🎭 Cry Wolf – Heir Monty 🎙️ A Hauntcore Manifesto | 🪞AI as Specter, Society as the Beast In a world screaming “the end is near” on loop... Cry Wolf asks: was it ever not? Monty blends slam poetry, glitch satire, and prophetic cadence to indict our addiction to panic, platforms, and performative outrage. From Timbaland to timeloops, the track flips the AI hysteria script: ⚠️ The terror isn’t the tool; it’s the mirror. 💻 Themes: • AI dread vs. societal amnesia • Artistic erasure & commodified rebellion • Tupac, Orwell, and TikTok in a spiral • Post-truth as performance art 🧠 Quote: “Cry me a river from the shiver me Timbaland” - satire meets lament for our collective collapse. 🔊 For fans of: JPEGMAFIA, Bo Burnham, clipping., Linkin Park, Dead Prez #Hauntcore #CryWolf #AIHysteria #MythOS #PostTruth #HeirMonty Lyrics: Suddenly we care about the painter, the act, and to be direct We claim the script in hand is penned with no respect We regretfully pretend that the present does not reflect Cry me a river from the shiver me Timbaland, you all know what's next They said it would steal our minds We scrolled past Corrupt our kids Where are those little rats? Kill the truth Like we care so much about that Destroy art You can not kill what is already dead, that's facts They said it was the end of reality Series after series of "seriously" condensed to one page The beginning of the machine age Post human fear as old as the writing we claim The death of intimacy, set souls to flame What is your neighbors name how's your brother who lost another or can't speak to your other cause we care more about the score, the oath, the great American cope of the day The rise of propaganda We elect props and gander then wonder why politicians rot in splendor They were talking about the radio Then the TV Printing press tuned to auto industry Then the internet Now it’s AI Instead of read or ask why Once again we with much to do before clocking in on the morrow of any day ending in Y we hope then hop in line The terror was never the tool The tool is you The terror is the mirror Check and see and then tell me what came first Artificial intelligence or the indoctrination of ignorance labeled, branded, marketed, lobbied and then delivered on the first "It's too much money here. I mean nobody should be hitting the lotto for 36 million and we got people starving in the streets. That is not idealistic, that's just real, that's just stupid" - Tupac Shakur - 1992 MTV Christmas Interview (Unaired) more

A cursed puppet theater. Lyrically absurd and sharp as a bone dagger, the track spirals through a distorted tale of third-wheel possession, mythic flirtation, and demonic theater. Whisper stacks gasp like a lich mid-laugh while the bridge turns into a haunted nursery rhyme. By the time the chorus hits—you’re already in the woods. And someone’s not walking out. Mood: Blair Witch on cough syrup, post-romantic and pre-ritual. Lyrics: “Carlll... that kills people.” What’s this I do but tremble... in awe and tempo. It is I Cyclops six shot, no Hollister, no holster, just spit. Revolver trading hands like John can’t find his pen; dim wit. Limp like bar-hopping for clover, drunk on a bus, sick. Got bloody with her, so slick. She rode saddle, mad. Giddy-up, witch. She swore it wasn’t the broom she swept with, she loves to throw fits. She’s candy in an Apple Store, trying to credit licorice. Hold the door; she’s got a man? Damn. Maybe we should call it quits. Wait. No, never mind. Proceed with charm, he’s five-six. Careful what you say these days, come summer Will Smith with Wesson chips. Pecs got tecs; we all saw what a bad joke did to Chris. Had me there, Moriarty But I won’t play minnow to big fish. Do we find it ironic at sea She skips ship to swim? Ginger root in tea I sip; pond on Amelia split. Tardy dinner date; don’t worry, Achilles, I covered the tip. Let me spell some advice for bugs of little wit: Dumb and deader get resurrected contesting the breath of Lich. Welcome back, my newly born garden Just north, there’s a wood where you’ll find a meadow. Supper; it will run. And it will suffer. This... will help you harden. They speak? No. They bless with peace. Pieces. Pay the parlay’s fee. Even as Muckmouth, I echo, still, even from distance. “He’ll turn up any day.” “Oh give it time. Wait and see.” I most assuredly am damn sure That he absolutely won’t be. Pulling thin strings like fish line down shit’s creek. Depth perception like Hades in heat I can’t seem but obscene. I stare. I dare. I tempt Don’t flirt with he of little trust, wrong mirth. She wakes to my morning song She’s a real gone girl. Cigarette as paparazzi pops off over Nikki; born worm. I’m a fallen angel; Bartleby with Loki’s grin. My horns been. Seraph are you sure I’m the apothecary you’ve forspent? Famous last words; dose too alchemical. Update: awkward. Taking Back Sundays since she fled Cold Feet’s lil frostwork. Gerard, where’d the romance chemical go? The parade’s still stalwart. Coriolanus? Law-abiding halter? Nah, he who must not be sued. I’m a butler named Walter. Peckish puppet; dance for me. Learn my wings: Hermes, bird and horror. Need an old priest, young priest, Seven’s Freeman, three wise altars. An altar, incense, more sense, Fincher to direct it; plus holy water. Okay, that might’ve got Barca to stop barking; haste to Hastur. Act with me, and the Final Destination gets darker. Jigsaw game, train ticket, freight train, airplane Dexter, clean up, go shower. Be back in an hour. I am the Zodiac symbol; double Aries. Pentagram Sam; solemn golem. Little bite. Scrappy bark. Man. I am the Zodiac symbol; double Aries. Pentagram Sam; solemn golem. Little bite. Scrappy bark. Man. Deer in the headlights On the Devil’s highway In his spotlight Run, run rabbit; hear the hordes caw Here comes the BITE. Welcome back, my newly born garden Just north, there’s a wood where you’ll find a meadow. Supper; it will run. And it will suffer. This... will help you harden. They speak? No. They bless with peace. Pieces. Parlay paid. Muckmouth still echoes, even when decayed. Like a ventriloquist If she’s bitching? I didn’t see it. Can’t. Won’t. No evidence? We... can’t believe it. “What do you mean went missing?” That’s a whisper. Phonesthetic preaching. “He’ll turn up any day.” “Wait and see.” But privately, between you and me... We’re all alone out here. Look at me: I’m absolutely sure he won’t be. Don’t worry about what’s in the box. Us three... Pulling thin strings Like fish line Down All Of Shit’s Creek. Depth perception Like Hades in heat. I can’t seem much more Do you fine me... find me obscene?more

"Hypothetically Speakin’" — from the crooked mouth of a bard who already knows how it ends. Three men walk into a favor. One walks out. Raise your glass. Forget the name. Only the silent get to rest. Inspired by Guy Ritchie, hauntcore rituals, and bardic betrayals. Lyrics: Raise your glass Forget the name Some tabs settle Just the same One spoke truth One just guessed Only the silent Get to rest Hypothetically speakin’? Sure, it’s within fair reach That a problem might bow to a vow Two pigs, a creek And two weeks teachin’ the weeds how to keep Or more bluntly Grab a drifter, bless me ma Skip the pigs Just a shovel, just a prayer Swear that whoever it was is a name no one digs If it ain’t pride and it ain’t gold but a vow gone cold, a debt retold— then speak it once, no need to plead. Say it once. That’s all we agreed. Three don’t make a secret One always starts to choke One digs One buries One lies like it’s a joke Three don’t make a secret You just hope it’s not you The one who talks first Never gets to choose Be sure you dig the hole at least Start at six feet deep If you’ve got more bark than teeth Make them dig it Keep it brief Too much talk Feeds the pigs beneath When choosing where the body splits Go below the hips Less twitch Burn Bury Barely speak Bet your life which one will squeak Best the three of you plot quiet Choose the pair that lies the least You mentioned a score But I don’t need the plot I’m not a man of wants We’ll speak of cost After the shot Three don’t make a secret One always starts to choke One digs One buries One lies like it’s a joke Three don’t make a secret You just hope it’s not you The one who talks first Never gets to choose Now that it’s just us Let’s slow the run Last I saw the other one He’d just bought himself a gun Asked me straight where you had gone I didn’t lie I played dumb And now, well look Here he comes No need to panic No need to hide I’ll keep him close I’ll say hi Lucky for you I always carry two Take your time Load it smooth When he rounds the bend Close enough to spit Do what feels natural Aim where your guilt might sit Raise your glass Forget the name Some tabs settle Just the same One spoke truth One just guessed Only the silent Get to rest more