The buzz in the air, you feel that, feel that?
The tuxedoed men gonna deal that, deal that.
And now that you're here, the show can begin
Turn the lights down low, and the get the disc to spin.
The ice starts meltin' and the floor gets hot,
This parties gonna start whether you're ready or not.
The seat over there, Sit in it, sit in it,
Take a step back and watch while I'm spittin' it.

There is no need to untrust us,
Stand over there and watch while I bust this.
There's no way to get into it,
Close your eyes feel the beat and get intimate
Rotate your thighs and breathe in the sin of it
Rotate your mind, get high, keep on spinning it.
Stop...and watch while it gets into me
The musical blocks unlock and make a synergy.
Said ready, steady, everybody get low,
And the clubs get sweaty and we're ready to go.
The air's getting heavy and hot and you know
There's blood lust worse than Jaws and Cujo.
Light the place up, it's covered in kerosene,
The white's all over your face, oh, how embarrassing.
The lines all over the floor, there so pretty,
Take one sniff and you think you're so witty.
I'm a bomb, I'm blowing up the club now,
Can't escape the beat 'cause you don't know how,
Gonna move your feet that's all you know how,
Gonna feel the glow, the blow is so wow.

I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
Yayo brings me up so I stand up and then

I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
The powder knocks me down so I stay down and then

There is no need to untrust us,
Chopping the blocks, but there is no justice.
Just lustless symmetry
Closed my eyes 'cause the haze, it has enveloped me.
Shut my eyes and clogged all of my arteries,
I love the blow so much it is a part of me.
You said this had turned into my enemy,
But musical clocks tick-tock the beat right into me.
And that's not where I get all of my energy,
Jumper cables hooked up to A and D.
And don't forget the CCs in DC,
I got twenty more CCs left to inject me.
High flying humans
Set straight to zoomin',
It's spicier now then curry or cumin,
So full of life and we're only just bloomin'.
Believe in the hype if only for a little bit,
All that we need is white a just a little wit.
The worlds right here if you can unriddle it,
Play the last song and one more if it'll fit

I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
Yayo brings me up so I stand up and then

I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
The powder knocks me down so I stay down and then

La cocaína is no good for you
But the pony's still buckin', imma ride it through

Zombies Or Rabies

Walking around one afternoon,
foaming at the mouth, like a rabid raccoon.
Was I bitten by a dog,
I couldn't tell through the fog.
Is Cujo on the loose,
with a possum, I tried to ******.
Walking sideways to the local clinic,
people are laughing, thinking it's a gimmick.
Feeling like a poisoned zombie,
starting to cry and wanting my mommy.
Cars are trying to run me over,
I'm playing Frogger and red rover.
At the point, where I can't even speak,
I am way up on ****'s creek.
This might happen to you if you're bit,
sure wish I had a survival kit.
I feel the need to feed on flesh,
it tastes so good and so fresh.
Blood is dripping down my face,
Walmart seemed like the right place.
No one cares about rednecks and minorities,
I may have rabies, but I still have my priorities.
Old people and fat ones too,
what other kind of people are better to chew.
Am I a zombie or severely rabid,
whatever it is it's spreading so rapid.
People I've killed are starting to rise,
it's Halloween, so we need no disguise.
Inside Walmart is the walking dead,
old women with no teeth are giving me head.
All the doors got bolted shut,
a crowded Walmart is doing the zombie strut.
The military has surrounded the store,
foaming at the mouth, is so worth dying for.
Can hear the jets as they fly by,
their about to bomb Walmart, till we all die.
I escaped through a secret trap door,
I'm about to go on a feeding frenzy tour.

Reverse back to the verse
I throw ya in you cursed
Watch me put them rhymes in a hearse
Sound the eulogy
Cuz none get next to me
Im swift as bruce lee
Kicks hard like Chung Li born in 83
Add the 4 more ya get *******
Im crazier than Cujo these putos
Dont want it on the mic
You aint murderin nothin'
but ya own sight
I brailled ya envision changed your decision
Whatin' n guessin' a prediction?
Is it me or is it the way the
Way my rhymes please ?
Bow to ya knees
I make the crowds freeze
Even ya fans say bless you! when i sneeze
I bet you still wear dungerees or high heels with tight capris
I thought ya heard  im the rappin' don Shapiro
Shine n spin  around haters like disco
Sip old school Sisqo hit the blunts slow
Let the smoke meditate my mind flow
Learn how to grind ill put  ya on a flat line
Resuscitate your rhymes just to put you back on the flat line
Searchin' for the light im dolemite
My game **** tight know how to write
When ya step to legend im gifted
Young black n hung
I keep ya lifted
Got hoes on the tip of they toes
Just to hear suave flow
Pockets of dough
Thats how it goes
Pistol cocked to ya nose
Ya thoughts are froze i suppose
Dont redeem ya self
My rhymes hittin' so hard
Made the minds deaf
Cuz when ya try to diss me ya diss ya self
The microphone murderer
Aint never left !!!!

Yo everyboy gather around
Hand me the crown
Cuz ya know im King of the ****
My NY freestyles stay lit
TEXAS is where i reign
Home of the ******* up clique
This life i live aint no ****** puzzle
Tryin to figure me out gets gun to ya muzzle
Dont meddle in my ****
Spinnin' out the wombs
From cradle to my tomb
Im hittin' ya curves that go straight
Flows penetrate so hard make girlies mind  *******
Who can relate?
To my skills raws as ever
Goin' in with my raw potato skin
Bust my nut then i leave em blowin in the wind
If ya a hater i gotta mack 10
Extra clips on my hips ****** done then i dip
Listen closely to the story being told
I wont grow old never will i fold
Platinum or Gold knots
check the tic toc
My money on clockwork  
rolex watch
Worth 50 gran an on the other hand
Is the microphone
Turn the amps up mic up
Leave crowds minds blown
From nut being shown my tone
Is laid back these nigguhs
Spittin' is wayyy wack
While you pushin' Honda im in a Maybach
No frills only the real i spit so you can feel
Givin' head aches to radio station
Cant tune me out im like exacerbation
Crush my opponent everytime he bust a rhyme
They give up even before they heard mine
Intimator from dope originator
Now im the terminator eliminator
Showed up yo party they still didnt play ya
Im old school fool soul filled with blues
Leave my competitiors on front line news
It goes a little like this
This is a replica of a Chris this aint a diss
But an address
To you punks who wanna **** around
With the master of this ****
Duck quick or these rounds will put you in the ground
Flat line..........

De quem é a imagem que vejo no espelho?
Não é a mesma que me observo sem vê-la
Não possui a fonte existencial que lança os arredores para o interior
A única diferença entre mim e o que me permeia
É o corpo que carrego a todo instante, e dele os diálogos mentais que me definem como uma existência, pois as vozes que me surgem só eu posso ouvi-las e interpretá-las
Mas, talvez, a consciência seja simplesmente um canalizador e não uma fonte, pois as informações vêm de todos os lugares e ao mesmo tempo de um lugar só (ego).
De quem é a imagem que vejo quando olho para outra pessoa?
Não é a mesma imagem que essa outra existência se vê
Essa imagem que vejo faz parte de mim, sou eu, ou talvez o outro que vive em mim, que independe de uma consciência própria que não a minha.
Mas como eu me vejo?
Me vejo como acredito que os outros me vêem?
Eu sou o fruto das experiências passadas
Eu sou inconstante.
Totalmente renascido e irreconhecível a cada experiência
Mas isso é meu ego, o vidro mais frágil
O medo da solidão,
O medo da rejeição,
O ódio que é o medo de amar
O medo de amar que é o ódio por si mesmo
O **** é a carta coringa do desespero
O prazer de calar a dor
Mas o **** também dói, pois é a entrega de seu íntimo para outrem (você se diferencia) nós somos incapazes de amar o que é diferente, o **** fere o ego, pois o auge do prazer se dá com algo que nossa consciência insiste em odiar,
odiamos os outros, odiamos a nós mesmos
Mas é tudo ilusão
Ódio e medo, novamente, caminhando lado a lado
Mas é tudo ilusão
"O que está em cima está em baixo, não há diferença"
O que me define como singular?
Minhas roupas, meu cabelo, meu rosto, minha casa
meu carro, minha família, minha história
Fora isso quem sou?
Onde encontra-se a singularidade da voz que só minha mente escuta?
(Minhas ideias surgem de outras ideias que não são minhas
Eu sou o vazio)
Encontra-se no vazio, onde todos são iguais
Onde uma coisa não se diferencia da outra
Onde só nos resta amar, sem dor
A realidade é simplesmente aquilo em que acredito
Nada mais, nada menos
Pois o que os olhos não vêem o coração não sente
Melhor dizendo:
O que a mente não sente os olhos não vêem!
Depois de todo o devaneio
Me lembro...
Uma mulher, cujo a forma de sorrir,
a forma de morder os lábios,
o jeito com que ela me olha com o canto do olho
é totalmente singular, única
Mas não depende do ego, e nem de experiência
é algo inato, belo, não consigo odiar mesmo sendo diferente
Amor? sim
Mas algo diferente também
a vejo e amo como irmã, como mãe, como amante, como amiga
Amo sua existência como um todo
e não sei explicar
Ela escolheu não ficar comigo,
mas sempre vem a mim
Eu ainda continuo a ama-la, sem dor, nem sofrimento

Outra vez saio de uma discussão comigo mesmo sem respostas!

Yea of course writing ideas unstoppably
burst asunder at the most inconvenient
opportunities such as driving Miss Daisy,
taking a shower, or using the bathroom.
Accursed ambition becoming a prolific
scrivener (case in point Stephen King)

Woolworth ridding, oddly lumbering
lackadaisically shoehorning out this
being from a self made gully. The jury
yet to decree if attempting to extricate
muss elf from tangled web of decades
old setbacks via literary output successful.

Every morning, noon and night, this chap
blunders, flounder, (like a phish out of water),
yet plod his shipshape reclusive quiet-natured
person along the boulevard of broken dreams.

Oft times, huff hind aye muss elf entering The
Dead Zone (bordering a Pet Sematary). Earlier,
a previous saunter found me surmounting
The Green Mile. Attendant in regard to these
Bag Of Bones, and Desperation to acquire

telephone contact with Cell phone quickens
pace despite Insomnia. No matter unexpected
Sleeping Beauties warrant kisses, my determination,
motivation, and slight trepidation occasionally breeds
(The Dark Half), doomsday facet heftily jackknifing lust.

Occasionally, a feeble goading simply under minds
any corporeal aim to restore endeavor to experience
Joyland. IT (creative juices within spur meeting Rose
Red and her restorative powers. Onward atheistic
soldier goes this chap. No matter tipping point (vis
a vis hungry fatigued body clamors for Needful Things.

Revival (for food and sleep) frequently appears grim.
Downcast state of body, mind and spirit reinforced
by mirage. The Dark Tower looms ahead! Adjacent
to ominous evil looking structure silhouette casted
of a Black House. The initial ambition to ward off
abysmal results summon forth creative literary juices.

Simultaneously a migraine headache pounding pitted LIX.
They hammer horrifically, ferociously, and diabolically.
Shades of shad rock Under The Dome. Ma noggin
aches like The Tommyknockers! Every attempt to locate
a royal crowning coeval counterpart jinxed with laborious
ill luck. Hell in a hand basket plight usually generates
nostalgia for destiny to Carrie be back to Ole Virginny.

Sage advice from Christine, Delores Claiborne, or The
Colorado Kid, yours truly blithely heeded. As a result
(The Outsider within this paperback writer wannabe)
sports defeat written all over face. Concomitant figurative
futility gussies and kickstarts leaving invisible pockmarks.

Ordinary Dreamcatcher fate invariably finds aptly named
Writer Errs Block. Need to back track arises (figuratively)
along vista. The roads have no name. They command
stubborn respect. Near impossible mission manifested
to transcend mental hindrance. This more difficult than
playing Gerald's Game. Hence sigh embrace The Shining

opportunity to avoid Misery. Doctor Sleep would undoubtedly
encourage braving, challenging self confronting The Eyes
Of The Dragon. Such a risky pursuit could force facing pitbull
Cujo. No matter gamble foisted prospect fraught frightfully
being burned at the stake by a Firestarter. Voluntary action

brings small hairs to tingle. Hunchback, sans severely curved
spine straightens. This (The Stand) ding pose offered supreme
vision as promised by The Talisman. Tidbits by me alias
Mr. Mercedes reddit carefully Just in case The Girl Who Loved
Tom Gordon chanced to stumble upon this redoubt versus
her hours spent staring at a blinking cursor. Metaphorical
po' wet ick feet took me where they would.

The raccoons on this Kentucky farm formed a quagmire. They're wild thieves embedded in the ecosystem. Irreplaceable valuables are erased in the cover of night. The farmer offers to negotiate with the masked vermin. A raccoon response results in scramble trash, they say they've got a birthright from the past. Wits end is where dog ownership begins after the adoption of a rabid dog that only sees death. Regret rocks raccoons wrestling with Cerberus but there's no turning back, Cujo is chained in their yard.  Hellhound terror leaves spellbound hares abandoning their warrens until only reddened raccoons remain with their canine warden.

Lamenting the loss of liberty, a revolutionary raccoon resolves to romp around. The dog of damnation's laser locked bloodlust focuses on the rodent-like rebel. Charging like a rocket out of its launcher, the driven dog is lured from its isolated den. This game of cat and mouse has magnanimous stakes reaching across the farmer's lake.

The rebellious raccoon runs rapidly from the rabid ravenous Rover. The runner dips and dives through cover to avoid the teeth of the other. A snapping jaw matches the movements of the juking and cutting critter. Inside of a hollow tree becomes the raccoon's destination, he enters and ascends, the snarling snapper chasing in after him.

Death's embrace seems certain for the raccoon as the hound's teeth shave the edge of its fur, but at that point the fatter can go no further. The hound's blinding bloodlust vanishes upon realizing it's stuck. Its unwavering rage turns into panicked fear once it realizes its end is near. The raccoon revels in the dog's misery, enjoying watching it slowly starving.

The raccoons revelry is rebuked once the dog just starts staring at it. They both stare at each other, unblinking, waiting for the other to die. Neither of them willing to move an inch for fear of accidentally helping the other. Both willing to die to ensure their opponent's death. The hollow facade that saved the raccoon now becomes its tomb. Defeat and death act as a sedating punishment for the dog's aggression. Fierce foes drink the poison of resentment as they both accept their demise while staring into each other's eyes.

Meia-noite, lá fora, sob um céu púrpura, o mocho pia à lua cheia. No castelo, uma porta de pinho, cujo verniz pereceu ao avançar das eras, range como quem chora por uma juventude consumida, e uma voz cavernosa diz: