10 months ago

The lyrics are all mine.
The image was generated using Leonardo.ai.
The voice and music were generated using Suno.com.

Find my entire book of rap here:
https://www.amazon.com.au/Sales-Pitch-Matthew-Vandenberg/dp/1685830749

Here are the original posts, from 2016:
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/17s3BZntoL/

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UNDERREPRESENTED

Bashfulness enhances natural scents/
But you still become naturally sensually spent
in rationally bashing through your defense mechanisms
and letting out dashes of bad breaths/
Tactfulness is of the essence/
You think that your acrid morning-breath is an essence of drama and suffer from stress,
but I must stress that it's totally an intoxicating floral essence/

Tell me if the weather ever endeavors to get some deep-fried breath from out of your tool shed/
I think that you underrepresent the weather/
What's useful for sex?/
You think you're getting what you need to get, but forgetting what you need, when you're there at a chemist to get perfume to get wet/
Think of mosquitoes here in India to get less/
Take your tongue. Your tool's wet,
but the weather's way ahead of you there, getting you to sweat and salivate whenever you move/
It's better than your mind until you let it get to you then get over it too soon,
in your temperature cooling/
But at least you'll soon have a better attitude and a better mood with your mind in full cool bloom/
Be a mushroom, forget getting a room, blush soon, and make a move to remove make-up and take up the profession of consensually touching up women, like it simply stems from using make-up so often, like mushrooms/
If you thought that make-up improves you, that's a made-up hallucination, babe, coz you're too cute without foundation,
with or without mushrooms, whether floating around a place in rising up in elation, or during masturbation,
or all. Call this 'light focused overstimulation of babes',
and if light's seemingly over stimulation that's like what's in some spotlight is the rise of stimulation,
and I see your eyes light up as you masturbate and meditate, while elated at taking every chance to shake/
Breathe hard. Don't be a paperweight/
Lose your marbles, in going sexually insane/
Your breath's always a breeze, babe; as warm as a thankful date/
But a bitter breezy breath is also to my taste/
It's like we're talking a cemetery for cherries/
Is la petite mort some little death? It's some very/
Keep your mouth open wide so I can find my high's not temporary/
Otherwise it always seems to be night inside you and no one can seize the century/
That's in bacterial years, and they're not dead to me/
To paraphrase Napoleon: 'Save your stench for me'/
This would be some nice production of something to lust after; for the rest of the world to see is better than the pollution we're seeing presently/
I'm not into too much of some domestic consumption, so I hope you will let me roam, for a space, the space for others' breaths; let my nose alone go on dates, like I'm in the nosebleed seats of your stadium with an erection too, and my like nose is sensually sculptured, like a Jew's, and you assume it'll move farther away soon/
If you're Palestinian, I really need to/
But at least I'm in the mood to move, if not move from place to place, and you approve too, so this production is not about destruction but who needs whom/