The Locker
by Michael R. Burch

All the dull hollow clamor has died
and what was contained,
removed,

reproved
adulation or sentiment,
left with the pungent darkness

as remembered as the sudden light.

Originally published by The Raintown Review

These are poems about sports like baseball, basketball, boxing, football and soccer. Keywords/Tags: Sports, locker, locker room, clamor, adulation, acclaim, applause, sentiment, darkness, light, retirement, athlete, team, trophy, award, acclamation



Ali’s Song
by Michael R. Burch

They say that gold don’t tarnish. It ain’t so.
They say it has a wild, unearthly glow.
A man can be more beautiful, more wild.
I flung their medal to the river, child.
I flung their medal to the river, child.

They hung their coin around my neck; they made
my name a bridle, “called a ***** a *****.”
They say their gold is pure. I say defiled.
I flung their slave’s name to the river, child.
I flung their slave’s name to the river, child.

Ain’t got no quarrel with no Viet Cong
that never called me ******, did me wrong.
A man can’t be lukewarm, ’cause God hates mild.
I flung their notice to the river, child.
I flung their notice to the river, child.

They said, “Now here’s your bullet and your gun,
and there’s your cell: we’re waiting, you choose one.”
At first I groaned aloud, but then I smiled.
I gave their “future” to the river, child.
I gave their “future” to the river, child.

My face reflected up, more bronze than gold,
a coin God stamped in His own image—Bold.
My blood boiled like that river—strange and wild.
I died to hate in that dark river, child.
Come, be reborn in this bright river, child.

Published by Black Medina, Bashgah (Iran, in a Farsi translation), Other Voices International, Thanal Online (India), Freshet, Formal Verse, Borderless Journal, Interracial Love, and in a YouTube video by Lillian Y. Wong

Note: Cassius Clay, who converted to Islam and changed his “slave name” to Muhammad Ali, said that he threw his Olympic boxing gold medal into the Ohio River. When drafted during the Vietnamese War, Ali refused to serve, reputedly saying, “I ain't got no quarrel with those Viet Cong; no Vietnamese ever called me a ******.” I was told through the grapevine that this poem appeared in Farsi in a publication called Bashgah.



Me?
Whee!
(I stole this poem
From Muhammad Ali.)
—Michael R. Burch



hey pete!
by michael r. burch

for Pete Rose

hey pete,
it's baseball season
and the sun ascends the sky,
encouraging a schoolboy’s dreams
of winter whizzing by;
go out, go out and catch it,
put it in a jar,
set it on a shelf
and then
you'll be a Superstar.

Pete Rose was my favorite baseball player as a boy; this poem is not a slam at him, but rather ironic commentary on the term “superstar.”



Baseball's immeasurable spittin’ mixed with occasional hittin’.—Michael R. Burch



Larry Seivers had golden hands
by Michael R. Burch

Larry Seivers had golden hands,
platinum hands,
diamond hands,
hands of jasper, sapphire, chalcedony, emerald, sardonyx, sardius, chrysolite, beryl, topaz, chrysoprase, jacinth and amethyst.

Other receivers were more elusive,
bigger,
faster,
more physical,
flashier ...

but Larry Seivers had hands. 



Julius
by Michael R. Burch

Instinct
in an unplanned moment
as you rise
will teach your limbs the art of flight:
the waltz of light
through vaulted skies.

A falcon flies:
its keening cries
as sunlight fails
fall hollow to the earth below,
and you must know
how fierce the light of sunset feels.

You hear
those ringing cries, their echoes clear
though far away, and so you pause
—defying even gravity,
suspended over some vast sea—
then fall ... into applause.



Larry Legend
by Michael R. Burch

He's slow, can't jump,
looks pale and plump.
He talks too much;
he brags, and such.
He's not real nice,
has blood like ice
and will like steel
(and steal he will).
But when the game is on the line,
your team, or mine?



Big Mc Attack
by Michael R. Burch

Johnny Mc
Enroe
is back—
the fierce
attack
of words
and serves,
returns
and taunts.

He flaunts;
he flails,
reviles
and rails.
Sometimes
he wails.
His ego
swells.
He grunts
and groans
and moans
and gee . . .
I think
he wants
to referee!

Johnny Mc
(thank God)
is back—
wisecrack
ing, fiery,
taking flack
(not hesitant
to give it back).

We love
to watch
him glare
and wince,
and since we sense
his dreams
(intense),
we sit
on pins
until
he wins.



For Jack Nicklaus, at the 1987 Open
by Michael R. Burch

When you were young
every putt was makeable
and every dream remarkable;
the stars were unmistakable
you set your sights upon.

Then, in your youth,
time not yet a factor
and age not yet your rector,
you plotted every vector
and victory shone ahead, like truth.

But uncouth youth was fleeting ...
soon losses grew more numerous;
time's skies became more cumulus;
the nerves with age—more tremulous,
as the sun from the sky was setting, retreating.

How have you then, as sunset nears
and the world looks on with unsure eyes,
cast off the crutch of age to rise
and stand as though the butterflies
have no effect, no, nor the cheers?



I wrote this poem after Tom Watson chipped in at the 1982 US Open to defeat Jack Nicklaus. Nicklaus was getting older, but he was still competitive.

There Are Dreams
by Michael R. Burch

for Jack Nicklaus

There are dreams
that you have dreamed
that are etched into your eyes.

There are dreams
that you have dreamed
that resignation can’t disguise.

There are dreams
that you have dreamed . . .
O, I’ve dreamed them, esteemed them.

Like fire,
desire
flares most brightly as it dies.



Jimbo
by Michael R. Burch

for Jimmy Connors

Pounce like a panther,
all sinew and nerve;
attack, arched in anger,
your quarry—the serve.
Imagine a moment
of glory to come
as you lunge for the path
of its flight through the sun.

Are you a Templar
like warriors of old,
forsaking your loved ones,
crusading for gold?
Or could it be
need for fame drives you on?
Do you soak up the cheers
as you dash through the sun?

As you battle those younger,
those stronger, more fleet,
still none can be fiercer,
less yielding, complete.
Oh, what drives you onward,
what makes you compete?

I think not the riches, acclaim, even love . . .
but your heart is incentive enough.



The Great GOAT Debate
by Michael R. Burch

The great GOAT debate
can no longer wait:
we MUST know who’s best, and know NOW!

Is it Jordan, Kareem,
or Hakeem the Dream?
Is it Gretzky, the Rocket, or Howe?

Is it O.J. or Brady,
or are they too shady?
Tom Burleson or Monte Towe?

But now that I’m thinking
and done with my drinking,
before I make friends with a large purple cow ...

It’s the Babe, let’s get serious!
Babe Didrikson Zaharias!
Let the Ultimate GOAT take a bow.

Mildred Ella “Babe” Didrikson Zaharias was a basketball All-American, a baseball and softball star, a professional golfer who accumulated ten major championships, and a track and field legend who won two gold medals and a silver in three different disciplines at the 1932 Olympics while setting four world records in the process. She was also an expert diver, roller-skater, bowler and billiards player. Didrikson won the 1932 AAU track and field team championships while competing as an individual, by winning five of the eight events she entered and finishing second in another. She remains the only track and field athlete, male or female, to have won individual Olympic medals in a running event (hurdles), a throwing event (javelin), and a jumping event (high jump). Despite taking up golf in her mid-twenties and having to wait until age 31 to regain her amateur status, Didrikson won 17 straight women's amateur tournaments, an unequaled feat. Altogether, she won 82 golf tournaments. She made the cut at two men’s PGA golf tournaments, the only woman to do so, and she did it sixty years before any other woman even tried. In 1934 exhibition games, after being taught the curve ball by Dizzy Dean, she pitched one scoreless inning against the Dodgers and two scoreless innings against the Indians. Didrikson still holds the world record for the longest baseball throw by a woman. The world has never seen anyone like her.

“She is beyond all belief until you see her perform ...Then you finally understand that you are looking at the most flawless section of muscle harmony, of complete mental and physical coordination, the world of sport has ever seen.” – Grantland Rice, considered by many to be the greatest sportswriter of all time



Ring-a-Ling Bling
by Michael R. Burch

The ring
thing
is mostly bling.

Determining an individual athlete's greatness by counting championship rings (i.e., team success) makes no sense to me and seems disrespectful to all-time greats like Ernie Banks, Charles Barkley, Elgin Baylor, **** Butkus, Ty Cobb, Michelle Kwan, Karl Malone, Dan Marino, Marta (who may be the greatest female soccer player of all time), Barry Sanders, John Stockton, Fran Tarkenton and Ted Williams. Perhaps the best example is the player most cited for rings these days: Michael Jordan. In reality, Jordan didn't win a ring his first six years and was 0-6 against
the Larry Bird Celtics and lost two more playoff series to the Isiah Thomas Pistons. Were Bird and Thomas the better players, or did they simply have better teams? The answer seems obvious.
Jordan only began to win rings after he was joined by outstanding players like Scottie Pippen, Horace Grant, et al, and even then it took time for that team to jell. Jordan was a transcendentally great player before he won a ring. If he had failed to win rings because he never had good-enough teammates, would that make him a lesser player? Judging individuals by team success or failure makes no sense, unless Jordan was a lesser player for six years while his teams struggled and then he miraculously became the GOAT when more capable players showed up. Ditto for LeBron James. The first thing he does after changing teams is use his influence to get better players to join him. LeBron is not foolish enough to believe rings are won by individuals.



The Ring Thing (is entirely Bling)
by Michael R. Burch

The ring
thing
is entirely bling.

Michael Jordan was zero-for-six
against the Larry Bird Celtics;
moreover he was twice sent home
by Isiah’s Pistons;
his ring case only began to gleam
when he had Horace, Scottie and B.J. on his team.

Thus the ring
thing
is bling.



The Ballad of King Henry the Great
(aka Derrick Henry)
by Michael R. Burch

Long live the King!
Send him victorious,
happy and glorious,
long to reign over us:
Long live the King!

Long live the King!
Send him like Sherman tanks
Mowing down cornerbacks,
Stiff-arming tiny ants:
Long live the King!



No T.O.
by Michael R. Burch

Lines written after the aptly-named Eric Eager said, “A. J. Brown is Terrell Owens.”

I’m young, I’m big-hearted,
but I’m just getting started.

I’m running my own race
at my own **** pace.

T.O. belongs in fabled Canton town,
but I’m A. J. Brown.

The second stanza was actually written by A. J. Brown, a budding poet, and published in the form of a tweet.



Charlie Hustle
by Michael R. Burch

for Pete Rose

Crouch at the plate,
intensity itself.

Follow the flight
of the streak of white
with avid eyes
and a heartfelt urge
to let it fly.

Sweep the short arc,
feel the crack of a clean hit,
pound the earth
toward first.

Edge into the base path,
eyes relentlessly relentless.

Watch his every movement;
feel his every thought;
forget all save his feet;
see him stretch
toward the plate ...
and fly!

Fly along the basepath
churning up the dirt,
desire in your eyes.

Slide around the outstretched glove,
hear the throaty cry,
"He's safe!"
And lie in a puddle of sunlight
soaking up the cheers.

A Texas Leaguer dropping
to the left-field side of center
sends you on your way back home.

Take the turn past third
with fervor in your eyes
and a fever in your step,
the game just strides away ...
take them all and then
slide your patented head-first slide
across the guarded plate.

Pause in the dust of your desires,
loving the feel of the scalding sun
and the roar of the crowd.

Shake your head and tip your cap
toward the clouds.

Slap the dirt
from your grass-stained shirt
and head toward the clubhouse ...
just doing your job,
but loving it
because it is your life.

This was an early attempt at free verse, written in my teens.



The Sliding Rule
by Michael R. Burch

If you’re not quite kosher,
like Leo Durocher;
or if you have a Pinocchio nose,
like Peter Edward Rose;
or if your life turns tragic,
like Ervin Johnson’s magic;
or if your earthly heaven
is stopped, like Howe’s, at seven;
or if you’re a disciplinarian
like Knight, but also a contrarian;
or if like Joe you’re shoeless
because you’re also clueless;
or perhaps like Iron Mike Tyson
you work a little vice in;
or like Daly working the jackpot
you’re less unlucky than merely a crackpot;
or like Ruth you’re better at drinking
than at dieting and thinking;
or perhaps like Andre Agassi’s
your triumphs are really your tragedies . . .
though The Judge might call you a sinner,
society’ll proclaim you a WINNER!



Tremble
by Michael R. Burch

Her predatory eye,
the single feral iris,
scans.

Her raptor beak,
all jagged sharp-edged ******,
juts.

Her hard talon,
clenched in pinched expectation,
waits.

Her clipped wings,
preened against reality,
tremble.

Published by The Lyric, Verses Magazine, Romantics Quarterly, Journeys, The Raintown Review, Poetic Ponderings, Poem Kingdom, The Fabric of a Vision, NPAC—Net Poetry and Art Competition, Poet’s Haven, Listening To The Birth Of Crystals (Anthology), Poetry Renewal, Inspirational Stories, Poetry Life & Times, MahMag (Iranian/Farsi), The Eclectic Muse

Keywords/Tags: Tremble, predator, raptor, hawk, eagle, falcon, talon, beak, wing, preen, preened, preening



Y2k: The Score
by Michael R. Burch

You should have known
when you were giving us wedgies,
pulling down our pants
in front of the cheerleaders,
playing frisbee with our slide rules . . .

that the years are exceedingly cruel.

You should have seen,
dashing across the gridiron
(as the cheerleaders screamed
in a *****-show of ecstasy),
playing the hero, the bull-necked **** . . .

the hands on the face of the unimpressed clock.

Though you were popular,
the backseat Romeo, the star
who drove the flashiest car,
though you lived out our dream
and took the prettiest girls to the dances, the prom . . .

you never had a chance.  Something was wrong.

We missed the big dances and proms
as we hissed and we schemed,
as we wrote and re-wrote our revenge
while you partied like Stonehenge.
Now your business is in debt to the hilt.
It’s too late to cry: Foul! Unsportsmanlike! Tilt!

One statement of ours and yours are all lost!
Your receivables, aging and gathering dust,
will yellow like ***** one soon-coming day.
While you were scoring, you missed this play—

Jocks: Zero. Nerds: Y2k.



Ordinary Love
by Michael R. Burch

Indescribable—our love—and still we say
with eyes averted, turning out the light,
"I love you," in the ordinary way

and tug the coverlet where once we lay,
all suntanned limbs entangled, shivering, white ...
indescribably in love. Or so we say.

Your hair's blonde thicket now is tangle-gray;
you turn your back; you murmur to the night,
"I love you," in the ordinary way.

Beneath the sheets our hands and feet would stray
to warm ourselves. We do not touch despite
a love so indescribable. We say

we're older now, that "love" has had its day.
But that which Love once countenanced, delight,
still makes you indescribable. I say,
"I love you," in the ordinary way.

Winner of the 2001 Algernon Charles Swinburne poetry contest; published by The Lyric, Romantics Quarterly, Mandrake Poetry Review, Carnelian, Poem Kingdom, Net Poetry and Art Competition, Famous Poets and Poems, FreeXpression, PW Review, Poetic Voices, Poetry Renewal and Poetry Life & Times

Giving golden mics to dope writes see me excite
Catch a smile from the stars shining bright polite
Only to the mean my clips equipped with magazines
Broke out the stereo portfolio slow my dough
See the heats bakes make the biggest cake no fakes
Allowed on my elite team supreme shatter dreams
Like Hakeem see things ain't what it really seems
Draw more guns than Yosemite Sam bro
Calico matching the pistols sippin' champagne
Outta crystals breaking verses like cathedrals
Bringing capitol punishment imperial establishment
Law breaking beats shaking favor of undertakings
Money exchanges draws more ranges show down
Guns packed down looking for these clowns
Barely above the ground catch these pounds
From the flip my wrist my ice crisp purple electro disc
Tesla plated dated from day i was created mated
To space time families of the hidden Galaxy
So come battle from the fifth dimension legacy
Throw ya bets up only to get set up light ya up
Like a Christmas tree beautiful deaths tragedy your majesty
I'm standing in the divine line pushed St Peters out of the way say
What I wanna say then invoke the doomsday
It's stroke of the cut that left em open like a gut
Fish out we cleared out the sentences
Periods we run more trades than fragments
Detect like Dragnet draws ears to the sounds of the mental magnets

Yo I told yall once more, been braced for war, even the score,
Shots like in da battlefield, high rising feel,  move like an eel, with the steel,
****** face from the Copperfield, let's keep it real, I appeal,
To the masses, check the horror glasses, hits beyond Classics
Cassius, disastrous, yo I'm straight hazardous, flows serious,
Haters tryna serve us, never nervous, keep a maxed out surplus,
Plus I got girls on the bang bus, who could rush us, out touch us,
Yo, I'm flipping birds without touching skies, stay wise,
Vigilant true gangsta militant, stay beyond magnificent,
Got a chase for money Manhattan, see what's happening,
Stay cappin', third ward coast rappin', so quit ya yappin',
Flappin' about nia this is the souf, so watch where ya peck ya mouf,
Haters fronting, and stunting, ain't no future in it, steam out Bennets,
Matrix with the blades, creamed out escalade, soufside fade,
Razor blades, sitting on the side of my gums,under my teef,
Shine up the christ reef, sit like an indian as chef, stress relief,
I'll leave ya stiffer and deader, than the winter leaf, peasants,
Become deaths residence, my gun distance, stay with the quickness,
Answers with the Iversons, yo who's liver sons, step to the don
Yo it's big pun, capital punishment, break the establishment,
Suckas got me bent, never been pent, to a magazine green,
Leaves I fiend, to keep my thoughts clean, no evil supreme,
Catch the dream, shakes from the microphone Hakeem,
Aim at ya peen, see what I mean, scope with the laser beam,
It seems dreams, are shallow I broke the battle, snitches tattle
I make like a snake and rattle, wait for bite pitch the might,
Dolomite any girls without using fright, game latex tight,
Iight, yosef only telling ya truth,no lies see the biblical eyes,
Close with the evil disguise, broke the celibate ties sighs,
Giving by the godly oddly shape my ology, it's my psychology,
Cant stop wont stop, til I'm the cold yard top, giving drops,
Unexpected, ya unprotected once I was resurrected, disconnected,
Off the face of the earth, my birth I knew my infinite worth,
Stay rowdy puff the green, make it cloudy, like chicks bowdy
Howdy howdy, word to this white henny good and plenty,
Sticks to stones break bones, word to the Houdini clones,
Magic I own, phone home sucka you dead amongst the battle zone,

Whaaaaaat!!

Man what's the deal coming thru shining grill
Mass appeal can you feel a gangsta oh so real
Poppin' thrills verge to **** don't test the souths will
Wrecking shop it don't stop far from a slop
Making bread is my butter spread
Haters utters stutters
Cuz I be smooth peanut butter what uh no other
Can step to the mic gotsta stay tight taking flight
All day all night flows gone bite critics gotta rewrite
Cuz I'm on a mission south side still hissin' ******'
Foes mad cuz they can't break the collision precision
Made by me flossing beats easily can ya see me
Shots like Biggie I'm getting jiggy keep blunts spliffy
Hold up never fold up gotta keep lean in the cup
Sugar daddy the girls call me a clone of F-A-T
P-A-T freestyle we gotta go wild never smile
Problem child see me cruising past a thousand miles
That boy Yosef can't be touched cobra clutch
Give up the real candy coated woodgrain and steel
Feel the Texas rattle snake all the fakes pump brakes
See the rims of the fours poking rims smoking
Mad fire like when I'm blazing cherry marries higher
Than the divine rewind my lines gotta incline
Gotta come through still jamming ***** blues
Don't be on the early news Mayne we done paid our dues
Leaning on a switch can't stand a ***** who glitch
Off the scene we all about making green fiend
For the mic like rakim shake em up like hakeem
Dream.at the highest mountain found the fountain
Wonders of youth treasures spitting over the booth
Ageless man feeling cageless with the lions chest
Heart the rest keep the ak with a moon crest
Manifest o yes I'm flexing the best off the knot
Texas still making it hot flows stirring up the pots
Mayne it don't stop we gotta keep.shining
Blinding for those under-minding end up underlining
Signing ya death certificate sick with it pick it
Easy greasy slipping with so many styles hair do
Swoop right by you then dump you in the bayou
Classic fantastic rhyme fanatic who can master
A disaster to perfection selection still stretching
Nerves curves ya appetite cuz the flows ya can't bite
Ignite dynamite advance make ya eyes dance in a trance
Big as Ivan Drago punching combos **** instinct
Pyro cop those see a gem grow from my mental
Expose fake criminals maxis turn to minimals
Vibrate the set like freight trains or a jet none get next
They can't test us or out Plex us welcome to Southside Texas
We gotta multiple shottaz ranks higher than Shabba
Watch the lightening and thunder gun wonders
Make ya body colder than the tundra
The weather endeavor the witty too **** clever
Keep a bank roll.of mozzarella funky cheddar
Keep a circle of killaz like the Goodfellas
Also gotta girl badder than Shawna freaky as belldonna
Critics mad cuz they can't flex the un- tamable
Intangible suckas edible from the bullets eating
Skins clammy y'all gotta jam me can't spam me
Stay slammin' like Anfernee penny cuz she likes it the hard way
Maynnnee ?

Once I step into the atmosphere suckas grow fear let me dry ya tears
From the guns sneakin' in the rear
I be the admiral a general commander running over pendejos ya know the flows commando tactics built for
Revolutionary type war tactics like scar
Cuz you couldn't mu'fasta smoke trees like a rasta now you leakin' pasta from the shottas
Hang with Don dads and hoes who wear Prada rappers get nada
Tryna step to me with they candy bars received the light from the stars
Flashlight fly as a kite none could outwrite or bite yo I'm outta sight once the bars ignite
Lyrics hittin' like a fastball strike one two to the three you'll see them swingin' at empty
Pitches control the glitches none could diss this ya livin' ya life under cover no other could smother this beat to sleep
Ask ya mom's why she likes it knee deep


Suckas swear they killin' **** but ain't killin' ****'
But a dream I shake em up like Hakeem one man team and it seems fools wanna aim the triple beams but I dodge the scene
Ghost never smoke America's most I'm too close
Like I'm right next you then I'll pass you then blast you
To the undertaker lika hot patota then catch a flight to Vegas we livin' large while movin' small suckas gall for it all I stay on call
Just incase we got some flaws
In the commission lyrics full of ammunition givin' death premonitions haters still wishin' and dishin'
Out sympathy but I crush dreams instantly got they woman's up under me sayin' punish me
With the heavy d can't escape the scenery golden imagery bars laid symmetrically realistically
Ain't none passing me close down the industry
Like Rick Ross in the Eighties

It's Yosef the most explosive lyrics so abrasive
That they got banned I keep the flows rockin'
Hotter than heat in Iran one man clan
Can't none withstand my energy band
Cuz I'm the little engine that can stand
In any competition keep my foes wishin'
Like a genie but they under me cuz my epitome
Standing taller than the twin towers I shower
Ya with the rhymes that reign inside of ya brain
Swellin' cells like polyurethane who's insane?
With the bars that bring the pain straight gains
No losses took the crown from the bosses
Of the underground so I'mma keep holding it down
Against the industry clowns pound for pound
They fall down cuz they know they'll drown
Heads barely above the waters I'm.settin_ the slaughter
So haters oughta
Move into another direction once my Dj makes a selection
Begins the rappin' session now emcees get taught a lesson
got rhymes blessing you
Like I'm the Messiah fools need to reach higher
With there rhyme schemes cuz it's seems they livin' a dream
Too busy focused on creams and later wanna redeem
Cuz they know I'll.have em.shooken like Hakeem
I'm not an astronaut but I rock it microphone prophet
Extractin' all of yall pockets makin' me profits
Got ya beamed in enlighten ya eye sockets

Watch me bring more heat than Lebron James
Knocking out lames dickin' down the baddest dames
Clean ya skull like Wayans in a low down ***** shame
See the flame
I burn empires without the use of fire my desire
Flatten domains like air out of tires
Ya leaking blood for all them hard rhymes tweekin'
My guns be freakin' bullets enterin' a *******
With death til my very last breath we holdin' reps
Over those who crept and thought we slept
Who don't understand my madness in hand
Down with the Wu Tang clan
Gimme a mic watch me raekwon
Inspect ya deck once I get a beat to select
Nothing but pure funk'ness injects none could reject
My Lethal artillery not ya average savage soldier's story much bravery
They ain't got no heart as I part  
Out all others they bore me thinkin' they can't out soar me
The Black eagle rolling in a regal my amigos all illegal and will **** you
Gotta stroll through at least a 100 kilos
No Coke goes to my nose check the wind blow
Grazing across ya temple
Leavin' a dimple it's a spiritual epiphany
Ghetto symphony it made me
A better writer raw as Snyder neighborhood ******
Pay the piper
We ain't never fall off  I could flex
At least thousand paid off lofts
My flows is cold so y'all bound to cough
Up money ain't nothing funny we schemes livin' out our fantasy dreams
That most of y'all dreams usually roll solo but still got trusted monsters on my team
shake ya up more than Hakeem never Chase  cream
Unless you wanna get done like Frank Lucas did to that guy in the scene
It's Broad daylight my eyes bright but low and tight I can't fight
These demons leeching givin' me raw wisdom with out preachin'
I cut all haters success short so stop reachin'

Yo, this aint no fantasy scheme,
Or to get, shakes like Hakeem,
Smoke and mirros, coke theme,
Its like Scarface,
Mixed with Wus cream,
Catch my drift, i bet i could make the game shift,
Check it,
All yall hear is murders on the records,
more murders,
But scared to ****, the ones,
Who really murdered us,
Get it, naw forget it,
Ill probably be admitted,
Looked over and *******,
Cuz most aint really with it,
Talking guns,
Like its father and sons,
But get mad,
When the system says they done,
They don't want no fun,
So go ahead, and flash ya gun,
Youngin,
You aint peepin the hungerin',
That the beast,
Loves to feast on,
Aggravated with aggression,
While negative *****,
Seems like, the only ambition,
Spoken true in fruiton,
See the rich, getting richer,
And the poors, aint peepin the picture,
Cant have ties to Christ,
And at the same, try to rock ya ice,
While eating a slice,
Of the devil pie,
See the glare in they eye,
Dark *** ****, like when they got hit,
On some gay, ritual ****,
Ya favorite rapper, ain't really Innocent,
Just look at, how they rise,
And you spitting the real,
Ya wont rise,
I used to wanna be a fly guy,
Roll with my peeps,
In the pinto, of a drive by,
But saw the hurt, in they family eyes,
But saw smiles in the enemies that lied,
Its alot of Denzel, playing with the cartel,
Up the community, but at the same time making hell,
How can i dwell,
In the flames, of earth, if im been cursed since my birth,

Airheads finna get a blow out watch me show out
Aint no cops out on my team gun supreme
Smooth as Hakeem shakes ya dream on a theme
Boxing wits poisonous as a clown fish makea wish
To ya foundation cremation change the stations
We purple hazin' Amazin' guns stay grazin'
phasin' out of my ol way soul display oles
Got mi killaz chillin' on MLK blacks to eses
Blast the Wesley now you chillin' in hells belly
*** sitting wealthy my tongue sprung the sirens
Admiring silence the voice natural man poise
Suckas barking up noise spittin' Debuois
PhD street scholars mystery who can it be
Legacy standing on roman collars dollars
Are often spent on ******* screaming from pulpits
Bulls in pit charging the circumvent went
Ghost once i caught a glimpse of ya face
Erase now back to this paper chase scrape
Off the last scripts of kemet still mourning emits
Til that aint payed for the blood spill night chills
To every ***** that was drugged on the will
Guilty conscious showing souls overflowing
Glowing hot pink a ghost busters cluster
I'm pounced like the sphinx with the Cuban links
Cruise cigars in my sixty eight jaguar aqua
running flows cop those stick like a thorn
From a rose as I resurrect the rap game back to
its original pose

Yo fools out here, swelling they souls,
For only, temporary water gains,
Thats means ya reign,
Is soon gonna be a drought,
No doubt,
I took the narrow route,
But broad is my might,
Saw the eternal light,
When the dark, bounded my sight,
Eerie spirits, hard to clear it,
Trumpets, blowing yo you can hear it,
Bring ya eyes closer, bet the tears youll be feeling it,
Everybody want the fame,
Before the fame,
No the game, is to be told, while the slaves is sold,
I stand bold and hold,
My intentions, like Prince i see yall intense,
******* leaning on the fence,
Fools turn into Mike Pence,
When i see them, tryna *****,
They way down a pipe dream,
Everything aint what it seems,
I slash ya dreams,
Shakes like Hakeem, bet i can get yall dancing to the theme,





Spin my cap backwards,
Watch the wizard,
Lay words, expose you gizzards,
Hoes tongue is lizard,
Tryna get a taste, of my natural paste,
Pin it to the system, get me a nine to five prison,
Time aint got no limits, like energy, linked with the synergy,
High powered, with the submachinery,
Everybody talking about Israel,
Well, that's just the beginning of hell,
Peace comes as the ultimate holy grail,
Blessed are the cursed,
I loved everyone as my worse,
The roman circus aint went no where,
Every three to six years, there's a new heir,
Abdicated off of the throne,
Here awaits a new chair,
Playing like Christ, gleaming sparkles of ice,
Rollie watch me control thee,
Amperage, shock brain cells,
It aint hard to tell,
The most smart, aint living well,
Hold steady, as i brace yall,
For the lyrical balance beams,