9 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/

#LeonardoAI
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UNDERGROWTH

There's a window into my mind, but you can't find it/
Glass ceilings are shattered every time I rhyme/
Lines are made of glass every time they're cast/
If you say they're fishy, then the fish are smashed as fuck/
Glass shards are in my egg-nut coz I'm rapping so hard, and earning so much that even unborn kids will make a cut in it, innit?/
It's a must-see when even my deepest cuts cut powerful peeps deep/
Count the beats. I can't be fucked to keep one, two, three/
They're free/
Only a slow DJ can stop these/
Catch me dancing on the floor like I dropped heat/
It's a man's world in Delhi, 'til the chicks have many, so promote polyandry and get Tibetan/
After being ripped from the pages of history books, I slipped through the hands of history and became a mystery for ages, and for the ages, coz I'm not only a sage at a specific stage in life/
No page I've written is in any way white coz y'all fill in the blanks like stars fill the night sky, and they're right by me like I'm feeling the heat,
but that's fine by me/
A sign by me reads: 'Wet when it's sunny'/
That's only ironic if you're as depressed as a fractured Indian toilet with no nice seat/
Don't try to sit down if you have no right feet or shit's going down, as you move like on a train in Delhi that falls for every platform it meets/
Is there some such space for sex on the beach?/
I have lessons to teach like a lectern for preaching to peeps, and I hope my speech reaches all the nosebleed seats/
Keep the beat like a heart is beating coz of Indian summer heat/
If I get home alone, am I prone to getting homes without help?/
Streetwalkers and sweet talkers have got me longing to eat sweets, like my nose is feet sinking deep into gulab, to get me wet like I'm working out/
Get loud, like your foreskin's walking/
I ain't a Jew, so getting off ain't hindered by this type of stalking/
And they have every right to walk in my shoes to better get by;
leave Gazans alone/
Legs are letters' openers, but there's a better opener: Open up some letters and say everything I wrote to ya/
And Palestinian men, can I write about your missis all I like; lift their niqabs and write on their thighs about how they're holy goddesses, using a tattoo pen?/
One tattooed free wren with a pen will be coming soon then/
Make that as common as a street stall for selling so many sweet nuts while forgetting about EpiPens/
It looks like it's stranger to sell strangers the idea of pricks than wrens/
Cows are rare in India compared to men/
Is an ashram where in India we're all gonna be, then?/
Notice some stretch of seas overseas when some dive into the deep end of an ocean and wreck their knees, in sinking like refugees, and some stretch, wishing for rescue and peace/
It's a stretch for them just to breathe,
but exhaling alone doesn't move a boat enough to set you free,
unless enough stretches together open time and space to interpretation/
So, interpret raised middle fingers as peeps being held up to the powers that be with ease/