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Shits and Giggles
I'm not much of a rapper
but I do like to rhyme
and at times it rolls like water over curved glass,
with just enough bubble and sass to save my "white" ass.
Then I hit a mental block and want to stop the clock
because I have nothing to give for the shock and awe listeners seek.
Not the weak shit that often comes
from my mind to my fingers,
concepts I hope to write, so it lingers,
like the toxins from bubble bee stingers.
Bringers of old traditions know,
tobacco will draw the poison flow,
so it's only suiting I do my convoluting
rambles behind the smoke of a cigarette.
Without regret or shame I claim my nonexistent fame
as another proser,
a wanna-be word wizard
and rhythmic composer.
I'm not a poser, though some would disagree,
considering their perspective
of my degree
of making words dance prettily.
Pitifully I once sung a rap about my after-school detention,
though the verses weren't a high priority for retention.
Did I mention I ramble if I let myself go,
into this rhyme scheme theme
of a talking flow
searching for words I know I know
but can't think far enough ahead,
so I dread,
I cower inside absent a lick of pride
trying to ride the tide of a language wanting to be shared.
Funny thing though,
English wasn't a subject I much cared for in my youth.
The truth of math
carved my path
in the task of custom cabinetry.
That was my reality as familial labor,
my father's pride-- his favorite flavor.
He gave me my work ethic
but didn't do shit to help me commit
the rules of English grammatical law
Would you believe me if I said
I was doing this while watching a movie?
Of course you would,
this is so horribly-whimsically corny.
|| another_proser ||
I spit fire
Something more than clothes on wire
I go higher
When it's darker
Look for lights at ends of tunnels
In nights when darkness caves
That I have never been afraid
Of all that lies ahead
To my death bead
I don't borrow
I stay original
And when the bridge is all
I drive around
Never looking to back down
I breathe fire
My entire life's ablaze
When I gaze
At what's behind
I never find
A moment to regret
Let alone to forget
I'll take it all
When death calls
I'll go out in fire
Exam in 2 hours.
Just got out the shower.
why do I procrastinate,
then look at my grade, and hate,
the profs and the institution
and realize that my new resolution
is to go to out less, wake up early, and study
but for this exam, my mind feels muddy
A little Reddit here, and a little facebook there
now I'm only left with an hour to prepare
and the hour passes, and I go there
the prof hands me the sheet and looks at me with a glare
as if to say beware and to put a scare
on my face, but I know that deep inside
I can't hide
from the fifty that will ruin my grade
going to be homeless, having to resort to raid
and loot and steal
begging on the corner for my next meal
my life is all over because I procrastinate
I'm sure all university students can relate.
But something funny happens
and I see,
that university is a joke to me
I go in my exam with a smile on my face
my fifty with grace.
IDK. I'm out of rhymes.
I cant stand the sound of my own voice
reverse to introspective
with metrics extensive
go back to the electives
i dont have a problem with the world as we know it
im comfortably sedated though i never really show it
could be brash or seductive
but never bet against me
intelligence and wisdom
will always be the right way
but sometimes the wrong way
can be fun to
climb up to the rooftops and scream fuck you
so disconnected from the rest of the planet
dont watch the news because its all bull shit and static
cant smoke the chronic because it now makes me edgy
because what if the past comes back and tries to get me
that's the point where i had to stop because i dont practice freestyle ... im no rhymenocerous . also it was very painful for me to listen to this played back to transcribe it. i cant stand the sound of my own voice played back.
I'm fighting all the time against the man.
He's always trying to get me.
He's always trying to win against me.
But I won't let him.
I stumble back
but I don't call
for my momma like that
lil boy does.
Oh hell nah.
He runs away, but I'm still fighting.
Hey man, I fucked up your shit
so let's play man,
'Cause you're rocking this ship
and if you keep that up
I'll fuck you up
because no one messes with me
and gets away with it...
Hands in the Air
they told me to write a rap
but shit, what the fuck do i rap about?
dont know if i can swear in this
but fuck i sweared twenty times now
shit, hadnt been that many
i love to over exaggerate
the one thing they dont exaggerate is what people hate
the people hate to contemplate that now beyoncé's songs aint about them
the one thing we seem to have got this month they fightin
police be gunnin us down, dont even know what the problem is
because my melanin high, yours aint
there that problem is
yeah its that stereotypical black shit, rapping about what happened to us
tell me that system aint wrong, guess its still not made for us
and im rapping
and whoevers reading this might not understand my passion
and i might get fired off in the comment section
is an $8 check worth what im getting
but someone reading this might be a believer
might understand that thanks to Martin, we're the number one dreamers
and i know im scared to post it but im being brave
assassined on the hotel balcony, look what he braved
i dont know where this rap is going
for 8 dollars we'll forget every depravity they throwin