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BUOT ciix

BOUT is a raw, introspective dive into fractured identity, social decay, and mental overload — told through sharp wordplay, dark humor, and existential tension. ciix moves between paranoia and clarity, innocence and disillusion, questioning control, power, ego, and freedom in a world obsessed with numbers, noise, and surface-level meaning. The lyrics swing from childhood nostalgia to apocalyptic awareness, blending philosophical punchlines with gritty realism. It’s confrontational without being hollow, chaotic but intentional — a stream of consciousness for late nights, overthinking minds, and anyone feeling out of place in a system built on pressure. Sonically, BOUT sits in a smoky jazz-rap pocket: 94 BPM gritty boom bap with dusty vinyl crackle, deep sub-bass, jazz-noir piano loops, subtle sax accents, and minimal drums anchored by a hard snare smack. Moody, nocturnal, and stripped back — built to let heavy bars breathe and hit. This one’s for fans of underground jazz hip hop, abstract lyricism, and artists who live in the cracks between genres. ciix — BOUT #JazzRap #BoomBap #UndergroundHipHop #ExperimentalRap #JazzHipHop #ConsciousRap #ciix Lyrics: **I just wanna be free, and just flee To the times I used to swing on trees, When I used to see shit in a pure degree. Seemed all glee — and now I gotta agree With the minds that can barely see… Don’t mind if you disagree, Just doin’ my time with a cup of sour tea. No need to feel me — Wouldn’t be ideal, my dear, you’d be just another meal. It all turns like a wheel, no need to reveal What was Mr. God feeling when he created me? Seems unreal — knock knock, it’s the Devil, Looked like an angel, Game-changer, maybe even bender, A weird stranger in a system made of danger. Anger? Nah — shit’s for wankers. I’m more like “spank her,” Peace in my mind like a master — some call me blaster. Open you up, hold you with a retractor. Living my life like I’m on the last chapter — does it even matter? For some it’s a disaster, Like a fission in a chain reaction. Little minds in faction think they in action. It ain’t just like that — more than a complex fraction. Sorry Mrs. Jackson, it’s not you but lack of passion. And look at your fashion — worse than Ellen DeGeez. My eyes ’bout to bleed — bitch, please. Tryna be elite but you’re just another piece of meat, So just take a seat — nobody is complete. No need to cheat in little games of deceit, Treating you like a different breed So you can’t compete? So just take the defeat. Throw it all in, get out, and burn the streets. Not so hard in a world of tweets —What's my perception of reality? Actually; Pretty irrational you see, based up on theory. Structured on brutality, can’t trust nobody. Something’s wrong with me lately. My mind gone hazy, ’bout to drive me crazy. Shit’s been going on daily, you see I barely remember my name lately—NSA. Man, I miss my Blackberry, shit’s pretty deep and scary. Like the policy of John Kerry, where’s the fucking dignity? It’s all about the digits, that’s what I see. Insignificantly has no value to me. Apocalyptic minds on control makes me laugh ridiculously. I ain’t talking about quantum theory. Maybe you just too busy chasing that paper like Tom and Jerry, Or like Harvey Dent—what do you people even represent? We’re on a different fragment, less than 5 percent. Black belt on my argument. How do I describe my content? A single word: “mouvement.” Fuck. Just lose the fate and detonate. Although can’t wait but gotta say nope, mate. Even though it irritates—fuck you, you can’t dictate. Trick or treat? Got caught to my bait. I’m the dark side of this rap shit like backside of the moon. Noon I get up high and I amplify. Outta fucking sci-fi, I fly by with the bull’s-eye. Drop the bomb so high from the sky like it’s classified. Still though sometimes I feel unsatisfied—it's like not right inside. My brain burns like nitrous oxide and yes it’s verified. Need some? I got some extra on the side. It’s just like a joyride next to seaside with high tide. Motherfucker up so high. Pedal to the metal till I die, by the bye. Please don’t you try. Your mama might cry. Then guess who’s gonna be the bad guy. I already feel the heat.**