2015 Demo Singles

by Novatore

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2015 demo


released January 25, 2015

Produced, mixed, and mastered by Jeff the Chef

Art by Novatore

Photos taken by Juan Martinez



all rights reserved


Novatore Chicago, Illinois


Dark hardcore hip-hop from the south side of Chicago.

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Track Name: Slaughter
biomechanical i plot schemes llke a scientist
theres no denying this, you know my minds demented
im rocking hobo gear not dulce and gabbana
and I don't need a pistol sneak up on ya with kitanas
Im like piranhas, leave you trippin of the 'tryptamine
this aint no ketamine or chemical you find on triple beams
mad static, im an asthmatic, run up on the murder scene with shovels and a hazmatic, so dramatic like alonzo back in 96
the days of hilfiger, lee pipes and k swiss,
dope shit, like the bathroom of a junkie
who loves chasing the dragon real dystopian llke 12 monkeys
come with 38s and rugers placed in shoulder holsters
or you'll be leaking like foam cups without the coasters
so corrosive, so explosive, so devoted
this is my dominion, bestial minions kill ya soldiers

I keep the gates and I corrupt you like leviathan
yall wolves in sheep skin but I throw lambs to the slaughter
heart detectives want me cardiac arrested
cuz they suspect that im the muscle and the plotter
hide your daughter I'm, the fonzie baby call me danger
I aint a banger but I'l mob up with my gang of strangers
pirate killers, bangarangers, lost in never
wooden legs walks the plank, and thieving hands get severed
im sick and nasty , a renegade vigilante
i up the ante as the competition crumbles
the structure tumbles, finally vengeance will be mine
I kill with bleach and leaches till my creatures bleed the sky
we spit venom that stimulate the visuals
satanic rituals and dead catholic students
mental blueprints, i cased the place like fucking rats
i come with spike bats and troops of shady mutants
Track Name: Wage War (ft. Lord Lhus)

Sell your labor get the dollar, serve the fast food, hustle legitimate don't wanna see the clink, bang the clock like a pervert with a time fetish, 6am sugar drinkin dishes in the sink, face frozen winter steez hit the corner store, maybe call the coroner and try to book a date, My fate was sealed when I found my car was paralyzed time to call the master let him know I'm comin late, swipe the time card but not the one clenched in the fist, I swiped the microchip they planted up inside my wrist, little shits got me working while I make them rich I with someone would build a bomb and blow this fuckin place to bits, mind numb sometimes I feel like I'm just doin time, no identity, justin building products on the line, the more you work the more you hate your life that's what it seems, factory of broken dreams, manufacture dollar signs

Cho 2x's

punch the clock 9-5 thats how we get by
wage labor just a new form of slavery
we shed tears for the passing of the former years
we spin the gears ,while it kills us psychologically

(Lord Lhus)

Fuck your 9-5 I wanna survive and live my life, not slave inside the system conditioned and think it's right, when it's all wrong, backwards, hustlin' for the enemy, the streets is within me but the man wanna get rid of me, and all my thoughts, a free mind never enslaved, but enraged by the masters make me work everyday, ??????? but they say it's a debt, taxin your work for a check you don't earn 'til your dead, im not a sheep i'm a wolf in human skin, 'til the end of when the revolution starts to begin, when the men they got their mind straight and working for a cause not workin with the law, the corruption is all in all,so i'ma keep it real keep it raw, you know the deal it's Lhus the only artist who really say how he feel, this is real life i'm not a slave, I don't behave, i'ma say fuck the system 'til the day i'm in my grave

Cho 2x's


went to the bosses house and rang the bell like 50 times, I put a package on the side walk and disappeared, he left the porch as expected to investigate, I slit his throat and took his cranium for souvenir, picked up the body threw it in the trunk of his Bugatti woulda took the maserati could even find the key, drove to the factory with leather gloves and molotovs, burned that shit right to the ground, grabbed the burner, called the cops, I planned this shit out so thoroughly like architects, rounded up some wood just before his last supper, I made a crucifix and nailed him down like jesus christ, head on a stick played some t-ball with the louie slugger, that's the payback motherfucker can you picture this? I took a blade and dug the chip out from my bloody wrist, you better save the page that documents this spectacle cuz shit will be collectible, like pink floyd on picture disc
Track Name: Vengeance
Cacaphonous lyricism, treat you dicks like circumcision
Break you down like long division, couldn't fathom my flow with an algorithm, taking risks, doing hits, light the fuse and hit the switch, throwing bombs in to crowds of pigs like the anarchists in 86, masked up, blacked out, smashing out the windows of your jewelry store, ain't no telling what i'm about to do, make no mistake that I came for war, teeth on the floor when I start to scheme, dreams of black masks and some gasoline, magazines start the prison riot, CO's on fire as they start to scream, fight for myself I ain't no messiah, narcs on the stand singing like a choir, call me a loser but I keep it real, You just act the part but you're a fucking liar, But that's how it goes in this fucking life so I hate the world and im anti-social, mind has snapped and im goin postal, wanna keep me hush but I keep it vocal, running the streets, snitches in sheets, fighting and fucking, not loving police, watching the clock, loving the chase, stay sharp as a knife, so i'm dodging a case

clad all in black with a mask we the bad guys, glad, cuz you aint wrapped up in a body bag , memories hurt much more than the silence, violence a tool like a pen and a note pad, mother fuck pistols, swords in the back seat, whole team love blood like a maxi. Who's still talkin? jaws clapping
talkin shit say I changed cuz I'm rap pin, you know the program is still dead cops and missing nazis, no gold chain no paparazzi my attitude still be like fonzie, run op on me and prepare to go, heart turning cold like chicago snow, I got hate for the state and it's to the core, and I'm still down to ride for the class war like.. gonna smash on the pig til the shit stop, til his shit pop, gonna grab the Glock, put him in a lock, make him sweat like I'm hitchcock, prone to poverty and violence kill a capulet
pounds of sweat illiterate i take you the cabaret , protagonists I kill that wasn't in the manuscript, ballroom left in blood from when I busted out the extra clip, bricks in my grip, windows aint shit, like cats I be fighting they drop when they're hit, much love for the fires of vengeance, much love for the taking of risks
Track Name: Acid Reflux (ft. Baer Coon the Ewokk)

I spit the nasty rhymes that pierce through guts and make u sick, dropping that shit that start the acid flux get spoons of alka-seltzer, I'm the villain that you love to hate until you need me, please believe me, I'll paint your crib red like helter skelter, stacking racks with shady acts like chuck kuklinski, who did jobs for the mob and kept you in the freezer, my rhymes is shady as bad wigs and monicals my flows methodical, i fuck your brain like lethal seizures, meter readers, get their eyes gouged from bad readings, I like my bills cheap and easy like my court proceedings, shaq attack, acid bath, and torn stitches, 90's gore steez like reeboks on witches, my tempers viscous, rush the mound when the pitcher throws it throwin bows in, lyrically, you step to me you'll be demoted, left in suspense like great Hitchcock thrillers while manifesting facades of blatant serial killers


this aint no music make for whack cats with bad hearts
my subject matter never ends up where it starts
and every critic that I have I'll fuckin put to rest
my sharp precision burns like acid in your fuckin chest

this aint no music make for whack cats with bad hearts
my subject matter never ends up where it starts
and every critic that I have I'll fuckin put to rest
I'll leave em nauseous, I'll leave you nauseous

(Baer Coon the Ewokk)

reppin blue realness, this beat killed it, all you wack emcees are on my fuckin hit list, snipe you like a Kennedy, hope you in the vicinity, two swift back hands just for running into me, I try to forget all the stupid shit in music, niggas need to take the real shit and fuckin use it, blend all the different styles the fire just fuse it..and don't abuse it. Smack it up like Ike Turner eat the cake put the game on the back burner get ya gun fuckin strangs on her, take care of yourself, put your fuckin rhymes on the shelf, Slater and Zach niggas, brrrng.. Saved by the Bell, take it back to the nineties, road trip leave your ass behind me, kinda grimey, give no fucks y'all niggas out my element so try to find me. I'm kinda slimey.. I'm kinda slimey

cho 2x's


16 or 8 it doesn't matter im getting in
I came to win, to make the king my predecessor
like henry lesser I'm privy to secret information
bring your sweater for the shit storm no better weather
100 dollar bills - Albuterol with no prescriptions
dodging convictions, im the victor theres no split decisions
this the future times dystopian, throw in the towel
release my bowels on CO's when I visit all my duns in prison
I masturbate with brillow pads and icy hot
I drink clorox, and chloroform til i'm immune
i do piq squeals on prank calls to fuck w cops
suburban blocks.. I leave your culdesacs in fuckin ruins
I rob ancient tombs - jewelry from pharaohs
assassins arrow strikes the heart like i'm cupid
I double dip and sell the shit that lead to casket trippin
basket flipping at the picnic packing like I'm fuckin stupid