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Mark Apr 2020
So, our hero of tha day waz DJ Herc  
He b driven’ lil Mizz Dazze ‘round, in a pimped out Merc  
Queensbridge waz tha birthplace of Hip-Hop  
Red alert, it just won’t stop  
It will hurt uz a bit  
No more than a **** wid a hit  
Wee all thank Merc 4 puttin’ on dat show  
Smokin’ sum **** n angel dust, wid sum real blow  
 
A bro named, Coke LA Rock, waz also a financier friend of mine  
Handin’ out goodies 2 tha children in-line, all tha time  
Nickel bag half n ounce, quarter pound pow, now wee poppin’  
Az long az tha music izn’t stoppin’ and tha rocks r still droppin’  
If champagne waz still a flowin’, then tha freaks wood b steppin’ in line  
Hotel, Motel, u don’t tell, wee don’t tell, one-time root 9  
There’s notta man dat can’t b thrown, a horse dat can’t b rode  
A bull dat can’t b stopped, a disco dat can’t b rocked, can u decode  
 
Were u @ dat famous house party, thee dope  
Spinnin’ tha holy crates of hip-hop, wee hope  
A1 B-boy from every known neighborhood, wid a scent  
From JC, Tony D’, Sweet n Sour, 2 super DJ ‘Fcukin’ Clark Kent  
Sellin’ nickel bags of cannabis, 2 miss layD hoes to mi crew  
Made mi coin roll into notes, helping outta few dat I knew  
Hip-Hop waz made 4 peace, love, unity n fun  
Still b countin’ mi riches, retired n still layin’ in tha hot sun
Mark Mar 2020
Down in the ghetto, real
****** stand together
Me and my 2nd in charge had an
alibi that breezed us on through
Sued the NY Times and their racist news
for they had no clue about us
The judge winked us both off and
later was paid what he was due
Corrupt, corrupt judiciary
The reasons for this are mostly monetary
No questions ... it’s just customary

While the Judges, Lawyers, Popo’s, too
Lookin’ for a way to make a few extra dimes
They were askin’ ‘bout, tryin’ to cash in, all da time
What judge or man wouldn’t agree ‘bout raisin’
a little bread on da side
No questions ... it’s just customary

I then asked a judge, why doesn’t the NY Times
take a bribe, so they don’t need to report all da crimes
I listened with intrigue and right away I saw the signs
Then my eyes closed tighter, as I hear what he describes
Judiciary started callin’ and Popo’s started fallin’
Shhhush . . . it’s just customary

While the Judges, Lawyers, Popo’s, too
Lookin’ for a way to make a few extra dimes
They were askin’ ‘bout tryin’ to cash in, all da time
What judge or man wouldn’t agree ‘bout raisin’
a little bread on da side
No questions ... it’s just customary

Well the New York Times is owned by the Irish
and not by a wealthy enclave of Jews
I think I just made my very last mistake
He fired a pistol from under his robe
and shot me to da ground
And I heard him sayin’ “Never **** with da men in da gown”
Corrupt, corrupt judiciary
The reasons for this are mostly monetary
I’d asked to many questions ... it’s just customary

While the Judges, Lawyers, Popo’s, too
Lookin’ for a way to make a few extra dimes
They were askin’ ‘bout tryin’ to cash in, all da time
What judge or man wouldn’t agree ‘bout raisin’
a little bread on da side
No questions ... it’s just customary.
Mark Jan 2020
Sniffin’ my cologne
Hair full of da gel
In like Flynn tonight
For my homies aren’t that bad
Their just a little ******* mad
Playing with sharp knives, oh no
What’s making ya bleed
What’s making ya bleed
They'll be floating through later
Maybe laying down, little white lines
I be a chillin’, by about half past nine
I’ll be a jiggin’ sum ******* da sofa recline
Yeah, your ever so kind and real kinda dope
What’s making ya bleed
What’s making ya bleed
What’s making ya bleed
What’s making ya bleed
Maybe it’s from da *****, that don’t know any better
Why no one tell him, she was my date
She done dead now, for **** sake
Thoughts about what we do and where to take
Like how now is she gunna be undiscovered
Authorities and her family, smell a whiff of her on my coat
Like sum dead wraparound ******* fox
So now I’m on the Popo’s radar
Everything I do now, even taking my mama to church
Hope she prayed extra hard
I need to teach those *****’s, who to cut and who to trust
Like I'm a god forsaken ******* preacher
I lost da last girl
I feel ****** and torn
What’s making ya bleed
What’s making ya bleed
Not again...
Don’t trust your homies all da time.

Thx Beache
Max Neumann Dec 2019
antwone the gang leader always
be like: imma make a call; two
minutes and they here

regardless what the issue about:  
antwone always about dat
(and they always come for sure)

me? i ain't made for that
me just tizzop
ain't belong to antwone's
brotherhood

even if i wanted to:
they wouldn't let me

dem dudes roll heavy
while i note down outsider dreams with white ink on
black pages
you feel me?

antwone's dudes addicted to
drive-by-shootings
i'm deep inside; yet no part of that;
my handz not made for glockz

my hands are made for pens;
i'm from the ghetto; who cares?
my hands are made for pens
and if i'm broke i will
write with sparkling fingers

that is for certain therefore my death will be silver
my eyes be shiny like gold then
god is always by my side

you feel me god? good cause i feel you god (HEART)

last breath: tizzop's dead body will be floating on air
because a good man does the right thing (i want to be good)
dead brotherhoodlums be munched by icy blacktop
you feel me?
eternally doomed down there without air
i won't be there  

i am from the ghetto
who cares?  
my hands are made for pens

* WRITE TO SURVIVE
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3446210/a-good-man-does-the-right-thing-ii/

Mind dem families in the projects who sleep on the floor cause they don't wanna catch dem bullets.
Mark Nov 2019
I’ve been busking about since young and fair
The atmosphere from onlookers, like skating on thin air
So unconventional, prior to the old smacking ways
That’s how I’d spend my entire waking days
Melodic riffs, dancing over bass lines
Harmonising daily, to some lonesome feeling ballads
Playing finger-style guitar, without any speeding **** hazards
            
Along the boardwalks of Venice Beach
In unlikely places, that you’d ever encounter or reach
A folksy blues musician, you can’t wait to hear
Independent, from a money-making machine, that’s so clear
A young black musician, singing ‘bout life’s rights and wrongs
With an aching intimacy, strings are strummed, to original songs
            
The overall effect is something like a blend
Of other musicians, with a depth and subtlety
More suited to the stage, than a street with a dead end
While the busking experience is fundamentally a freedom, luckily
Still taking a fading, battery-powered amp, with heaps of torque
Along with a flattop, down to the busy LA boardwalk
            
I think the best thing you learn from being downtown
Is how to be really optimistic, while still being on your own
Busking was like practicing with a metronome
It started pulling on a few chords, like not ever knowing a safe home    
Then, thoughts of ones life coming to an end, my tick-tock time
Then, I go back to playing a song, people tossing me, a silver dime
I imagine, how it would sound, playing along with four in a band
I’ve never really been dealt, a very good poker hand
Trying to re-create myself, like an over paid, auto tuned, music star
Well, as much as I could, with just a worn out, acoustic guitar
            
They say, I picked up the guitar at seven
At first trying to play lap style, just keepin’ it even
Because, I couldn’t reach across my scar torn body
Early childhood lessons, gave me a foundation in blues
After that, I wasn’t taught nothin’ by nobody
I just kept playing like that, what did I have to lose
I could learn by ear, until I heard the rings at the checkout
It would take a while, but I’d figure it out, what they were all talking
about.
© Fetchitnow
21 December 2019.
(From my ‘About’ Period Collection)
Max Neumann Nov 2019
damals meinte bonez:
"ey wir sind bald stars!

und jeder aus der gruppe übernimmt
sein'n part" (he)

er hat zu mir gesagt:
"setz dich hin, schreib bars! (los)

"denn von den meisten
gangsterrappern stimmt kein satz!" (nä)


back in the days bonez
told me:

"we gonna be stars
every one of us
gonna write his part" (nä)

he told me to sit down and write
bars (aight)

cause german rappers be
phony (nä)
youtube: "187 strassenbande mit den jungs"
Max Neumann Nov 2019
?
!
kids are shooting each other. protect them.
Max Neumann Nov 2019
do me a favor aight
when you go switch off the lights

close the door behind
you

pay attention to the lock it
makes a sound pay attention

do me this favor
you gotta do it cause

shadows everywhere
voices everywhere
enemies everywhere

ain't no fun though as
gang colors in the nineties

tag watts
tag berlin
tag harlem

shadows everywhere
voices everywhere
enemies everywhere

for twentyseven years
do me a favor aight?

i've been looking for a brother
i've  been looking for a mother

nobody knows about it
they don't know and they
don't have to

when they interrogate you
about last night
when they ask tell em:

i was asleep at night
as civilians do

no talk about turf
no talk about extortion
no talk about capital crimes

private matters
wat matter is you
lock the door baby
YouTube: "the wire omar comin!"
mjad Oct 2019
I don't know where to start
Everyone thinks he will break my heart
He's selfish and tall
Just like the rest of them all

But yet he's different
We ****, then we hang
We chill with the gang
He listens when I talk
He let's me tell him when to stop
But yet I find myself craving
A label; something self damning
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