decompose how it's arranged.
Beyond what John, Paul, George, and Ringo could have feigned.
Tell a heroine about the drug in your veins.
Try to explain, all I'm hearing back is pain.
"Are you really gonna try to rap? Are you insane?"
Did I joke around in Eternal? Now you think I'm playing?
Fuck that. I'm already sick of these complaints.
Music is simply in my DNA strain.
I'm in MIDI control, so I bring up my gain and sustain,
And put all your levels on decay.
DK GK, blowing your ind-may.
White v's, tight jeans, and what life means anyways.
I got a stunning effect, don't call it a phase.
Vibrato off the haters, and I'll drop the phrase that pays for days.

I am only what I know I am.
Track Name: Storming Off In Place
So if I'm able, I'll make my lyrics something more chemically stable.
Crushing bars into lines to inhale through my nasal passageways.
White lie powders that empower a mic and time devourer.
I'll screw up your social hour, and leave the lemonheads looking sour.
Mario flower power shower, raining heat on every doubter.
You got the green? Somehow I'm still louder.
Scarecrow Geek against the Lion Cowards.
Hip hop stunts like new sneaks, it's my creative recreation.
So here's some preparation H for your ass inflammation.
Get over it.
White boy is rapping, but not for radio stations.
Just fun, no funds, no guns, still shunned like a proud Texan who spent 6 months in London.
Jameson sipping with Scottie Pippen.
Oh, you hate me for the skinny jeans? Guess you don't fit in.
Blissful ignorance with Big Mama Madea
Ear for music like Amadeus.
Feeding local vagrants and rearrange your iPod's playlist.
To include DKTHGK in your fucking favorites.
Here's a riot for ya.
Amputate anonymous assholes with a fire sword whip.
Ivy aiming at your antiqued eyes, cause anguish.
Deek sneaks like a snake, y'all are stiff as penguins.
From happy feet to fetal position from 2 instances of how I'm capable of rhyme spitting.
Maybe tonight can turn to something more suggestive.
Hit Shiner's Saloon with a Latina, we're getting messed up.
Top down, seat back, rolling in my cadillac.
Pop punk gang vocals, where the fuck you at?
Prepaid, no trace, from my mouth, in your face.
Bringing back the fast pace, down south sweet taste.
Got xanies after filling up my gas tank.
Bleed my bank account cause the damn thing got shanked.
The punk with some pranks.
Tank tops, tan lines, cruising in a Lumina with Hot Water Music cranked.
Up and at em, blaming Eve and Adam.
Suffer through this evening, avoid human anatomy.
Part time rapper, stronger than the Incredible Hulk with a fucking Level 3 X Factor.
Pastor passed my pad cause I'm poisonous.
Smoked a stoge, shotgun'd a beer before recording this.
Rush upon a sinking boat before the boarding ends.
And everyone face down at the bottom are my story's twins.
Stick figure fiddle sticks, I'm kicking these little shits throwing fickle fits,
and writing songs more often than Danny Brown licks clits.
Get hit by the geek down the street.
Alpha 3, 2, 1, your defeat.
Track Name: Far Away feat. Kartune
I ain't here to change rap, but maybe I'll dismember it.
Leave it in the trunk for Olivia and Elliot.
Broadcast violence for public access masses.
Elijah Wood look-a-like with Sin City glasses.
DKTHGK cutting fabrics for your new fashions.
Like anonymous I deliver, export, no taxes.
No duties, and less responsibility.
It was my gift to you, y'all were blowing off the chivalry.
I make it like grant wishes to get with Kari Byron.
Crash the flying carpet into Gullah Gullah Island.
Sirens crying, citizens whining.
I shine a quarter, pay for a wine-and-dine with my favorite heinie.
Tell you like I told her, I'm digging it up tonight,
so 9 months later you'll have a birth in the after life.
This is arrogance and intelligence, collide.
Not even a lion's pride could help you survive.
No I don't play a gangster, who the fuck wants to be?
Quick college campus cats who can't maintain an average C.
Me? I got my Doctorates, followed by an opt-out.
You can throw in the towel, it's a total knockout.
I'll make a terrorist grab an ice cream cone.
This is Allah mode. I'm already in my zone.
Already got your head, now you're waiting by the phone.
The only reason that I'll call is to say, I'm never coming home.
I'm going far away...

I'm a sad sack of shit who'd do anything for a grip,
but the game always seems to slip my fingertips.
Butter hands, butter feet, sly discreet, starting beef.
Wonder why a former cripple is running the industry.
I'm falling flat faced, and feeling more phenomenal.
Eff the PH levels, I'll dive head first and heartless into the chemicals.
Make myself a mutated monster, stop the chambers and ventricles.
Here comes the pinnacle.
Deek isn't miniscule.
I'm never last place, dude, I'm on the pedestal.
I'm the confidence you felt when you won your first boxing match.
Cool as when you figured you could rock a backwards hat.
As dangerous as the invention of crack.
Hanging out like I needed more slack, got a noose around my neck.
Asking for a reset, do you wanna take bets?
Odds are my future's gonna end up like that.
I die laughing at my own jokes, still homicidal.
Messiah flip the empire with hopes to inspire.
Spirals down the drain, now a dreamer turned liar
cuts power to the kings wire by wire.
I locked myself away for meditation and practice.
I'm bound to offend like defending the Westboro Baptists.
Straight outta Texas, betrayed by lack of accent.
Line up, mother fucks, I'm an MC fascist.
King of The Iron Bitch.

Fascist, fuck that I'm Marxist.
Mark this script of dry wit I'm babbling out chapped lips.
Drop bricks, breaking brick and mortars,
then thrift shops resell it for profit like Mohammed.
Hominids telling me I'm a prophet.
Monetized tides makes me nauseous, cautious of conscience.
Piss on your pompous psalms, pump palms
into your nostril, trickle led out of what's your red count.
Mounted in my mental is pencil,
focused on scribbles of what I've been through,
but the kid in me meant to stay mint.
Yet the wrapping package was let loose,
out the box like brand new shoes for the black youth.
That's soul of Motown, go toe to toe with mo'clowns.
Bobo stop the faux sounds, make pronouns more profound.
Founder of the photon, positive you won't last long,
Fucking oblonged bygones, be gone.
Track Name: Circuit Bored
Friends unwind consistently.
Kicking it, killing brews, pass a cig, hit the snooze.
The crash course I choose is highway to hell and back.
Midnight Mac attacks, bar back, make a stack.
Blow it all, green crack.
So before we start get your facts.
I'll lash back like a possessed thrasher, hear Slayer backwards.
This hipster bastard has mastered the effects of disasters on brain matter.
I'm Calvin cool. Time travel, transmogrify.
Four eyed crazed kid. Geek God, no lie.
No sleep, no ties, stand off alone in aisles at Best Buy.
I'm Guile versus these Guys.
Create sonic booms to embed the tombs with goons' eyes.
I'm final fight with no continues or retries.
Its a prequel for a debut movie sized.
Flash fuck em fingers back at camera lights.
Hey Deek, how you doing?
Two thumbs up, double down.
I left the right side twice, just us appease the town.
You brought your B.A.? Better to have brought your A game.
Hyper Combo Crew's select, start engines, heavy sounds.
Music is the weapon of economy recessions.
I'm armed to the teeth, studio sessions as personal fleets.
Serve Shoryukens if you're jumping at me early.
I'm happy to repeat these easy lessons in defeat.
You try to bum my cool like its a pack of menthols,
I'm liable to take your slack jaw to a bench saw.
Level up, Chrono Trigger via unzipped ROMs
Latinas loving it, so go ahead, uncinch bras.
Track Name: Off Yet On feat. HiDanarian
And the beat? We back at it,
stirring crack up for you black addicts.
Engaged in beef while you faggot niggas getting tatted.
Baked and planked while you house niggas snitching, ratting.
Quad Optics waiting on that signal,
we some fucking Batmans.
I'm too malignant, fuck a CAT scan.
Fuck the politics, but I'll forever be a rap stan.
Young Doobie Janitor, shiest rats and crap, man.
True cats will disregard the whack trends and acts fam.
Deek and Dee flow through the drought like Tigris and Euphrates.
Fan of Greek mythology, I'm rap game young Hades.
Rap game gon' hate me because I can't whip the babies.
Got love for Juiceman though.
The Orange Tape saved me.
Refusing record deals like, "These kikes cannot change me."
Burned a lot of bridges dawg, my past is taking aim at me.
Exes snap on texts, paparazzi-like to frame Dee,
and Cap'n Save-A-Hoe is trying to cuff my old flames B!

I'm creating digital files out of my minds memory banks.
I'm flanking the tanks and thinning the ranks.
And recalling every rigid remedy for every possible problem.
Pounded out plans like Priya in a Prius.
What could SOPA do if I'm the artist and I leak this?
I'll control my own voice of reasons.
So damned be the industry if I can't blow speakers.
A man of faith, and everybody's calling me a leaper.
I'll leave 'em looking like lepers, amputees.
Wordplay's sharp like the sword in Bowser's c-a-s-t-l-e,
from Super Mario r-p-g.
Thanks to s-n-e,
I got these 16 bit bar thugs trembling.
What the fuck can you do when DKTHGK is menacing, huh?
Shock trooper with a golf hat, bet that.
Smoke through TSA checkpoints, no pats.
Stumble out of every damn bar I stop by with no mess to clean up afterwards, so it's no prats.
Fall into your comfort zone, get your girl alone.
Making babies to music while C.O.D. prone.
No drone behind my vocabulary.
Fairly scary for the Marriot to carry it.
Put me on a tour for a perfect accent.
The crap kids and get into it or lost in it.
I'll pass tense situations, leave 'em in the past tense.
You're on bad shit if you're still mad, kid.
I'm just a lazy boy in a lawn chair, lingering.
Your game is a nervous date, second guessing fingering.
I said fuck the cash. I got insane mental bling,
cause stunting brains greater gators over anything.
So here's some wit I spit for shits and kicks.
Irradiated rough rider, escape the Sarlaac pit.
You wanna learn how to dougie? Here's a mosh pit.
I'm in, you're out. Fuck with it.
Track Name: Kill Your Gods
So it seems all community circles overlap,
and the proudest heads of rap all seem so obsessed with
cashing in checks, counting cash to impress.
Best dressed nonsense is all they can express.
What a round-about way for a minor league player to rock, or at least try.
White guys decked out in Ecko trying to live a do-or-die.
Damn my generation's pride. We've stayed constantly fried,
and try to carry a loaded gun in pants oversized.
When did becoming a rapper mean you had to lie?
You tried to grow a beard but all your goatee did was flavor save.
I'm hype as a red bull in a china shop, sipping haterade.
I pulled a Ye, called up Mase, prayed for better days
when dummies loving blow and brain can hit the burial hay.
It's a tailspin, may day. The ends justify their ways, at least it's what they say.
But let me tell you right now, I'm not the answer to a cancer.
Just showing being honest can make a woman out of a video vixen dancer.
Instead we have dudes jumping crews more often than freelancers.
You'll be the double exposed cellulose shaded one walking on tip toes.
Bad gamble, you fold. It's dangerous I'm told to be a voice of real reason.
Bastards call it treason to lead a legion of heathens towards a new season.
But I refuse to let loose these lyrics without a lethal cause.
We're forming a brigade, kill your kings, kill your gods.
Track Name: Space Drunk | Crossfaded
I'm crazy baby, looking fly in a brand new button up.
Feel like Jeremy Piven, and the entourage is stepping up.
I got a hold of the goods, rearranged Neal, so now the lean is inside my supper cup.
Smoke cigs, smash ashtrays, kick butts.
Show the who's who the real what's what.
Give anyone who doubts me the finger fuck. Bellwether, Bel-air.
Hot off the press, the fresh print's here.
While you were out, I've been invading TVs.
Getting hot like Kelly Kapowski, Waco in 93.
Davidian Tragedy?
Nah. Just me beating down punks with a branch used for kindling.
The fleeting flocks have suddenly lost their fleece.
Naked cold alone counting down the hours til decease of a radio cancer.
Born groomed romancers-slash-dancers who beat women for some answers.
"Woah! You're on some crack, man."
Let me bring it back in after shots of the Kraken.
After illing with the Sick Chilldren, getting lost out at Bag's End with the Baggins.
I found the one ring, dark power over grammar and structuring all belong to me.
You wanna fuck with me?
You don't even know where to begin.
I'm just doing these tracks to have some good times with my friends.
Not to say that I'm writing without passion.
The fact is, I'm not here to relive the past tense.
I'm passive to aggressive. Stabler for the molested.
A bat to beat the heads of anyone who think they can't be bested.
Bright mind writing rhymes in highlighter.
Fooled my family with this disguise like Mrs. Doubtfire.
Drag the nightmare into the daylight.
I put two favorite tracks into one ace line.
Pay attention and respect.
Hats off before you get raps for running your glass jaw.
Rats start rampaging on the lifeless body that you left behind when you went crying home for your mommy.
You're only looking sloppy as I pull on a white v.
Start getting back into school for a fresh degree.
It's not degrees that keep me fresh, I'm in the red zone.
Live life lucky, leave lovers with no corazon.
My style was born in mosh pits. You can't cop it. Stop it.
I'll leave Impending Doom on all you Lostprophets.
I tried to have patience. It's a process.
I know I'm a honey badger compared to these sloth kids.
Your mic's plugged in, but I hit mute.
Trashed your last tape, Texas doesn't pollute.
So maybe if you're lucky, I'll teach you how to shoot.
I already know I'm major. Y'all are the new recruits.
Track Name: World Map feat. Pliny Science | Something...
I found my palladium in stadiums,
Coffee shops that let me show off my chops.
Ran a city's music block.
Pause, rewind, don't stop.
I'm riding to the top, safety like an otter box.
I'll retire from music when my heart is elusive.
wander off the vibes and into being spoon fed.
Not exactly lionhearted, but I'm still a dick.
Wreck these damn rhymes like its my day shift.
I'm making up my gifts as I go,
like Jojo's mojo was possessing CoFlow.
Release an El-P-esque LP to establish myself in Ruby Soho.
So stoked!
Kinetic friend epidemic, I need a medic.
Marry me, my fretting fetish.
Grab a guest list, and make sure my buds get in.
And when I start to rap, it cuts to the bone like wrist slitting.

We on world maps and we're travelling.
To the UK Deek, can you handle it?
Out to Greece, Mr. Science, can you handle it?
Quad Optics, fuck the establishment.
They ain't ready man. We ain't having it.

(Pliny Science)
At last the Atlas can match this.
Worldwake, I take to the masses.
Trashed hits that can’t fit the average,
it’s pure havoc when the whole gang is glasses.
20/20 is near sight and past tense.
It’s apparent that the present is amassed with
Ashed kids melding magic with the last ditch effort to rearrange the flames of lost classics.
And restart the fire,
sending smoke signals to whatever transpires.
Paper planes, strange flyers, no passengers or pilots.
Just aviating along this ink jet advertisement.
Trying to reach the narrow minded.
X marks the coordinate of cloud shifted writing.
We’re living proof of this twice cooked lighting,
DKTHGK and Pliny Science...

We on world maps and we travelling
Out to LA Pliny, can you handle it?
To the Lone Star, Deek, can you handle it?
Quad Optics Fuck The Establishment
They ain't ready man, we ain't having it.

I'm like an old west cowboy, taking off a ten gallon hat.
Still fresh as an altoid.
I mouth joy while speaking doom.
Kicking it in saloons with wenches and whiskey until the cock croons.
And I'll be on that 5th and Congress block soon.
Orange or maroon, we can still be goons.
But I'm jolting to the Jamie so I can spit typhoons,
and trip up bafoons who think they're dropping real tunes.
I'm not saying I'm the best at it, just know how to navigate the traffic.
Never cause static, live show havoc.
I'm pragmatic, an enemy of dramatics.
Castanet clap clavicles, slap radicals.
Non-contractual, the metal kid with factual flat bars.
Ego big as Texas, crashing into Mars, I belong with the stars,
But fuck a fancy car, I love my '93 Lumina.
Funny, I can lose myself in a train of thought.
Shock the top after shots that complement tarts that pop.
Break fast. This never happened.
Imagine we split our nights between good times and bad fun.
Excuse my sloppiness, I'm pocketing your lozenges.
I'd rather choke on pills of pride than cough up my hostages.
Stockholm Syndrome at its best.
As a captor I went from bastard to last flirt, no happily ever after.
So give it a rest.
And never again a lover, but you'll still make me stutter.
Shutter frames, block views of butter dames,
and I'd rather cut my tongue out than repeat your name.
What a shame...
Track Name: ...Serious
Maniacal laughter, scary to experience.
At least it lets me know that these thoughts were delirious.
Matter of fact is, I was feeling something serious,
but if it was all a joke to you, then my only query is,
Did it feel queer when you invited me to your bed?
Infecting someone with a love for life.
Instead, no.
Hold your tongue, it never brought the answers I needed.
So yes, I have conceded, admitted defeat.
And the only cost to you is a honest hand.
So let that shake out when you feel the touch of another man.
Women wonder why they're walked on like floors,
and I can only blame the automatic doors at drug stores.
This is the mindset that's been attained in dorms.
So I conform to the norm. Here's the calm before the storm.
I'm sipping from a cylinder of bad decisions.
Watch her defy gravity on a cylinder for pension.
Failed to mention this decision on my social medias
I felt the lie of freedom buzz, learned on Wikipedia.
Look it up, I'm not in it for ass,
or grass I'd pass for a moment of something real.
Fate is sealed, concealed by a dirty devil deal.
Welcome to Deek's delirium. Sarcasm is just skin peeled.
Planted, harvested from a pride field, and turned into the weapons of the heart that we all wield.
I reside, I arrive, I come, I go.
Slow mo like pro photo shoots.
Brought down the last girl with a strumming of my lute.
Truth, reboot, restart my red mind.
The crime scene of a fine dime left heartless over FaceTime.
You felt destroyed, like a hate crime.
Well, I only hate your personality. You gave me a fatality.
I responded appropriately by connecting to my animality.
Snap back to reality.
There goes Deek, quiet man with indoor soccer cleats, Samba.
Speak nonsense in a melancholy posture.
Natural disaster, fostered by a honest heart.
Drunken calls, unleash a storm to sink Noah's Ark.
I carve my raft from the bones of the girls I did the same to.
Hypocrisy chases me to blame you. It's not true.
We're all victims, and fascinated crimsons of the things we wish we could've been if we had chased wisdom.
Track Name: The Balance
Tell me how $12.50 can still feel like minimum wage? I'm locked in retail's cage.
Let out once every 4 days, and if the technology was relevant, they'd even page.
I don't wanna rage, just hop on a stage.
But a 9-5 is the only option when you skip college.
Check the beanie, make sure I got the sag swag.
Light up a dime bag with a fine hat.
And pray to God she won't become an old hag.
But opposites attract, so the other half you never had was your own bad.
No cover mag, just a nomad.
Career's wandering off path, a scary movie
In due time, I'm doubtless. It'll subdue me.
Underground an undergrad, and happy, truly.
I've had more sense than half these bachelors,
but life won't date me because I don't have a Masters?
Amidst modern imperial disasters, stellar times.
I'm working hard to turn my life into a fine whine.
I'm through complaining.
So how long you've been in pain is how long you'll sustain.

But it's not that bad.
But it's just not great.

I'm cutting ties like I don't plan on going to funerals.
A beautiful urinal, from friendships to friend's shit.
Dealing with it with half wit.
So every night without you was another pack of cigarettes.
Or a bong hit. Or like 20.
And 5 beers and a blank memory of the night before me.
Historically, my eyes report anomalies.
Its a competition trying to holler.
See, I don't get how you've surrounded yourself with that frame.
I've been as honest as the canvas wrapped back around the other way.
Here's my flaws, there's yours. Let's try.
No attempts, just lies, don't pry.
Thought died, one night revived.
Such pride, confide, chose sides.
People slip out in the morning like a Teflon dawn.
It's easy to see now how loyalty dies.
Cash equivalent of one night is a DUI, so forge a feeling to insure your life.
But I'll still answer everytime you call, this is how it falls.
Your removal was stalled.

But it's not that bad.
It's just not that great.

So throw your hands up one time if you feel like your whole life ain't panning out quite right.
We'll restore the balance tonight. We'll get it right.

Proud product of a twice broken home.
Learned how to be a man on my own.
No model or mannequin, just a brother, 3 sisters,
and a mother who endured damages.
And I'll be damned if I ever be him again. It offends,
but depends. A generational curse can have its end.
I'll scar my skin with a crutch, so when I need strength,
that'll come out of the ink, and that out of the pen.
Hell yeah, I've had my own share of troubles,
from the size of carbonation bubbles to vomit puddles.
One thing to trust me on, your life is never acting subtle.
Every moment is beautiful.
The constant balance of joys and struggles is an ever shifting, biased, predicting
gamble to see if your future matches your biddings.
...who the hell am I kidding?
Every time I could've moved forward, I instead chose sitting.
So if you've never been knocked on your ass,
I won't hope it happens, but I know it will.
The only thing I'll hold important over the entire event,
Is if the life you carved for yourself feels real.
Well, does it feel real?
This doesn't feel real.
Track Name: Mr. Rad
Oh, you didn't recognize I wreck all senses?
You go blind for hearing this. Optical audio cancer commences.
I'm swinging for the fences, giving cars dents. Break windows too.
I'm the little dude that ran around your neighborhood.
Imaginary Kamehameha waves, then I'd snaked some food.
Always charming every sweet tush I see.
Pink socking any asshole who steps to me.
Spell it as I may. DK TH GK.
Slay belles from a southern school on a cold winter's day.
Super suave Single God, limp snake to strong rod.
Make these cattle run, it's my business. Don't prod.
You already know I'm operose with Primrose,
Impatient with you foes who are only judging me by my clothes.
Maybe if you understood the prose,
But by the time you catch up, I already dozed...
I look at rapping like cigarettes. Give me a reason to quit.
While you think, I'm lacing my spit with tar.
Slowing down dinosaurs with wit, bizarre.
Rushing these beats, as if I was a produ-czar.
Likening to lycans, lip off, I Press Start,
transform into a Winner By Default, it's not hard.
Confronted 6 Fears With Rockets for my memoir.
Hello Eternal sunshine, windows always down in my car.
Foolish and arrogant, got guns for hands like Barrett.
Keep you grounded, call me tetrahydrocannibivarin.
I'll keep on penning til I have to use my blood as the ink,
because it was the passion that brought me back from the brink.
I'm laid back as they come.
She thanks me, rolls up a L, and ask for another night of fun.
But the day has only begun, so, sorry honeybun.
Music is my lady, and I only chase one.

You sloth, greed, lust, envy, wrath, pride, and fat.
Do all the math.
When it adds up, turns out you're just bad, start to feel sad.
You've been demolished by Mr Rad.