Booster Shots

by Khemmeta

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Please, pull up your sleeve. You may feel a slight pinch. I am introducing a weakened form of the apocalypse into your bloodstream. You are now immune to the catastrophic destruction of the universe. . . for 23 minutes.



released 28 December 2013

All lyrics written and performed by Khemmeta, except for Tipsypocalypse, written and performed by Khemmeta, Burl I and FU. All beats produced by onesevenonenine (Keith T Kubota) and Khemmeta except for bonus track, "Thanksgiving" produced by Ryuichi Koi.

All record sessions, studio engineering, and technical heavy lifting facilitated by onesevenonenine.

Cover art by onesevenonenine.




feeds for this album, this artist
Track Name: Stonehenge
pass me a calendar, i’ll translate that to Stonehenge
scratch the days off on the wall you can’t keep time with grown men
my hourglass is every cloud with shadows floating
i’m counting down the minutes to the second when we gon win

a nanosecond from the instant when i go in
no protective armor just the visage of the war’s win
game face chiseled, i’m Achilles off the boat, pissed
Kahless swinging blades through the deities throats, it’s no big

deal with the real and never the real fictional
still resisting genocide overtones from eviction notes
still surviving Plymouth Rock villagers tryna douse our lives
making moves that humans can’t replicate right cuz we outside of

space and time, taking rhyme to the infinite
pass San Cha that Sosa Cream if that’s what’s on her Xmas list
meanwhile back inside the event horizon we militant
planning how to retake San Zuckerburg for the misfit cliques

my life insurance policy promises IT’s lifting bricks
working round the clock on the Anti-Imploder Pyramid
and i’ll collect my investment before i cease to live
and i’ll cheat death by proliferating this speech, ya dig?!

i got this!

hand me an abacus a duct tape, a match and some wire
with adequate pliers, 30 seconds, i’m apt to macguyver
a hadron collider to attatch to the rims on your tires
watch em spin until the black hole collapses your fire

you can’t see me, your vision is what a bat be on
only way you’ll catch me is if you can track the tachyons
defiant class warship with cloak and a flux capacitor
silenced sniper rifle’ll muzzle your wack ambassadors

no more mics, i quantum teleport this info
directly to your skull, infectious triggering your lymph nodes
euthanize the leukocytes, of any crew that choose to fight
viral insurrectionist, take fascists to they true demise

lock and load, stop and go, there’s a lot to know
but not a lot to slow my impossible plot to stop the globe
with Operation Drop and Roll, extinguishing the flock of trolls
tryna plunder all the crops and torch what they not control

as for the rapture, i’ll catalyze Boehner’s citric tears
sculpt a Christ statue for every dollar they print this year
then have em march on the factories that distribute fear
and flatten the dementors distributing ignorance in here

i got this!

metamari damacy, ain’t nobody can stop the flames
i’m way beyond a prophet i’m gospel incarnate, boss of fate
Track Name: Money on the M.I.C.
predator drones, shooting up a terrorist's home
level the whole neighborhood, toast the flesh and the bones
armchair warfare from a desk in your home
mobilized assault command from a text in your phone

wrecking ball your library if the target's a scholar
collateral damage won't matter, 'less it's pardoned by allah
so you can stop with the drama, or respond with a fatwa
i'll still sell all my weapons to the cats with the dollars

talking shabby battle armor so the casualties rise
assault rifles and tanks, so if you happen to die
more money in my pockets, cash for demise
the free market is Heaven and my stock's on the rise

lord of warriors, fuck it i'm selling more to ya
hollow tip bullets sending soldiers to their glory or
either that or holes in the ground, and i know how it sounds
but it's worth it if the dough is profound










got seven continents gripped, privatized earth and the water
tryna find new corners to conquer
you sacrifice a pawn, he's king forever
so we multiply the slaughter, we feed off martyrs

war crimes defined to keep boots grounded
keep troops surrounding your village so who's doubting?
indoctrinate the natives, love us or get devoured
if a silenced sniper rifle kills a rebel does he make a sound?

we monopolize the carnage in your town
if you're slow to comply you will not survive
step one local mercenaries come for your sons
step two, sending troops to your daughters with guns

step three, wait, matter fact, yo don't hate
when you've seen all five then humanity won't survive
each one of y'all guys that says capitalism's still alive
like y'all ain't in agreement with scIce
I said it's dead, mother fucker!
Track Name: Little Pigs
i got nowhere to go, this is my last choice
i gotta clear my name, in a man's voice
i publicize the charges, they'll say it's mad noise
i'll punctuate these accusations with amassed toys

heat... America Ferrera in the dessert
Bushmasters, Remington rifles with suppressors
i even got the arsenal to reach you in the air
surface to air missiles if you're tryna get embarrassed

i took this job to right the wrongs
filter the devils from this angel city, fight the monsters
to serve and protect, not oppress and abuse
it's kinda obvious the disconnect affected a fuse

so i'm correcting the noose, you used to hang my reputation
if you're down to help the wicked check your neck 'cause death's awaiting
if you're aiding my foes, catch a stray to your nose
kill my body, but this battle's how i'm saving my soul

all the little pigs in the white Crown Vics
better dip dip dip, when i unload the clip
all the little pigs in the white Crown Vics
better dip dip dip, 'fore i come for my vengeance
Track Name: Tipsypocalypse featuring Burl I. and FU
last half week, same shirt
tryna get saved in the Maker's church
chug the blood of Christ, gotta pray first
full cup, i don't even know the flavor

fuck a street light, Talladega race
Meta Ferrell, Keith Reilly never chasing crepes
that just happened. . . shake and bake!
libations, no chasers, got mistakes to make

drank sleep, wake bake, try more booze
drank game champ, i don't lose
drank pools fulla liquor, with my whole crew
get ignorant tip strippers with IOUs

tipsypocalypse, Red Stripe rapture
lose your life if you mess with my Magners
bartender i need a booster shot
no last call, don't wanna know when the booze'll stop!
Track Name: D20s
i still self-depricate in all my jokes, self-destruct in all my notes
marksman aiming just a hair above disgracing all the folk
using blood for ink for real, i leech myself for all i wrote
think i might could perish still unnoticed under all the smoke

when they say "where he went?" feel free to plead the fifth
or mention me playing zero mission in a freezing temp
no varia suit or hoodie on, just white tee and rip-it
then the heater blew away the fuse, not like i needed it

wasting thoughts imagining exactly how they'd speak of it
discs of orphaned beats and wordy scripts; hella freaky flicks
three computers running side by side, two were beat to shit
me amid the chaos of a life of incompleted skits

interludes a few acts short of stageplay comedy i writ
tragic observations of a god trapped in a peon's shift
and to be completely real mortality is bleak i feel
the reaper's teeth surrounding while i bargain for a sweeter deal

i'll tell you what i know though, no clue where i'll be around that four oh
the key to happiness ain't just a metal pressed from more dough
but when i find it, i'mma rob that safe until it's dangerous
cuz life is temporary, if you're scared of death you don't know that

that the realest always die, so kill me while i'm live
forgive me for hibernating while that ice formed over my bones

high top Walks, pan to the facial
ice grill cold as ice caps on a glacier
this is real time apocalypse
twenty thousand leagues above y'all, no Nautilus

launch myself from the top of the sky
and show impostors what's the real meaning of dropping it live
wore my feet down to stumps, on top of my grind
can't no one tell me shit bout walking the line

i'm hard of hearing when they talking them lies
angel wings is censorship, but that ain't properly fly
and that mean everything i see i speak, every time i breathe
and if i'm silent then i'm suffocating, pass me the trees

tryna get oxygenated before i pass out
let me shine for a minute, til they blow that match out
laugh loud while they killing you to sneak in their dreams
resurrecting as a demon, you'll be feeding their screams

night terrorists, hide in the mirrors, chanting your error list
chain your feet with acrophobia, to keep you scared to lift
TL;DR? then listen: meta gotta fly
and if i fall, don't lose a step of swag cuz everybody dies
you know?

i know, you know, we know
he knows, she knows, zhe knows
but they don't, they don't they don't

that the realest always die, so kill me while i'm live
forgive me for hibernating while that ice formed over my bones

that the realest always die, fuck a average life
d20s show every number shy of nine on them recovery rolls
Track Name: Beetlejuice
middle finger flood the faces of dissenters
it's all Hip-Hop and games until somebody gets dismembered
limbs tagged, embalmed, and left in the shed
evidence of former challengers, living or dead

let the living limp back to they camps with horror stories
spreading the dread, wetting the bed, depressed and mourning
if you ain't in my org don't even trip about what's up with me
i try to be inclusive but mother fuckers is uppity

spitting that crusty Chuck E. Cheese, Dave & Busters fuckery
you musta known this wasn't a game, 'cause you can't bluff for free
let's test your lucky streak with russian roulette
'cept every chamber is loaded inside that gun at your head

only takes one and you're dead: click-click, BOOM! finished.
spoiler alert: Sixth Sense, Bruce Willis
ain't no one tryna hear you so you talk to yourself
hovering in purgatory 'til you drop into hell

i got a bulletproof flow, and your ammo is nerf
if you really want a war i'll kick the ash out your urn
call my fucking name three times like Beetlejuice
hold your fucking breath, wait, find out what the beast will do

Fredrick Douglass Kruger, nightmare of White AmeriKKKa
write my way to freedom, light-bearer fire a flare at ya
burning, an epistle to signal scIce isn't fair to bums
call homeland security, i'm a microphone terrorist

not a thug, and i don't pretend to be one
i'm the type to cut your chest open so i can eat lungs
i don't need a reason, my cooking's the bomb
i'll split the atom on your block, if you look at me wrong

you heard the hook on this song: keep my name out of that genital massager
that you thought would be proper for rocking mics
i got a rocket launcher that's locking in your demise
use your carcass rot in my garden to fertilize

Sciceberg Pimpin, English is in my stable
i see you tryna trick so peel some bills from off that bankroll
but if you try to rescue you could eat a clip of staples
you can get filed for incineration today yo

i got a bulletproof flow, and your ammo is nerf
if you really want a war i'll kick the ash out your urn
call my fucking name three times like Beetlejuice
hold your fucking breath, wait, find out what the beast will do

K-Matic, your team is straight batshit
for letting you get ratchet with me, dangerous habit
you're like a gig at Walmart, Target practice
walking round alone in the City without an atlas

if he catch you slipping, chloroform, now close your eyes
Dolores Claiborne; when you wake out in the hideout
it puts the lotion on its skin again
or else i hold its mouth open, insert a pound of cinnamon

like, "challenge accepted!" Livestream your death, then
sell the rights to Netflix, whoever placed their bets on
you is a loser that rooted for a jabroni
and bet against the grimiest rhymer, the one and only

Metamari, hazard to your survival
keep the mouth gross, spitting poison at my rivals
every word i write is nerve gas for you to breathe in
hugs for believers, hellfire for the heathens.