Diagnosing the Human Condition (Fascinatingly Disturbing Thoughts, Vol. 1)

by Sauce is Matisse

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Vol. 1 of the "Fascinatingly Disturbing Thoughts" EP Trilogy.



released August 28, 2015

Produced by Sauce, aka Matisse.
Mixed by Sinatti Pop.



all rights reserved


Sauce is Matisse Charlottesville, Virginia

"Sauce is Matisse" is a rapper based in Charlottesville, VA inspired by both underground and mainstream music across all genres. His work showcases a sound between raw hip-hop and the most technical metal outfits.

After being described as a mental paradox, he was given the advice to “contain” that paradox in order to allow all sides of himself to coexist.

He has done this through music.
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Track Name: Hapa
[Verse 1]
I am Matt Tsoy, they also call me sauce or call me Tisse
I spit bars so y’all be spitting teeth when I'm on a beat
And honestly...I feel like I been on a streak
Because everything I script is impeccable, I'm a beast
Picture tentacles tangling all the women you're banging
And spraying seminal vesicles from my testicles hanging
Below my heavy erect and molesting member, my wang and
I'm sick as any explicit image depicted in manga
Got dang bruh... grand mom is Ok Doo Ok, y’all
I gotta walk the walk, dog I'm talking bout songs
I gotta catch ‘em all like a Pokemon god
And be a master of this craft, martial artist with the bars
...And I hear racists saying teriyaki
But I'm one who from the heavens came, I am Anunaki
I'm a god with these bars spitting, I ain’t being cocky
I just say it like it is kids, listen up and watch me


Go and be yourself, don’t worry bout the labels
Go and be yourself, don’t label, label

[Verse 2]
My name is Matthew Paul and I had a father and a mother
While I grew up as a youngin’ in the motherfucking suburbs
What...with opportunities abundant
I was lucky as a leprechaun, the money stuff was covered
My mother is a ginge who knew Russian, French, and German
In addition to her native tongue, I'm meant to be a wordsmith
...Tisse’ll spit a verse, vivid when you heard this
Pissing on my learning with some words, and it burns dick, but
I don't tend to think I'm the Peter Griffin of spitting
Even though everything that I rip is freaking ridiculous
Listen I’m invisible but lyrical rhetoric’s
Subtle telltale tremor’s in the rhythm, addictive dissonance
I lived in privilege, an educated heretic
Aware that I’d been taken care of, never been a derelict
I'm arrogant, I dare to spit, so parents this is serious
So bury me in serial therapy sessions, swear I’m fixed
Track Name: Monster
[Verse 1]
Morning. Get up. I’m already fed up
Everything gets to me, it’s awful and pent-up
Better eat breakfast so I cut a fucking egg up
But I never get to sit to ingest through all the nega-
-tivity living in me, it’s itching to rip a freak
Open and skip the teeth choking on livid screams
I paint a picture vocally of vivid dreams
Hoping to rid my weak shoulders of enemies
Sins are curing me of insecurity
A sentence heard can be intent to murder
Each assembled word is mean and meant to turn
A meek and gentle nerd into a mental dirge
Who's sneaking steps are lurking in the depths of personal
Regrets and curses, lemme vent these urges uh
…I don’t mean to be a stress or burden but

Red razor wrists
I don’t know if I’ll even make it to hell

[Verse 2]
You love it? Bump it. Fuck it, cut wrists.
Ain’t nobody listen to my muttering, I’m nothing
Never has a motherfucker come to me to bump fists
Telling me they love the hits, so I’ma jump ship
…Fuck this, I can’t even get a real job
My career isn’t clear and I fear it all
I’m near gone, in the fog and I feel lost
In this song as I talk I can hear God
I lay in waiting for the angels faithfully
Take the pain away and maybe save me
But I’m shaking angrily enraged and languishing
In hatred naked weak awake and staying asleep
Dazed, this ain’t a dream, dismay is wasting me
The razors paint a deep shade of rage in me
…tell your congregation to pray for me

[Verse 3]
The noise erupting from a voiceless upbringing
Is poisonous, the venom void in lungs singing
And boisterous unforgiving, stoic and unflinching
Heroic becomes sinning and coy becomes a fling
Tsoy is wondering if poise is pondering a
Choice so one is not destroyed, he’s hungering
And joyless wandering devoid of something…fuck
Track Name: Just Bars
I wonder how many rappers are stuck in my boat
Bump behind the mic but never get to do a live show
There ain't nobody I know, connections aren't my for-
-te, I'm better settled on my own off in a rhyme flow
Try me, but I don’t figure kids’ll pick and buy me
Cuz I’m the, frikkin antithesis of their minds’ speech rhyming
I might be antisocial or afflicted by anxiety
So I’ma be the guy you see who’s hiding while he rides the beat
I'm heading to death by the beating metronome
And I’m seeing folks but they’re just like whatever though
…Give it a sec or I bet you’ll never know
that I'm stealing shows like hotel guests steal scented soap, the freshest vocals
...I'm kicking bitches where their nuts are
ripping this rhythm to bits and spitting this as just bars
...I don't hustle out my trunk, I say fuck cars
Matt’s in my Batmobile and I’m running over punks parked, yup
...And while I'm committing these traffic offenses
...my Giminey cricket is beating me senseless
...cuz people are people regardless of friend lists
...And these people could be with me marching within this
I'm hung up on this plot point that's leaving me
Seriously, how are people reaching streets so easily?
They seem to be so deep in mystique, like they don’t need the heat
When teamed up with a demon sleeping seeding with machinery
A robot, ain't nobody know but
From the way I wrote this poem I'm a flow-bot
Bolted head to toe, so mechanical and chrome
pop and locking with the rhythm as I spit it cuz it goes hard
I'm all about my focus, not too many know this
Making lots of music but I’m not getting exposure
every bar is carnage but I'm killing it with ghost hits
I just really suck at networking with these folks
So I think I need a street team but ain’t no one believe me
Actually they're asking if I'm bout to be on TV
playing on the radio over and over repeat
Cuz no one seems to know what it takes to open the scene, see
These streets are in need of a fucking knuckle sandwich
Of ampage, cranking up the cans, doing damage
To banish, bands who’re satiated cuz I’m famished
I’m hungry as a mufucka, brandishing my jams hits
And I love my fan lists, all my likes and followers
All the mice and all the nerds who rock reciting all the words
“Sauce you’d better calm your nerves, ain’t too many on your verse”
I scoff at that, they’re awesome and they’re all I need for all that’s heard
Word…but I do wish a couple more’d follow
…Cuz if you come inside my walls it’s hollow
…But I’ve exhausted every option I know
…And still I’m lost within this Sauce bravado
That’s so unfounded, how could I have found its
Loudness so empowering, dousing hits in brown shit
I’m on that mouse tip, I’ll never leave your house if
I come up from the Underground and sound is allowed in
But I’m not that guy who’s crying “listen to my mixtape!!”
Yeah my shit’s great, but I ain’t in this gig to get paid
I do appreciate all listens when my hit’s played
But let me say that I do realize my spit is way insane
It's obvious that odd is what I wanna be
Caught between the honesty and gall of an uncommon freak
Calling me an oddity is not about to startle me
Cuz I'm about to pop open my pop cult, so follow me, it's all I breathe
…and yall can call me Tisse