Lounge LP

by Thing2

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Thing2 on his debut solo release.


released November 8, 2014

Album Artwork: Matthew Feldman

Post Production: CandyWrapper, Mamoun.

Musical Production: Kodyak, FORIGN PCKTLNT, OliMersh, Low Pressure System.

Management and Oversight: Henri Katz

Featured Artists: Mamoun, BruceLeanin

Lyrics: Thing2

SketchFam Productions.




Thing2 Denver, Colorado

Thing2 is a rapper and spoken word poet from Denver, CO. A member and one of the founders of SketchFam and SketchFam productions. He has performed with Idris Goodwin, Joshua Bennett, and Wheelchair Sportscamp.

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Track Name: Busy [prod. Kodyak]
[Spliff sticking to my upper lip
While you busy with a pistol in your fucking grip.
I ain’t got time for you and I ain’t got time for your shit.
Feed the fam, and sleep well
thats the way to live.]

We were busy up in that trap
Never mind it.
I was whittling my word to a sharp point
and putting clouds of Colorado kush behind it.
Shout Moun, Brucelean, Jolton, BlackT
and a whole team of mother fucking goofs surrounding
pearls and a mic. with a pencil I might
try to give life to the way the beat was sounding.
We were busy up in that lounge.
All recording.
I Got a homie who I love tripping acid in the mountains
or he violate the crossing of the Texas border.
We some cold mother fuckers of the boldest order.
haven’t changed since we were church goers.
Now I (celebrate all summer that the winter’s over. x2)

[Hook x2]

I was coughing up both my lungs
Hit a bowl outside last night
admit that shit fucking terrifies me.
but it still couldn’t down my high
couldn’t douse my fire
couldn’t kill my vibe like I did this beat with all these lines
blowing all of your minds every god damn time.
I wanna wake up in the morning do the same thing
Roll a spliff, hit a spliff, go to bed again.
And Black T he’s a a buddhist and he said that I could do this til
I lived and I died and I lived again.
Make you listen when I spit it.
Cuff a motherfucker when I’m puffin out a lyric. 3367450623
Stuff it undercover where your momma knows you hid it.
Changing from days when I would never speak a written.

Never hidden.

Track Name: Jangus Wifong [prod. FORIGN PCKTLNT]
Two tracks that started with a bong rip
I Cox back and walk hard, get high like how my band is.
All of y’all my cattle cause I’m hotter than a brand is.
Revealing where the beef at like a cancelled Wendy’s add did.
I’m 5’8” and rising, you six low end dead.
I make my money off the shit that Lindsey Lohan did
Moun cooked a couple patties now we need the bread
and maybe little bit’s of cheddar we can pair it with.
Get high off grass and on grass on Yampa.
Sketch stay lit like the ends of Nag Champa.
Heart’s on sleeves like my love is my armor.
No cash on leaves from trees in my garden.
Mook snap, mole bowl, spliffs I’m coughing.
Half way to famous cause my skins like Obama’s.

(Let me hit it again... Damn.)

I’m an ash-lete to the full extent.
Element, and roll a spliff before the main event.
Before a nigga hit the blocks, the judges catch a scent.
I’m pawning of the gold medal, bout to catch a cent.
Wish that I could cop a dolla, cop a residence.
Running til I’m up and outta mommas bas e ment.
If verses ain’t a golden ticket, then I’m just wasting pen.
Running to a heard of laurels, til I’m wasting breath.
Fuck spitting writtens in pidgin, the labels wasting bread.
Eat the crumbs up off the table, I don’t waste a stem.
Green dragon in the closet getting faced again.
Got these niggas stressin like a fucking placement test.
It’s amazing yes.

Smoking rollies in the back of a Subaru.
Ashing in your babies stroller cause we goofy dude.
I’d refused to pay the bill after I blew your roof,
Just tell the farmers insurance that I was storming through.
They’ll need an image for claims, so take a photo proof.
I’ll sign it later mother fucker you can sell it too.
I kick a six pack.
Then spark up a zig-zag,
Then exhale tobacco,
But fresh like a tic-tac.
It’s easy,
It’s business
I won’t leave a witness,
I burn down the walls
and don’t ask for forgiveness.
I’m so underground that I’m chillin with carrots.
You frozen in Jared, transfixed by the karats.
The game wants you out like in a bad marriage
I’m out getting noticed like I’m a red herring.
You busting your teeth, like you just chewed a bearing.
I’m stealing your shit while you out on the pavement.
It’s Thing.
Track Name: SuSS ft. Mamoun, BruceLeanin [prod. FORIGN PCKLNT]
Sketch fam,
Lick tabs,
Quarter pound in the back seat.
Running with a Zip across the Colorado border,
outrun the cops like a track meet.
Getting vengeance for Rodney
King or that’s what they crown me.
Sip a ton of Everclear,
blacking the fuck out,
give a damn about my surroundings.
Too many frozen in county. [Burr]
Jail’s is getting too crowded.
I’ll be hiding my stash in the sub-woof,
show these motherfuckers what loud is.
Got a nimbus coming out my mouth. (x3)
Now these motherfuckers know just what a cloud is.
I’m lifted and lit up and colored.
Pastel when I exhale.
The smoke fades but my words don’t.
Now I’m beaming into space like a Nextel.
Clothes coated in dank smell.
In your state that don’t bode well.
Legalize, Mile High, Reason why
Sketch is just rolling blut up in a jail cell.
Track Name: Fuck The Burbs [prod. Low Pressure System]
Not sleeping like I’m Hunter S.
We are the product of a generation under stress.
Another probable response to how the lemmings led
feed em all the syrup that you can a put the kids to bed.
Use the first to pay the bill you get for the express.
Go buy a Chevrolette,
Americana at it’s best.
They learn to wear a vest before learn the alphabet
They learn to cope whenever professor’s dead.
CNN selling dystopia, generation missing like bottles of Frutopia
LSD in listerine, pockets full of opiates.
Naked in the wind but we too high to feel how cold it is
Apocalyptic like young Tony Burgess’s
Fall a slave to money but we got no way of earning it.
Buy ourselves our freedom Uncle Sam returning us.
Flag from dissension catch a sentence if you burning it.
An education is the plumbing for the prison shits.
And recent studies show I’m better off illiterate,
the NSA is watching cause they know I’ve written it.
Probably gonna put in the chair where Ethel Rosen sit.

Straight from they momma’s ovaries
the kids are clouded by the coke all up in they cola dreams
The overcrowdedness of everybody’s ponzi scheme
You all just high on the mulatto Johnny poppy seed.
Got another gig, to pay your fucking pappi’s lease
Improper, improvise, and fix your fucking property.
Sick of wasting George’s on the fucking lottery. (x2)
Can’t afford my weed and that fucking bothers me.
The patriotic dream ain’t got shit to offer me,
I’m tripping cause I’m licking where the dosage blotter leak
tryna find a desert full of iowaska leaf.
Grow everything I eat, save my fucking arteries.
I’m in the burbs bumping begging you to fuck with me.
Hearing shots
and invest in buying bandages,
Built a world
for niggas packing daringers.
If he die
then the family feel the damages
but on the real
other people wouldn’t even give a shit
Everybody get’s their
power from their privelages
My house is smaller then the spot they keep their Lexus in.
Probably better of my momma fucked her next of kin.
And all that matters is just keeping up appearances. (x3)
Ask a fairer man what a random screening is. (x2)
And if he say he doesn’t know,
than he’s meaning it.
Excuse me sir I ma need to see you baggage
[I’m looking grunge as fuck.
In the alley drunk as fuck.
Eating Xany bars and such
Choke on what I’m spitting up.
This is another drug,
pulling one anothers plugs
So when I type it up the neighbors know I’m writing something.] (x2)
Track Name: Insurance (Outro) [prod. Mersh]
Let me pause for a minute.
Starve for a written.
Tossed looking like a lost cause for a minute.
Hardly forgiven.
Spar with a nigga.
Just watch gave em all dope shit to listen
Two. Sounding nicer than fresh sheets.
Mersh cut a line of that fresh please.
Bouta hit the powder like fresh skis.
Cut another up like yes please.
Covered in the dust from a keef screen.
Don’t give a fuck what the police think.
Open up the door like “Sir did you smoke?”
Shit, does the motherfucking weed stink?
Ain’t no other crime in Lone Tree.
Baby hide the stash under your seat.
It’ll be done quick so don’t blink
But if I’m locked up please baby don’t leave.
Swallow blood in my sleep.
Every fucking line puts a knot in my sheets.
Running over birds like I got in the Jeep.
Hunting like raptor trying to eat
Brrt Brrt
Every word is relief. In the guise of release.
In the eyes of the worst white lie you could speak
That my type of people could trust the police.
Or that rocking a flag coulda paid in the streets.
I’m here racing for pinks.
I’ll be taking the keys.
I’ll be lusting for fame til the shit fuck me.
Bust in her ass if she want money,
But give her the pass if she want loving.
I don’t care about shit,
I don’t care if I fall.
I don’t care If I got my blood, sweat, and my tears up to my balls.
The whole fam don’t give in.
The whole world is bout to flood.
And if the pain stop, then the rain stop and it’s safe in the neighborhood.
And I told a nigga cash out fore I dashed out,
Too much hit my liver and I’m passed out.
Bout to hit a nigga if he lash out.
Rob the game silly like the Mask now.
Hope they figure out 8 what I lie bout.
Hit a bunny every time I lie down.
Near a grammy when I open my mouth.
Near a pantie when I open my mouth.
Manicure scratch my back out.
Pedicure on my shoulders.
Made her shiver so much that when we woke up in the morning she insisted
that the whole fucking room was colder
Fuck off, I had her feeling like.