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Iris Liu Feb 2012
**** they say
comes naturally
a movement of the hips
a movement of the lips
the timbre of the voice
you can’t just train that
**** they say
is no talent
is a breathtaking gasp
the heart double-dutching
bounce, bounce
**** they say
is a gift
Levi Kips May 2015
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you artists like no other,
who lay their hearts down on the line day and night in every line they write.These artists are the next generation rappers and the new generation poets, they can't be defined by a genre, but you can call them the spoken word artists.

Let me start off with, I’m just a black man
coming up from the dark side, so I’m having a hard time
staying on track, man.
But man, this track I’m on was paved for me
and to stray would be an act of heresy.
Heretics present and act when
a sheep who strays is a black one,
so every time a black son rises to the occasion,
they act like there’s an eclipse with a black sun.
And our sons can’t be young because they have sons of their own,
so busy trying to strap up and act up they can’t wrap up their manhood.
Trying to act grown,
and they can’t grow up to be fathers because they never had fathers of their own.
How you have four fathers whose forefathers fathered four, and didn’t even know.
Black men have lost their backbone,
but that’s okay, cause I’m the black stone
in this bedrock that is our culture, and I’m here to bring ya’ll back home
like the fathers you never had back home.

It's not real, I don't care how you feel.
They are real people, but you know what I hope? This is a movie with no sequel.
You started this trend where you whip people into submission.
You make grown men beg and fall into fetal positions.
Yes, this was over 50 years in the past, but the effects are long lasting.
And the worst part is the youth doesn't care; all they want to do is smoke grass and remenisce in a past that they won’t have if they keep on the one way track to destruction.
Yes, we are a new generation, but all you want to do is stick your head in the lyrics that have no values.
Martin Luther King had a dream to lead his people into a bright new future, but you have a dream to dive in to the unknowns that will cause you diseases and leave you dead without a purpose. You say you’re sweet and you’re quick on your feet, but you won't be when you pass out on the street from a bullet in the head, or even the AIDs that you got from laying between the sheets in the bed with that broad you didn't even know. Because you thought you was dope.

I done used a pack of 24 pencils, a couple pens, 10 erasers, I ain't got no utensils, that's what happens with that word – it'll hit you, going so fast, the opposition comes up and they blow a whistle, They call me Mainy and I promised not to say nothing, but these wanna be rappers, they gotta say something, but those words that you spit better than you saying nothing, cuz I got these bars on my tongue jumping like they double dutching... You wanna battle me? fine. But you know what's behind me? You got a gang and some killers, man I got a Army. You got a couple thugs, a sawed off shotgun, 12 SMGs, a ****** rifle and a rocket launcher..beat so dope I mess around  till the time go off, army so strong, you coming off?  Then your heads gone.

And I'll assist with the ammo in the truck, let’s do a 2pac and hit ‘em
up and drive away when the cameras come. America’s most wanted times 4 my man Jermaine, Monsell, Rachelle, and the truly yours. Our lyrics are mythical but not stereotypical because we're vicious like werewolves
and cold zombies; you can say that this is the world’s lyrical mythical
army.

Go get your money up, cheese, lettuce and get some bacon , while you’re at it go get some bread, I'll be hungry later, gotta do the math for this quick cash, I'm rappin’ so bad, it sound like I belong on a soundtrack. God got me counting money like I won the lotto, smoking so much color purple you can call me Hoppo. The verses that you be spittin’ is so inferior, ****** that she wrote every time I pick up a pen again, and before I stand up here and make proof of liars, I let my rapping do the talking, ready, aim and all I spit is fire.
this year the cupsi finals was hosted in my exact town and for me it was just a walk across the bridge. and the cupsi people asked can some of the local performers open us up. so there was a solo piece for podium, and then there was the group piece, this is that group piece.
ht Feb 2018
Stop with the self righteousness
with that **** of the hip, hair flip,
tongue click pettiness
A round of applause for that display of selfishness

Stop with the villainization
I am not on trial and you’re not the judge nor the jury
Call me in contempt of court
But the true crime here is your self-victimization

Stop with the alliterative grade school names
Petty Betty and Salty Sally perpetuate your immaturity
Childish Chelsea double dutching that rope
Spitting her rhymes like it’s all just a game

Stop pretending it’s a joke, like your words hold no meaning
We all know you sit at home sharpening your syllables like knives
But you’re not the only butcher in town, I’ve finally found my cleaver
I’m ready to fight, I’ll leave you reeling
what was your favorite double dutch rhyme in grade school? | h.t
Amber Blair Jan 2019
There are a hundred ways
To say I wish I could go back,
Or I soaked up growing up like a worried sponge
Or I can still smell the dirt on my jeans
Or I don’t even like baseball, but I love the sound of the metal bat against the ball
Or watermelon slices on summer days taste like presents
Or there was iced tea brewing in the kitchen
Or I thought the lions looked happy in their cages
Or the cherry water ice painted my skin red
Or I had an imaginary friend who taught me loneliness
Or we had water gun fights in the front yard
Or we’d ride our bikes til dusk
Or I thought the older boys in the cul-de-sac were cute
Or I thought the older girls double-dutching were cool
Or the hot plastic of a slide against the back of my legs
Or the timid eyeing of the next rock along the creek to jump to
Or the boom of a grandfather clock chiming
Or I could spend eternity swinging by a rope my poppop tied to a tree
Or my grandmother is a magician
Or I used to believe in magic
Or I still do

— The End —