Karaoke stamped me

I did not plan Rikk Four-Stamp. I planned a quiet joke and a cheap drink after a ledger day that smelled like toner. Karaoke booth. Talk-sing nonsense. Chirp-clicks I used to hide under my desk. The name fell out without thinking and the booth went quiet like a stamp pad waiting for ink. Then loud. Somebody recorded it. By morning the undercity was singing the stamp back at me like I had filed a hit by accident.

Family still pings: come back down to the planet, get your head out of the clouds, the desk has your chair. I send a pit selfie with four fingers up and run another warmup. The beats stay hard. The lyrics stay soft and funny on purpose. If you wanted cruelty dressed as hype, wrong Goblishili. I roast factor row and buy the clerk a drink after.

Catch Four-Stamp on KHES when the scream bands need a door opener who still remembers your name on the merch line. Hard kick. Soft punchline. Paid in stamps.