At 2:40 the school bell rings,
I hurry up and grab all my things,
With subtle haste I sprint away,
Holy heck I can't wait 'till May,
I hop in my Honda and turn the key,
I drift my whip as it occurs to me:
Nobody else is home but me.

James
Trying to find a place to ***
I went behind a big o'l tree
She saw me there
Completely bare
Then we became a WEE!!

TF
Oh the deepest trouble, *****
Playing with girls, that sin
just ware these words
don't think her absurd
when she wondering says, "is it in?"

Cné
So glad for you, on getting some
while relieving yourself, on the run
Girls that sin
worderin'
bored, did she ask, "Did you ***?
Or are you done?"

Sorry boys, just having fun!

James
Hey, welcome aboard
if you're feelin' bored
just give it a rub
but not a snub
that's how we scored

TF
Y'all are so bad, yes it's true
just tell me when your through
pushing, pulling
tweaking, fulfilling
your hands now full, of goo

Cné
How could I be bored, with the likes of you two
in need of rubbing, please don't be blue
Make no mistake
I have what it takes
especially, for men well overdue

TF
Talented and beautiful too
always pulling it through
it must be fate
it's always so great
getting a tugging, from you

James
Walking the streets before dawn
you looked and her light was on
you saw her fare
but didn't care
and wonder where your money's all gone

James
Poor Bill, he never did learn
he saved all the money he could earn
to pay a sweet lady
at place that was shady
and wonders why his pecker still burns

TF
Bill never learned his lesson
the burn just grew, not lessened
he never went back
his pecker he lacks
no more ****** sessions

TF
The ladies of the evening
sights beyond believing
the things they do
while making you
penniless, and leaving

Cné
A working girl, works it
with Johns, turning tricks
*******
and f¥€king
can't blame her, for getting you sick

TF
The doctor told her to take a break
her body one day, might break
all that cavorting
and oral contorting
she just really loved, her tube steaks

James**
He told her to take a seat
when she really wanted a treat
she was feelin' dry
and wasn't shy
And so she went after his meat

James
Cruising the streets just chillin'
searchin' for a chick just millin'
She shook her ***
I couldn't pass
Oh, well, another shot of penicillin

TF
Something's wrong with Suzy
something oozing, from her coozie
she scratches at an itch
her john's just call her a *****
that's the sum of it, laying down, with floozies

Cné
Suzy was rode hard, put up wet
with men on the street corner she met
Wiggling her ***
for just a little cash
***** status. she earned, you bet

Disclaimer: It just gets sicker from here...

James
Went to the bathroom to sit on the ***
I like to **** while I'm on the clock
There wasn't any paper
I used a finger scraper
I might better had used my sock

TF
Now if there's one thing I know
being a clock, that's fast, and not slow
fingers be scraping
flecks are escaping
****, will under the fingernails, go

Cné to James
Please wash your hands before you eat
Be careful cruisin' down the street
or chillin'
with penicillin
I fear a terrible peril soon, you will meet!

..
Mouth full of semi-raw fried potatoes and
dehydrated orange wheels, doesn't Mr. Appleseed come out of
nowhere
and plant a speck of a seed right smack dab in the centre of my
reptilian cortex, but I
pay no mind because Buddy has adored me for a whole five minutes until he rebounds
              harder
                        than an
                                    addict discharged
                                                    fr­om
                                                        forest-y­ methadone clinics
                                                        i­n downtown cores
                                                        pop­pin' Hilfiger blue collars
                                                        y­ackin' it on the phones to guys named D, or
                                                        D yackin' it to guys named Friendo, Jai, or
                                                        Little­ Tim,
                                                        buri­ed from ******* back too much hillbilly
                                                       ­ ******, while
                                                        col­lege girls sleep in their Sahara beds,
                                                        sav­ing up to buy bouncy trampolines with
                                                        boun­cy cheques,
                                                        ­listening to lullaby coos of pimps and ******
                                                        on­ the downstairs couch,
                                                        ga­zing fawn-eyed at cavediums next to
                                                        nobody cares muffins and syrup-y coffee
                                                        canyoudropmeoff?
                                             ­           outside of the seventh-story window of
                                                        million dollar saloons,
                                                        ­wearing blings and rings,
                                                        purchase­d by wealthy husbands and
                                                        travelin­g yuppies for their wives' veneer,
                                                        eating breakfast cereals that go
                                                        Snap! Crackle! Pop!
                                                        for three square meals,
                                                        re­furbishing plastic containers
                                                        on foot-stained broadloom,
                                                        with cage and cagey roommates,
                                                        throwing life rafts to bloated bodies in
                                                        Great Lakes
                                                        for the price of a debt,
                                                        recalling waffling road trips,
                                                        visiting one-man tents behind billowing
                                                        smokestacks;
                                                        I blew my brains out in an air duct,
                                                        lost my life lifting up heavy floor mattresses,
                                                        climbing out of basement windows,
                                                        while hitch hiking mothers sing karaoke
                                                        nursery rhymes by Janis Joplin,
                                                        20 notes off-key,
                                                        harboring skeletons in stairwells and rusted
                                                        out Grand Ams,
                                                        making friends in Tim Hortons after last call,
                                                        dressed in leprechaun fatigue,
                                                        driving like England at midnight,
                                                        I spoke to a faceless man,
                                                        whom I'll never get a chance to send a
                                                                ­               thank you
                                                       card...
                                                       as for me? I never touched the stuff

but I was too spent to care and was already floating on cheap Chardonnay and authentic vitamin D with my bindle stuffed to the brim so I thought I'd just American Beauty plastic bag my way through this one, cropped in floral, patio sunglasses, swirling and twirling on Ballet Boulevard until
An e.ch-o-y sound in my
left  ear
I turned my head,
slo-mo tracers flashed in warp speed,
        the testa bursts open.
..

Everyones chillin’
Groovy tunes rollin’
Lowriders cruisin’
Then your loud *** comes along
Takin’ up space
Yours and mine
Wreckin’ smooth
Pushin’ your own groove
"Donk in charge"
No votes necessary
Everythin’ sighs
Bubble on the mic
Doin’ your business
All over the room
Box store cut-*** mule
Nothin’ but unwoke noise
Blow Bull Horn


© 2019 MJL

Romance on the road
Watch as the story unfolds
Truck Driver Mike has a wife at home
But he is constantly on the road, so there is always a possibility of roam
It was on Interstate 95 Truck stop called “Resting Easy”
Truck driving Mike met Susan, but known on the highway as Cruisin Sue
It was love at the rest pit
There are all kinds of words that would fit
Yet Mike and Susan became a couple that was it
At one point, they were driving traveling together
Mike and Susan were inacceptable like no other
They were even known on the road
The blinking truck headlights were always a signal of behold
Meanwhile, Mike’s wife often wondered if there was something going on with Mike
Mike’s wife name being Jennifer often felt uptight
Then later, there was suspicion with evidence being a clue
Jennifer was determined she had a divorce papers that need to pursue
When Mike came back from traveling on the road, he did confess
Yet Mike’s wife could care less
Jennifer decided she was ready to move on
She was going to let Mike continue trucking along
Jennifer felt a new beginning is where she belonged
Cruisin Sue and Mike finally got married
How long did the marriage last, I won’t tell
I will just let your heart swell
Keep on truckin with on the road again.

tonight is almost yesterday
and for some unknown reason, we're still driving
countless miles stretch beyond our headlights
taking away today
and keeping it somewhere secret

the bugs on the windshield formed a face
and are outlining the moon
making it easier to follow the hue
into the unknown parts of the night

the stale stench of *** mixes well with the salty smell of ocean air
and the smile on my face is permanent
until tonight is finally yesterday,
and tomorrow becomes today
as our lives go back
to their preset mediocrity

What do they mean, this actor-as-if and the never-did, or says-he -never-did, sacrifice or sacred be made?
Primal, on to logic, come reason.

The artifice of sacrifice,
whatever necessitated making sacred a thought?
a sign for a time when words fail,
if words were to fail again,
in confusion after war,
this sign says

trust. Yes, such a sign. By this know us,
fret not, good news... not here...
secret. Sh.

Suffice to say sacrifice means more and less than most
Jordan Peterson /Sam Harris fans would act as if they believe

but, to live as if
be live
me
that's new at every opportunity, pay real close attention,

a safe zone, far from that same madding crowd…
(occluded allusion,
The Classic Far From The Madding Crowd Movie)
I see that crazy dog herd the sheep over the cliff, and I cringe

I cringed then, in the dark.
I was holding your hand but I've forgotten your name,
thanks for dropping by.
Tell Sis hi.

still
be live in the home
a safe zone, far from any madding crowd…

clouds are aloud
contrast to the blues and greens and puples and yes
keepemkeepemkeepem AI wantemferwampum

yeah, this part is
wat do you say? crazy weird need you add **** crazyshit weird ****

if you were a platypus, just cruisin' playin' hunt with hi-tech
magneto-electro-gravitonal sensors, in a pre release, like alpha
version of the proteins involved

And you find your way back to where you once belonged
blocked by a thing named a weir,
it 'lows water through, but not you.

What do you do?
the mud settles you, scout around,
an unhearable sound
an unfeelable touch,

a final beacon, repeating the final news from platypus you,
it worked. dis encorporation all gone rhythm engaged.
Est. system reliable against all obstacles: .166 billion years
by the measure of the man, who was the angel
rolling the rock back up the hill.

May 25, 2015 at 3:27am

Sometimes
you have to
run away from
bad decisions

Most forget
You've got to bring some
*** to kick some ***.
So when you are feigning
for a fight.

Remember to
"lead with your head
and cover your behind."

If all else fails, hopefully
you will come to your senses
and haul *** quickly.

For he that fights and runs away,
May live to fight another day;
For he that fights and runs away,
May live to fight another day ;

May 25, 2015 at 3:27am

Sometimes
you have to
run away from
bad decisions

Most forget
You've got to bring some
*** to kick some ***.
So when you are feigning
for a fight.

Remember to
"lead with your head
and cover your behind."

If all else fails, hopefully
you will come to your senses
and haul *** quickly.

For he that fights and runs away,
May live to fight another day ;
For he that fights and runs away,
May live to fight another day ;

He's Uncle John to you, but John to the rest of us
Got a way of telling stories without the fanfare or the fuss
He can jump into any conversation, has a lot of stuff to say
and every bit is interesting 'cause that always been John's way.

There was one about his summer job before 1970,
paid to push a Swan-shaped boat off a dock in Asbury
With a grapple hook on a ten foot pole, or something of that sort
well he'd push 'em out and pull 'em in wasn't doing it for sport~
The same guy who owned the swan boats, tunneled love across the way
twice a week John worked the darkness, but preferred the light of day.

Played rhythm at the Upstage in band called 'Cory' later
workin' Perkins in West Belmar, took the name from the percolator
Around that time he grew his hair out, it was like an Afro-sheen
mistaken for Tinker, a surfboard chinker and drummer with Springsteen.

Cruisin' down around Brookdale in his '39 LaSalle
Met 'Stinky' Tink at Thompson Park, where he was singing with his pal

Hey John, you look like Tinker,
but now you favor Gere
a live ringer for Mike Richards,
and don't forget DeNir-

Oh, if you can't remember anything from 40 years ago
just ask your Uncle John who knows the time in Tokyo.

Its like I sit and watch the world go by cruisng to oldies,
feeling new inside, but outside is a face of a man who will attack if you dont know me.
gut instinct is below me homie, piece of mind,
dont change your words if you cant cash the truth but besides that...
See im not perfect I lost ties and made knots that made me fall from my own tension with no intentions to stand even if I can, I cant, im grounded by my mistakes that relvolve around me, reminding me what I did made me what I am.
AS I stay subsiding in a position thats clearily hiding,
binding my chest compressed against my last breath , to save what little life I have left in a world where title nor status mean nothing when your an ******* to those you called your best interest I do confess im that lowlife as i cruise still music speak to my esscense releiving me for those seconds im just a person again but after that im back at it again

..I dont write for pitty so let that be known, im just here to vent this steam that once stood ablazed passion for a love that is now a shack of memories in my head of your smile and gestures a feeling I onced called home now ruins from what i ruined, foolish I am.
Clueless more than anything to let many so many slip away im the worst fisherman of love.
because I use my soul as bait, and little by little i let the big ones escape an take chunks of me away to a place I can never retrieve it, so believe it im that space
im that vessle ive became the shell of a hermit , hollow and skirmish.
Tarnished, and used,
debri left as rubble to make roads,
but none to pave my own cause I have no resources
cause im that alone....****,
maybe I can just leave it for those who wish me back if I do something foolish like giveback the life Ive live, for a plaque and a name and a date?
or should I just lookback and keep cruisin passed the bruissin and showin scars of my mistakes as a human,
all I know is....nothing,
and thats why I stay cruissin, freedom of the road and music,
away from the world and my ruins.



-Deep Though aka
Linguist Musician
aka Emmanuel Hernandez

Im tired of all these prancing dancing ****
Id rather see them all in bodybags
While i puff zigzags cruisin slow in my jag
Looking for more this ******* ready for war
Look what they doing to kids
******* em up before they learn to walk n talk
But i bat out that *******
Yea i might get haters but i dont give a ****
******* and your agendas
Now every ****** here me i knowya fear me
Cuz im revolutionary i aint scary
To speak my mind **** your pride
Ill slide this chrome upside ya dome
Id rather see yall like orlando in a funeral home
Flag my **** i dont care
Im sick of this madness i got kids
Who gotta deal with this **** on a daily basis
Got me seeing faces of death til my last breath
Imma keep exposing this **** ******* hypocrites
How ya gonna be a gay christian
When it goes against the Most Highs teaching im reaching
Deep into the pits of hell where my soul on earth dwells
They got every nation embracing
Ya **** but africa deny it
Thanks to Obama a hidden ******* ****
Michelle is really man yall know this
So stop acting new to this
***** and Gemorrah aint no ****** fairytale
Though i may be jail but ill still.make bail
All ya see is my enemies in pain as they h
Yell
I got the power of the panther
And the Most Highs army riding with me
Cuz i fear em
But never satan ya only fallin into his death traps
And they laughing at you
While yall fighting to **** each others *****
N chicks so they each others ***** ****
They gone hit ya with a snipers bullet
Know the art of war once the gore comes
Watch how many panic and run
Then theyll claim they have religion to back em.up
But aint nobody gonna hear ya
When ya throwin up
Mad blood i seen many peeps die for a lie
So if you problem with the way i spin
It off my tongue
******* and you ****** loving muthaphukkas
I cant stand yall with a passion
Im blastin
Like a runaway gun yall wont hearme when i come
For death best moments are done in silent violence *****

Who doesn't remember Tony Lama
& those flashy pearl buttons,
cruisin' down the streets in torn jeans,
shirts unbuttoned to flat-navels
revealing sprouting chest hairs.

The disco ball twirled dance-magic,
along with the beach sounds
of sweet soothing melodies,
the ones that made you want
to sunbath covered
in Banana Boat oil.

A little bit of grease
went a long ways,
while warring with stars,
we got drunk in the bars,
sometimes got lucky in our cars
dreaming of better days
that weren't too great after all.

I miss those simple dates,
the ones without
immediate gratification
based on
the grand designs of
computer-aged
mobility.

Cruisin' the highway of life
Nothing can get in my way
Radio up, tunes I adore
I couldn't ask for anything more

Suddenly, I start to swerve
Euphoric poison jostles my nerves
I'm losing control, and I can't feel
Somebody please take the wheel

It started as a bit of fun
The race unfinished I had won
Soon enough I'd sense false glory
Would I live to tell my story?

Somebody catch me, I'm falling
Harsh realities now appalling
Don't you know I could be bawling
Instead these words I'm duly scrawling

A million projects unfinished
Sense of time diminished
Sentiments overdue
Self-assuredness gone askew

Perhaps the most productive time
Still I would rather be just fine
Than pacing, racing, sleep deprived
Just glad I made it out alive

In the midst of all this rambling
I'm sure glad I'm not out gambling
Not for money, but survival
Bless my sanity's revival

First came the ocean's bottom
Next, the top of the world
Then, I was numb, dead
Now I am myself instead

At first it was a paradox
I couldn't understand
Drugs meant to resurrect me
Could render me so bland

But that was just a phase
The gilded Age was brief
Not long 'fore I could smell fresh air
Salt's not a stealthy thief

The seasons change
Friends come and go
But I outlast
And won't let go

To anyone who's in a bind
Keep fighting, see it through
There's sunshine once the clouds are gone
It's waiting there for you.

post nubila phoebus

always thought his word was an earwig,
never thought I could get stepped on like a twig
under his feet
don't need to be from the street
to know what it's like to write rhymes in the back seat.
cop car cruisin'
make a call with cuffs on
seeing me struggle gives the officer a *******.

It's like my life is stuck in slow motion.

An iceberg floating in the ocean.

With no real sense of direction.

Cruisin' by without detection.

Without purpose.

A taxi is just a car when it's not in service.

Worthless...

Depending on how you view it.

Living is a privilege, depending on how you do it.

So what's it mean?

Being that my life is in yellow while the rest of the world seems to be in green?

Green as in go.

Yellow as in slow.

Eventually we all hit red though.

And everything comes to halt.

Suddenly life flashes before your eyes.

Memories storm our minds.

Then we think back, about those who we have left behind.

And vice-versa.

But its too late for any reconciliation.

Now death is the sole recipient for any form of anticipation.

So we are left to question..

Where is my next destination?

A paradise in the sky, or an eternity of damnation?

That's assuming there is life after death.

Honestly, I don't know if there is.

I don't know if I want to know.

What I know is that there is a red light down the road.

But then again..

I don't need a light to tell me when to stop, slow, or go.

I was born to weigh heavy on your mind
my umbilical was lyrical live feed
inception was the spark
I been latent for too long
cruisin like Noah's ark
but I never chucked the deuces
just been patiently waiting to find my muses
next generation wake up
I heard they raised the stakes up
you feel the pressure
benchmarks been set
barometers there to measure
your progress
ingress
degression
can you feel it
expectations by the pound
you're drowning but is it real yet
concealed tech
he's got death at his hands
the sad part
lil' homie don't even understand
that a bullet's finality
teen homicide has become a normality
I'm on this verse tryna defy a mentality
I hope you heard
tryna defy a mentality

I love the way you make me feel
When we meet I'd love to Netflix and chill
We'd spend time with each other inside
Then we'd hit the road and go for a ride
You and me cruisin
Taking my ride out for a spin
People looking and saying, "Wow they look fly."
And you can believe that cuz you're: My Cutie Pie

Cruisin' convertible, top down.
Feeling fine, feeling fly;
That is until, of course
I get something in my eye.

Flashers

Everyone knows how to spot one of these
with their raincoats on down to their knees
walking thru the park with their roamin eyes

or is it the cute blonde sitting at the bar
cruisin the roads with her convertible car
pull next to her and she'll show ya her thighs

he'll walk up to you with a big old smile
open it up and stand there a while
and say "hey there" just what do you think

she'll give you a smile make you think you're the one
might get a chance to put your weinner in her bun
she's so hot and believes her **** don't stink

well they're both disappointments not really much there
his dongs probably short as if you would really care
she's just playing with your hungry heart

yeah he pretends that he's so well endowed
likes to show himself off to a crowd
they're both phony phuckers from the start

Gomer LePoet...

Where was you when I fell , how cliche of a statement to tell,
no! Where was you ? Not here aparently,
seems like yesturday, another cliche,
**** it! I can rhyme all day.
I just need to know whats the point of money?
I GET IT, I loose it, i spend it , I abuse it.
I dont want it but I need it, Is money air?
Cos I dont wanna breathe Im stressed from the atmosphere making  me share.
I rather be ghost watch time fly by , maybe write a book to tell about my times travel,
about love from afar, how its pure but scared,
Have it published  then be awarded rubish, cos there no success or achievement when you see the half cup cruisin the highway and you decide to *** in it.  
LIFE How its concieved , how I precieve it ? IS newspaper Id keep under table to stop wobbling.
Am I rude, yeah, and unconventional so?
Im used to the self sabotage and abuse as a noose to climb up different challenges just to call a truce.



By EMMANUEL jv Hernandez
Aka Linguist musician

My beards gettin' long, just been snoozin' it
Friends tellin' me you ain't been out, you losin' it
and they probably right, but I'm just cruisin' it
But all this grief is selling

Where's my mental, it's leaving, but I'm shaking like shingles, all my boys got me, but they ain't even know the half of it, and they couldn't, errybody so shallow all I see when I look at 'em is 8-bit, but **** nobody cares, they just trippin, but at least I got the ladies strippin, what a personality I've acquired, isn't that fitting

I'm ready to throw
Trying not to swerve but she ain't driving to steady
It's falling apart, but she's on the horizon
She looks so **** fine from head to heart
It's easy to lose your head when you're at stop a light
And you gotta start all over, rip it all apart, and put it back together, fallin' apart
Stop the car, I gotta walk through all this (from the start)

Silence is feeling when she gone (Where you been?)
Can't get out, I'm paler then a ******* goblin (Around)
All I think is bullets when I got my head next to this pistol (You haven't been out in three weeks man, what happened to that girl you were talking to)
Can't seem to drop it all, but I guess we'll see when my wrist folds (I don't know man, she seeing somebody else)
Where's she at all I want to do is hold her ******* (You're a ghost man, you gotta forget about that *****)
Gets a little violent in here, hold my beer hot mess (Yeah I know man, I'll catch you around)
Going through all the hypotheticals, but that **** ain't alphabetical (****)
How am I supposed to know how to get over you when all you do is make me ******* sick confess

**** I guess I'll just **** the pain away, but it only kills it while I'm in her, but when I finish it stays here
I'm cold, *****, you were the only thing that warmed me
But I guess you were just the mold cause you formed me
I'm a salesman now, let me know where the pretty ******* at
I could sell you something, leaving you alone in the morning with fingers ready to point blame - blame it on my ben folds, fat stacks and fame
******* ain't even play the game, I just leave em in shame
You just a fake, and you linger, all the same, all the same
But you're sticking with me so I guess it's just something in my head

Call me pathological, I dare you you ******* dame
But all I know is your sticking, I can here it echo, I hear it, it's your name
Paradox, like a ***** wearin' crocks (that's what we call a **** block)
Maybe I'm the one who's the same, but you had to erase me just to find my true colors, ******* were a fighter
In between all the arguments and ***, and silent netflix, you were something more, but I was too busy being me to find that out, you were my cigarette, I was the lighter, I lit you up for a while, but in the end I just smoked you out
Look at your pencil, It's dull and calloused like you were when I left you, all I was to you was a blank piece of paper and you were the writer

Never been in a rush to do it.
Too patience to not rush it.
Just to speak to you if my vice.

I could stay up all night just speaking with you.
And all the subjects we talk about.
Is so enlightening to me.

That the thought of anything else.
Is a far distance thought to me?

So until that moment come when I touch you.
I am patient like I said to not rush you.

But the more your lips speak.
The more I feel the need to kiss.
And just a slight touch from you.
Make me want to make that move.

I be smooth like Smokey singing that Cruisin' tune.
Just riding that wave until you feel comfortable being driven.

So until that moment come.
You have no need to worry.

No need.
No need.
No need until that moment comes.