Monstrosity

by Forty Psychic Frames

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1.
03:55
2.
04:00
3.
04:01
4.
5.
6.
04:57
7.
03:29
8.
03:23
9.
07:34
10.

credits

released December 1, 2017

© 2017 Forty Psychic Records/Manufactured by Forty Psychic Records/Distributed by BDJ Inc. Forty Psychic Frames is a trademark of Forty Psychic Records, a Big Daddy J company, except in Canada where they are a trademark of Forty Psychic Records Canada Ltd.
All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized reproduction, copying, lending, hiring, public performance, and broadcasting prohibited.
www.40pf.com

Forty Psychic Frames is Wyatt Furtherton, Forrest Jameson, Anthony Jackson, Scurvy D, DJ Dizzump, Chesterfield “Xplicit” Harrington, and Poody.

All tracks produced by Wyatt Furtherton except Track 7 produced by Forrest Jameson. All tracks mixed by Anthony Jackson.

All songs written by Forty Psychic Frames and published by Louder Than Phillip (Administered by BDJ Publishing/BDJ Ltd.)

Track 10 contains excerpts from “Way Cool Propella Time” from “The Mind Click Sounds E.P.”, “Hollow Tip”, “Excuse Me Z”, “Dissipated”, and “Elite” from “Marriage Tequila Diamonds”, “The Shit” from “Triforce Pump Up!” by Forty Psychic Frames courtsey of Forty Psychic Records.

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Track Name: Mariana's
FORREST:
Deciphering the stars
Foretelling fortune through my tarot cards
My mind’s eye spies everything near or far
We’re like bards
We revel in bass and treble, powerlevel
and leaving several rebels ultimately disheveled
And you better understand the history of this band
A bond forged through years and rhyme
Shifting like the sands of time
By design, we come to you as pure torrent of forces
Of course, our roars will shake your bravery at the
Sources say that rap won’t even live to see the day
a return to form, bringing back passion as the norm
Here we are, we do this for us, we do this for you
Not cars or jewels
Every single part of that is truth

SCURVY D:
Once upon a time in the land of the sky,
four guys came together with a musical cry
for an end to the bullshit hitting our ears.
No talent hacks from channel so clear.
Sad sorry jokers who greased a few palms.
I got now qualms in causing lyrical harms.
It’s part of my charm, yo sound the alarm.
Ear shattering peers cause, yo, we the bomb.
With rhymes and vids, we’re entertaining these kids
We got them flipping they lids and they placing their bids,
on our auction house shit. What kind of greens can you get?
Share that ish if you want The Frames to spit.

WYATT:
“I know--let’s take the long route” you said
and we turned down the road
where we found that deer not dead yet
still bleeding from the neck from where a truck must have hit it
you didn’t cry, but I could see if you did you’d just hide it I bet
you’re good at that
hiding from heavy impacts
we stop to look at every overlook we pass
to smoke cigarettes you laugh
when you think about the first time
we drove blind through the snow searching for road lines
that were covered salt brine
barely there so scared and unprepared for the absence of light
dare you to tell me the truth, do you really like
when I ask you everything, you just let the song sing
“This is the first day of my life”
you have got to finally bring another CD
I’ll never be able to hear this one again after we
get home
you get stoned and put the kettle on
then we finally get to the top
where straight shots stop and it gets curvy
like you in a tank top
and we peer over the ledge the straight drop
down feels so great.
Let’s spit and see how long it takes to hit the lake
I don’t mind that we have to wait
for every stop light and sign, we should do this every time
every time, we should do this every time.

ANTHONY:
I’m on this, like Ant on a hot bitch.
Amish, lights knocked out, flip on the light switch.
We’ve been doing this shit for years.
Ten to be exact, in fact, look in the book
We’re staring back at you.
We’re ahead of the times, new Romans
You’re three months late to the game
and you’re showing
You’re struggling up the stream
when you’re rowing
We’re the river forcing you away
when we’re flowing
If you missed it, my name be Ant
Jackson is my last name, write it down.
Remember that.
Bio goes something like:
I’ve pimped ho’s, robbed some banks, smoked some ‘dro
and drank a whole liquor store.
These bullets are yours, load them up bitches.
Free stock.
Glock is shoved down your throat, I’m sick.
Sneeze cough.
You get in my fucking grill asshole
Ease off.
You say,
“We can’t take it anymore Forty, please stop!!”
Track Name: Monstrosity
SCURVY D:
You know what’s sickening?
to see us switch position.
The Rules of Aquasition
becoming our tradition.
And it pains me
to see us fucking change b.
Grubbing after latinum
like we were some Ferengi.
No thank ye
I’ll take a different route.
My path to clout
lies in my right to stand and shout,
and tell you fuckers
what the fuck I’m all about.
Let the words from my mouth
illuminate your doubt.

ANTHONY:
“Psssst…Anthony I need a fucking gun”.
Hush I got to lay low, ‘cause I just used some.
That gun powder be on both my arms people
Like every mother fucker say, “It’s Unbelievable”.
I need a bowl, Scurvy D, I think we need another hit.
Shit, gas chamber in my lungs exhausted it.
NoS in all my cars, laws are broken, I be gunning it.
When I just blasted ------- in mother fucking stomach
His blood and guts all over my exterior.
Now I got to Laser Wash that shit and high gear out of here.
I got you bitches eating through a fucking straw.
When I be telling all y’all who we are Yo…

CHORUS:
We are Forty Psychic Frames
North Kakalaky with a “kak kak kak” on attack
We are Forty Psychic Frames
Snyapsis’ so fast we’re faster than The Flash
We are Forty Psychic Frames
Frames on attack now, y’all holla back now
We are Forty Psychic Frames
A monstrosity now!

WYATT:
I’m going to murder this by drowning it, no preserver
no net, no string, kill all the witnesses with a fervor unseen
by the likes of me.
Kids skateboarding down the street
where I’ll leave the bodies strewn.
I am the harpoon killing the marlin, then sharks, soon I’ll be covered in bite marks.
I assume you’ll try to stop me, fight me. Hark! The chorus spites me, the eyes close tightly, bracing for the light
I won’t go quietly.
Tie me up, shut me down.
Oh God I’ve found more horrible things in me than you could ever dream.
I ground down the blade so the cleaver couldn’t cut clean,
still it split the spleen in half.
This is art not math; this is a cold bath in calf’s blood
this is the shepherd’s staff broken in half

FORREST:
For the sharpness you lack, our points are finer than a thumbtack.
Evoking rhyme, rip pages out the book of time.
Flux capacitor state, wake and bake the bronze drakes.
Never late when it comes to fate
Roll it back to any fucking date
You will find rhymes written on the walls of our mind.
Stretching back to Neolithic, mythic, eccentric, but so specific
When we kick it
Gravitationally pulling the laws of physics
Culminate in a style that you’ll never fucking mimic
‘Cause...
Track Name: Playing with Dynamite
WYATT:
I’m playing with dynamite
looking at the faces and the pictures of all your
friends friends, I might
Just set it all off and send you the ashes
That passes through my mind
Despite all the times I was blasting
This beat so loud around your parents’ house
You looked out and saw the shadow of a 300D
That wasn’t me, but I was killing it.
Forget it, you wouldn’t understand
I’m lighting the stick and then
BOOM! That’s it.

ANTHONY:
Wyman on the ProCo, Charlie taking photos.
Black and white twirlies, go slow on the shutter speed.
Hit me up in the OK Hotel, this shit’s drawing flies
What the fuck be that smell?
At the Croc Cafe playing old school hits
We’re the opening act for 7 Year Bitch
Busting out glass in store front windows
Spray painting walls while we’re smoking that indo’.
Fender Strats blast out of Marshall stacks,
Strapped with gats underneath leather jackets.
Camera man pans to 40 on the stage,
CH barfing on the fans, cut the cord
disengage.

FORREST:
Verses stirring dust, don’t underestimate us
Vocal lances piercing, we fierce and it be best to trust
The sustenance that fuels us is potentially metaphysical
Straight from the heart and individual
The meaning critical, eternally residual
Essentially the validation of a spiritual connection
The inflection of a section of text is a lesson in delivery
Confess.
Flow is inescapable, all the words unpredictable
Current pulls you underneath and refuses to let you go
Till you’re drifting free, in a sea of simile
and metaphorically speaking you’ll be blown away
by the sequence of events
Bringing you back, to present tense
leaving you assured, unable to balance on the fence
We’re the realist, the illest, we fucking kill tracks to the max
There ain’t a fucking thing in the world to invalidate that.

SCURVY D:
You can call me Breezy ‘cause I’m like a storm:
one minute I’m calm and the next I’ve tore down the norm.
Walls get torn while tornados are born
as my rage manifests in the physical form.
With habitual scorn, I hate you fakers and lames
you’ve weakened the game with your particular shame.
And I guess I’ll have to swoop in and save the day,
but first I blunt the spinach up and get blazed.
Track Name: Blood in Throat
FORREST:
Let the beat pop, never hold up
You got to let the dealer flop before you fold up
Drop top, Scurvy roll up some of that funky stuff to puff puff
This shit’ll knock you on your ass
Maybe put you in a trance
Musical romance
Second chance, make you dance
Shake your body like ants in your pants
Greatest thing I’ve ever known
Making my words heard through the amplification of a
microphone
My vocal chords are a megaphone
Get out of the way, in fact you never may match FoJay
This is a foray into the fray to the territory
of the rappers whose lame verses ruin the game
infecting listener brains and coating airwaves real thick like
a plague
And in the midst of this damn shame, enter the 40 Frames
Heal the sonic world like the rain

SCURVY D:
Time for change, change for time,
nothing really matters when you lose your mind.
Find your breaking point, toss some oil in the joint,
strike a match and get ready to anoint,
the illest crew in this whole damn game.
The DMT that lurks in your brain.
We’ll save you from shock.
We’ll save you from pain.
One encounter with us and you’re never the same.
I twist scripts with the mic in my fist.
I split sides with the jokes that I rip.
I guess you could say I’ve got a ton of lip,
but at the very least this cracker’s got wit.
Stand aside and slow your roll.
Your life is droll
and I’m the crook on the toll
taking your coin
with this sick ass flow
toss it up for my brothers ready to go

CHORUS:
Take a shot, slam it down, and you got blood in your throat.
Take a puff, pass it back to me, you got blood in your throat.
Get on top, girl, shake ‘em, scream my name, you got blood
in your throat.
Try to match the Frames at this game, you got blood in your
throat.

WYATT:
You cut through the skin, through the bone, through the vein
like a fork through a scone, like your hair through a comb.
It all went black when you laid your body down on railroad
tracks.
And just like that, it’s what you wanted!
Your arms torn apart, the house now haunted, your ghost
undaunted
by a horrible history (they blamed on me, but I know what
they never ever could see).
Your chest came loose after the caboose.
They found your shoes floating three miles down the Neuse,
untied, with the Sharpie colored lines on the outside, easily
identified with hearts with dots for the “i”s.
They found the rest of you underneath a box car:
a couple of teeth, two fillings and a postcard that you never
meant to send, never meant for anyone to read
except me.
That’s me.

ANTHONY:
Ant here, who else be showing up?
Blowing up, Hank Hill, propane.
Protip: Take the over on the Jets game.
My advice column in The Colonnade.
All these women in the mirror doing duck face,
Y’all need to knock it off; no botox.
If your man got a foot fetish, go toe sox.
Cut your hair off if you want to Goldilocks.
Style it quick, try your best to match your assets.
God forbid, don’t pump them shits with the plastics.
All natural, five stars, great tits.
Be yourself girl, ‘cause girl you’re the greatest.
Take six, in a minute you can do more.
Work horse, but don’t forget your man.
If that’s your plan, ‘cause you got me,
Anthony, make that oh face like you just won the lottery.
Track Name: In Fear Of
ANTHONY:
You need new frames ‘cause I just smashed your glasses.
Blowing out your brain, catch Jackie Onasis.
Syrup killing rappers, winning Darwin awards.
Dates open up when we go on tour.
Snatch the oil can, I think I’m kind of rusty.
Charlie Sheen, Twinnin’, when I’m down in Beluxi.
I know I can see the sun,
whatcha going to do when you can’t see none?
Your face is funny when you’re acting all surprised.
Roll down the windows, “kak kak kak”, pedal down,
drive.
Big League Chew, dipping, Blueberry Bonds.
220 Gym, juicing, get big and brawn.
You’re out of your mind, ‘cause your mind tries to make
it fit.
Jesus ain’t on the other side of your sandwich.
Lettuce, tomatoes, and a whole lot of condiments.
Forty Psychic Frames, we be all up on this shit.
Trash talking motherfuckers from a year or so ago.
We be eating steak, bitch, and you be eating crow.
What you say I ain’t got no heart?
Goddamn! I’m all heart motherfucker!

WYATT:
What used to be here?
Looks like an Arby’s? Maybe a Hardee’s Skat-Thru?
Some place for a Saturday date night
lit by fast food menus.
I can hear you flick the lighter on and off, bored as shit.
“More Than This” by Roxy Music plays, you leave your
Winston unlit.
Something’s amiss: this crop of soybeans look Downy
Mildew sick.
Speaking of sick, you look like you’re about done with
this trip,
done with me maybe.
Staring strange out the window, cagey shadows of ash
trees bringing back memories of Ashley.
Your sister died with your best friend
the Chevy Blazer tip-toe danced end-to-end.
They found teeth lodged in the skin of the seat.
A feint heart, effete wasn’t one you’d ever keep
yours is stronger than a current of
a thousand Cape Fear River creeks
All these turkey houses torn down
with rot aluminum rooftops
and mesh wire scattered over several plots
Where grass will lay waste to death, to tall weeds.
The fall leaves are best crunching underneath
your Nike SBs
“Close your eyes”
Rest your head up against the window
with your cigarette smoke while you
“Clear your mind”
I’m turning down this gravel road,
where the honeysuckle is overgrown.
“Close your eyes”
Don’t think, just breathe. Don’t flinch, it’s just me, just
“Clear your mind”
Finally some silence. I hope you like this.
God, I hope you like this.

FORREST:
Star formed from celestial dust
Eventually gets settled in the galaxy
It’s a must to trust the planets in its orbital domain
Gravity the same, the star’s name is the 40 Psychic Frames
We’ve experienced the trials and tribulations any band
worth it’s salt
Assaulting rap tracks without a fault line breaking our
stride
or leaving dreams by the wayside
Brotherhood forged, sharpened, bonafide
Cross the sea of inactivity, we’re stepping up strong
To give you prophet and prediction,
manifested through song.
Leave regrets in the past, door closed
Ain’t got a plan for tomorrow, don’t know
what the future may hold
Step bold, none the less, pave the way to progress
No stress as we dish out the best
Warp nine to the system of rhyme
The sacred star shining bright as the planets align

SCURVY D:
I steer clear of shame, it don’t mean shit to me
it’s hard enough just being Scurvy D
If I let the little things keep me from peace
I’d never get nowhere and that’s no way to be
so I do it to the hilt with no personal guilt
Regret clouds the mind, play the hand you’re dealt
It’s all well and good to look to the past
but it’s just that and you can’t change the fact
that you did what you did, but you moved on through
with your friends and a brew
you gotta stay true
be who you are, by far, you’ll pick up scars
and live it large and you’ll handle the barrage
of things as they come
you can’t ever play dumb
make your own choice and stick to your guns
have a spot of fun
stand firm and never run
and when your life is done you’ll smile up at the sun.
Track Name: Gold Rush
SCURVY D:
Pack a bowl of weed, yo.
Pack it up for me.
Pack it up for Forty Frames, it’s our density.
Carolina Playas with hella fucking cheese.
Get a peep of it when you get a peep of deez…
Nuts!
Kick it on the mic bitch,
Kick it on the ‘net.
One kick from 40PF will break your neck Chet.
Got to check the roster to see who’s up on deck.
Guaranteed, yo, to make you fucking sweat.
Three, five, all seven when we rhyme.
Like Buddha so sublime, we’ll elevate your mind.
Primed Design, the best you’ll ever find.
It’ll get your mind right,
like you was puffing on some kine.

FORREST:
And you know this, point poignant like a forgotten kiss
Lingering and visceral
This art is a transcendental flow
Like Cyrano de Bargerac, got lines that you lack
Pump up the track, deliver rhyme with a rap attack
all my homies are allied and they got my back
Even distances luna to sol, no toll to uphold
Coal into diamond and we like Midas turning dust into gold
It’s foretold, we the Psychic Frames and we multiply forty fold
Picking up shots, we hot
Rock
Always aiming to break the mold

WYATT:
Showered in the blood of the ghost of the king
clothes drying on the clothes line now here the ring of the church bell DING
corpses’ buzzing in a business of flies they were the cousins,
brothers, uncles, and aunts who breathed in their last breath.
their skins melted off their bone, “Death To The Queen” posters flown
now hanging in tatters from brown telephone poles
Vitreous humor jelly spread across the bellies
of the bodies been dragged for miles. Get ready
for that last gust of wind to steadily blast the flames forward
and melt down the town an unending horror.
Let’s hope the smoke chokes the throat of the ghost
of the king.
Let’s drink, let’s sing, let’s set fire to this whole fucking thing.
there’s no telling what else we’ve come to bring.

ANTHONY:
I ain’t a bad person, that’s just how y’all make me feel.
You be pressing the wrong buttons and you wind up getting killed.
Hang up the mic, tie the cord around my neck, kick the stool and watch my feet kind of jiggle around for a bit.
Not cool?, I’m sorry. I’ll stay on topic of this “thug shit”.
This one’s for the fans and for the mother fuckers who love it:
“Holla back now, beeya beeya, pussy, titties, pussy, bitch.”
Cut that shit up, use it for a club banger remix, I’m leaving.
Track Name: De-Still
WYATT:
Overhead shot of the town
to find 40PF standing in front of crowd
Pan left
there’s the hold-em shot, she’s the one with the Jordan IV high-tops
color way by Isaiah Scott.
Now go long, ultra wide, field of size my dick in a dick pic
You’ll be pleasantly surprised (I joke)
Two shot of a couple of kids fucking up simple kick flips on the sidewalk lip
Now freeze this frame for Ant, Soffe shorts, C cups, and yoga pants
quick cut to a dance
her booty clapping fast who would’ve thought white girls with ass so dense
could last this long with a wide angle lens
could pass over with a crane. We’re killing it, they can’t be contained
Can we get this girls name? It’s Desiree I think, THANKS
Now kick this beat hard let’s the leave track to relieve scars go

FORREST:
When I write, it’s a critical strike
On the mic, I ignite
Blaze your brain till it’s high as a kite
And goddamn, this beat is tight
Makes me wanna spit
On a roll
Let’s go
Fo sho, Fo-Jay going out of control
Like a domino, set em up and knock em to the floor
Indivisible rhyming miracles, since our shit was 70% satirical
And now we’ve grown up, honed up the craft
Rocking other entertainment, loving making people laugh
Futile to resist, impossible to misinterpret
The future’s looking bright as a bitch
Shiny like a magnitude negative 25
Flying high up in the sky like Delphi’s god
damn, what you gonna say
When you get to listen to my boy Anthony J

ANTHONY:
Holla back, late night menu snack
Sixty acre beat farm, we be swimming keeping up laps.
Track and Field, hit the ground running with our hands.
Beat the ever loving shit out that goddamn mat.
In fact I be a big fish swimming in a small tub.
Tongue stud, damn girl, can I get another one?
Born from a killer, I die as a killer.
I break the barrier between right and wrong.
In song and in session, call you out in confession.
Pastor Jackson knows all your many imperfections.
What’s the question? I zoned out, like the porno shop
next to the fucking truck stop.
I know the owner Debbie, she had me at “Fuck me”.
She gave me two tapes, and all I got to say.
“Baby got back with an ass like that”, I said.
“Baby got back with an ass like that”.
Go Scurvy!

SCURVY D:
Feel the rhythm, feel the rhyme
Frames coming at you like it’s bobsled time.
Up in your grills, giving you chills.
Beats so good it’s gotta be a crime.
Want my advice? Never think twice.
A twenty could hit with a roll of the dice.
Oh shit, that’s a crit.
Take your turkey with rice
And find a lady who’s nice and one that’s full of spice.
Feel the flame, feel the fire.
You got what you got, ‘cause you got no desire.
Watch your damn mouth, won’t settle for a liar.
The lyrics gonna pop the top off The Shire.
Make them hobbits shimmy and shake.
You want to change the dial, you better pop them brakes.
We’ll steal your whip, and then we’ll change the plates.
Like some cold mother fuckers playing GTA
Track Name: Back to Back
SCURVY D:
Welcome to the land of the Forty Frames
lots of peaks and valleys here in our landscape
You got to face the change as we rearrange
the pace at which thoughts roll through your brain
Preemptively shake you, break you and remake you
Decidedly real like scientific breakthroughs
that show how little in fact, we really knew
packed with a dose of hope, ‘cause you ain’t screwed.
Bow to the kings of hip hop’s salvation
masters of underground renovation
pure elation, ‘cause we ain’t faking
Triller than trill, for the next generation
Found the Abyss, and we pushed right past
you bastards can’t handle half of our craft
you’re daft if you think you fuckers can blast
what we put out for a joke and a laugh.

WYATT:
I used to write carelessly
I’m still careless but I care for this
I’ll embarrass you effortlessly
destroy what you cherish and love
you’ve created a monster despite your best efforts or lack thereof
I am the ox breaking the yoke kicking a dove into a tiny million feathers fuck peace I’ll destroy whatever comes at me
I’ve lost everything, lost in the Heather fields where my father house once stood
I’d’ve burned it down myself if I thought I could
That smell of wood, that smell of piss, that smell of strip club
membership cards and expired Camel points tickets all ashes burying the brick foundation where the basement used to be
My vacation is five seconds of silence and a 9mm with no safety

ANTHONY:
Forget the palm lines, it’s seen behind your eyes.
Your cause of death won’t be found in a deck.
I took on the profession long before the lords came down,
before the first apocalypse.
Nostradamus of death; accept my psychic heritage.
The first time I was born was before the swarm of locusts.
This ain’t no hocus pocus or bogus midi-chlorians.
Once again, I transcend against all that.
Ant be back on the mic, time and time again.
After your life begins, I’mma tell you how it ends,
and when it’s all gone I’ll take another shape
Escape from your fate is hard to await.

FORREST:
Back to back, brothers from another mother attack.
Singular stacked
Ain’t no disputing the fact
That our slice is precise
like an Exacto knife.
Even over distances and varying branches of our lives.
Through this, remaining true
and we’re bringing this to you.
Hurdles are made for busting through
strolling with the crew
that you would die for, any war,
settling the score
stable core, from the days of yore,
bringing you more.

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