Aesop Ipsum

Placeholder text using Aesop Rock lyrics

When you can't work with real content, bring some of the illest rap lyrics ever written to your projects:

Now what of the madness fragments? Stagnant

I forever wallow in glitches, grimly distributed by side effects, consumed, cocooned in antisocial trenches, drenched. My first name is a random set of numbers and letters, and other alphanumerics that changes hourly forever, my last name, a thousand vowels fading down a sinkhole to a susurrus, couldn't just be John Doe or Bingo.

  • Fraggle rock your four figure watch
  • Let a sucker drift, I lift up every stone prone to find
  • Cherry pick blue in the pale
  • Therefore it is and the melody settles
  • Where the wild strawberry vines toss and turn
  • Let the back burner boiling point descend
  • Ease back; let a heart thump echo normalcy for 10
  • Outside the most ridiculous poison tongue brain silo
  • Sit and sweat bullets on a console

Close encounters of the first kind, contact cursed minds skies red. Stuck sitting spinning world wide webs, over whim and worry flurried on your sidesteps.

Iron clad oracle test three COM unit disperse silently

I used to have a rope ladder but tattered were the rungs, I strung it from the highest willow, trying to hug the sun. Billy-goat beard twenty years in the making, carried lures in his brim, carried beer in his waders, stinked like alcohol of all prominent flavors, carried knives in his vest, carried war in his nature. Sat among the forest floor critters and pine cones, could tie a perfect fly with his eyes closed, veteran angler with a mission to run, make all naysayers hold t-t-t-tongues. Today I pulled three ghost crabs out of rock and sand, where the low tide showcased a promised land. Ok, I lay me down to sleep, creepin' a slumber under red skies, heads splittin', straight sippin' a drip of dead vibes. It's red tides from here, stop and smell analog hell, clenchin' a stench of burnin' logics and a child with yearning optics.

Let me put you up on Bob's donuts, controller of the warm deep fryer that charms cobras. Picture if you will a witching hour on a week night in the trenches, where paranoia dead-ends in a bright florescent heaven with sprinkles, I know right, yum! Busting accidental dirt bike donuts, outside the most ridiculous poison tongue brain silo, dead before the chubby debutante conquered the high note, schooled by the cruel intention inventions pensive sideshow.

Now taciturn facets burn open to yield malarkey navigator

What a long capitol crust, gallop my charriot burning and awful enigma, sprung by the sling of David appears gutterbug batch, prior to hatch, dismiss it as a soul condensing, excuse to decorate maps with thumb tacks this gold star product, pushing hate boogie themes enter the smoke screen blazing saddle remnants. Oh it'll be soon, balloon immune to doom blend, I ain't ditchin' the kitchen til every spoon bends. Soul crafted fat cats, burrowin', left perennial tenants discouraged in. Discussing my four-season flourishing.