Jammin' in Jamaica
Driving my DeSoto
Being pursued by
My foe Quasimodo
Lying on the dash is
The missing person photo
When my phone rings
I hear "Hello Moto!"

(Chorus)
I don't have to work
When I'm in my pajamas
Acting like a ****
When I'm in the Bahamas
Really go berserk
When I'm feeding my llamas
We all go to pieces
When we’re talkin' to our mommas

Jammin' in Jamaicaaaa...
Jammin' in Jamaicaaaa...
Jammin' in Jamaicaaaa...
Jammin' in Jamaicaaaa...

Rush hour traffic
So I park my DeSoto
Nowhere in sight
Is my foe Quasimodo
See a man who looks like
The missing person photo
Then his phone rings
Shouting "Hello Moto!"

(Chorus)
I don't have to work
When I'm in my pajamas
Acting like a ****
When I'm in the Bahamas
Really go berserk
When I'm feeding my llamas
We all go to pieces
When we’re talkin' to our mommas

Jammin' in Jamaicaaa...
Jammin' in Jamaicaaa...
Jammin' in Jamaicaaa...
Jammin' in Jamaicaaa...

Jammin' in Jamaica
With the man in the photo
Who's not really missing
Just roving incognito
Suddenly appears
My foe Quasimodo
Truce as we pose
For a group selfie photo

(Chorus)
I don't have to work
When I'm in my pajamas
Acting like a ****
When I'm in the Bahamas
Really go berserk
When I'm feeding my llamas
We all go to pieces
When we’re talkin' to our mommas


(Repeat chorus and fade, with "Jammin' in Jamaicaaa" playing in the background with lines 1, 3, 5, and 7 of the chorus.)

© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.

Jammin’ with Mammon.
Hyped to the max.
Finding those loopholes
Paying no tax.
Slammin’ for Mammon.
Foreclosing on life.
You died too soon?
We’ll tax your wife.

Jammin’ with Mammon
The world by the tail.
Lie cheat and swindle
Don’t worry about bail.
Swimmin' like salmon
Against the stream.
Dealing from the bottom;
Living the dream.

Slammin’ for Mammon;
Trample the rest.
Get first and last from
The community chest.
No famine for Mammon;
Let the poor starve.
**** the fatted calf and
Get ready to carve.

Jammin’ with Mammon
As good as it gets.
No room for conscience
Or squishy regrets.
Slammin’ for Mammon
Means money is king.
Don’t count the victims,
Just get the brass ring.

musical walls of throbbing
meaning
makeshift footsteps
escaping tendons
lashing tongues
notes of splendour
****** in my trombone-chills

whats the wizardry
in those piano fingers
belting blues
rainbow ecstasies
oozing ****** gyrations
three minute *******
splitting night into slivers
for tomorrows takings

lets dance
jam together
touch each others souls
with promise.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

that's what ****** me off about western journalism,
there is a satirical newspaper in Poland,
there is a counter-culture,
but you obviously don't see it...
NIE is a decent newspaper,
    because it is satirical, but also serious,
at the same time...

  and there is anti-Catholic sentiment among
the people...
   i should know, my grandfather
was a communist party member,
   a strictly atheistic, humanistic,
secular upbringing -
              
   but when did nationalism die
in the western nations?
         16th century? 17th century?
you know... before nationalism morphed
into imperialism?
  obviously these post-nationalistic states
are looking at states that regained
their nation-state status like
**** sapiens looking at a bunch of
******* retards... sorry... neanderthals...

well... d'uh...
it's because the western states do not
understand the concept of a healthy nationalism,
oh a collective citizenry,
  of solidarity...
                   these days, anything right
of the center is... FAR RIGHT...
   there are fringe groups everywhere...
but you're talking about nations
that don't have the privilege of
   the imperialistic interlude...
instead: subjugation by other powers,
in the case of Poland... 3!
      
          maybe the western states just
don't know how to express a healthy
nationalism,
           maybe imperialism really
****** them up....
                    what?
   in H'america don't they call nationalism,
patriotism?
   last time i heard,
   i've been the subject of H'american
nationalism since an early age...
      cultural exports...
             more cultural exportation from
H'america than anywhere else...

/ interlude:

new additions to the jukebox
(and no, i haven't listened to these tracks
so even i don't know whether
i'm going to like them):

kokoroko - abusey junction
quantic - time is the enemy
lafayette afro rock band - hihache
gramatik - just jammin'
anthony brancati - neo-funk
savages - you're my chocolate
funky destination - the inside man
       (soopasoul remix)
kiasmos - looped
thurisaz - endless
LTJ - i don't want this groove to ever ends
low - lullaby
blonde redhesd - for the damaged coda

o.k. i knew this one already -
cymande - dove                               /

yeah... concerning
this:
the curious case of suzanna berlinsky

i can understand being blocked
for, incivility...
      but the Mongols really did sack
Moscow...
   and they had to traverse Siberia...
so...
             well **** me...
if i get blocked by someone for writing
such a comment,
as i wrote...
       just a **** shame...
   have to block them back...
    if anyone is available...
please tell suzanna berlinsky
   that's she an outstanding poet...
                  i would have liked to read all
of her works (yes, she is on this site).

For real, keep it on loop
I dig it a lot, like mama’s corn soup
You feelin’ me, hearing that tune
Or maybe I’m in the wrong room
Get up on it, know what I mean
Jammin’ on hot scones with cream
This song needs to tell our life stories
We all have battles forever in our lives
When you hear the sound of pop pop, oh no
Kids gettin’ shot for a pair of shoes in Chicago

Tough neighbourhood street
Corrupt badges on the beat
Planting dope, selling candy at the corner shop
Writing songs, tagging everywhere, if you dare
Doin’ time, enter from behind, I never, I swear
Come out on parole, new king on throne, lost all control
If I had my time again, I’d save a lot more, forget ‘bout toys
Look over my shoulders, stick to the plan, escape from the boys

They aren’t speakin’ our language
Let’s get the hell outta there, somewhere tranquil
Day by day, lets see if we can crack the code
Try placing ones thoughts in a brand new abode
For better or worse, it’s up to you, not your corner crew
We grow up thinking we had to listen, who knew
Step outside the hood, look around, don’t be shy
Then buy a one-way Greyhound ticket, say bye bye
At the start it might feel hard, but give it a chance
You’ll be surprised what you find, just take that first glance

Tough neighbourhood street
Corrupt badges on the beat
Planting dope, selling candy at the corner shop
Writing songs, tagging everywhere, if you dare
Doin’ time, enter from behind, I never, I swear
Come out on parole, new king on throne, lost all control
If I had my time again, I’d save a lot more, forget ‘bout toys
Look over my shoulders, stick to the plan, escape from the boys

splinter of existence creepin' thru skin
when judgement day is scarin' ya guys
temples beatin' 888 beats per minute
as dreams of shelter be passin' by

remember merciless bob, the hyena?
used to shoot bullets like rashid stoogie
always mind da project's family tree, b
watts to frankfurt via lima, diz how we be

brothaz, almans, multihood, escalade in chrome
osmans *** some, naber abi, bana parayi ver
you won't survive the massacre of greed
palms grow inside frankfurt's wildlife

GBS, TPB, LA MINA, HOLZI, NORDI, BOKI
dey be too fierce for dem knocko boys
no jammin', silver colts in montenegro
special forces, dejan, heroine, grenades

choki predicted da richness, we be floatin'
ari goldman tower, sandstone, platinum coke
yugos, habibis, moruks, almans, pashto
marokks, habeshas, albans and kurds

man bites dog, anti-traitor, snares
lacerated cable, flashdeath in red and blue
palermo, cosa nostra, secret shipment
da antagonist be chained 'gainst ya brain, bro

we tear up pavements since we rule da planet
massacres, new age, 36ers, crenshaw, headrush
day of vendetta bros, senait forgot how to *** back
street dust be what ya smellin' in da projectz

bent body, similar to deceased city doves
her soul be glintin' among da 5-0 sirens
large scale operation, silverblack corpses
black dots in front of ya eyes, sista

harlem river houses, homeshadows, dough
the ghetto raises fierce and bloodthirsty men
2 for 60, flip it into 90 and mind the cut, kwame
ya peeps gotta eat, and don't forget youse momz

let's build towers from all dem stacks, luv bellywood
our camouflage be immaculate like 90% pure
rides on champagne in times of evil blood
we light up the night and rightfully keep turf

our home be 36 souls away, slums and the hamptons
in the kitchen, da fiend's addiction is boiling
e guitar sounds, we overrun ya people
and don't ya fear jail, we reign institutionz

I pity anyone visiting us with
A language besides English;
Who tries to understand the words
We like to use with relish.
We seem to say so many words
Just to keep our lips busy.
It occurs to me the so much of it
Has never graced a dictionary.

Upscaling, downsizing
Offloading the whole magilla
The whole nine yards, bottom liine
The big honcho, the whole enchilada
I was completely plussed and then
I had my self a hissy fit
I didn't know I had a flabber,
'Til someone went and gasted it.

Hanging out, kicking back
Into myself and whatever
***** it, man. I am like, wow.
And y'know, yodda yodda yodda.
Some mean kinda fudpucker
Betcher bippees, yabba dabba doo.
Mazoomas and headlights,
Totally hyped megabitch, too.

Talkin' about 'sup bro
Stufflike windas and winders.
Jammin and gittin widdit
And sumpinbout pillas and pillers.
So, I goes and he goes,
And I'm all jazzed and by golly.
It really rocks, rad to the max
Get down to some serious party.

Sixes an sevens, p's and q's
What's your point? Get real!
It's pretty much a ******
So, what's the big deal?
Too much, I mean it's tough,
And stuff, and really far out, man.
Twenty three skiddo old bean.
Just a flash in the pan.
It *****. It blows, It bites, big time
A wicked righteous mindfuck.
Get jiggy with it. Kiss my crank;
Slob my ****, Lord Love-a-duck.

Yeah, you.
This day is going to be our day.
Yes, we.
We gonna jam until the morning comes.
Or until the cops knocks upon the door.

And when the lights goes down.
We're gonna be jammin' some more.

It's gonna be, a jam session of love.

With the Ohio Players playin' in the back ground.
I can't wait to see you get down.
With Earth, Wind and Fire followin' behind.
It's a clue for us to have some quiet time.

And any noise being made.
Don't worry.
We know the noise makers of the noise.

It might be mine.
It might be yours.

It's comin' from our jam session of love.

Listen to Kool and the Gang talkin' about Celebration.
Which we're doing without hestitation.
Listen to the Commodores singin' Just To Be Close To You.

As we enjoy the mood of one another.

We might throw in Chairmen of the Board in the end.
But then again.
It might be the Rolling Stones.

You'll never know.
When we're jammin' our way to love.

The music is just for easin' the situation.
For we aware of what we're doin' as the night passes

We're jammin'.
We're lovin'.
We're kissin'.
We're huggin'.

I be jammin down da beach
When I heard da pastor preach
"Baatiboys stay far from we!" he yell
"Baatiboys will burn in hell!"
He take a drag from the spliff
He jam out a reggae riff
"Excuse I" I say
"You should be on your way"

The spliff be shaped like a ****
He light it with tha bic
Baatiboy wink at me
His last wink that'll be

I rise up like Jah
I smack him in da jaw
Da spliff be fallin'
Da baatiboy be bawling'

He runnin' away cryin'
But this baatiboy gonna be dyin'

Pull out tha chopper
BAWH BRAP BRAP POW drop er'
Pastor be cheering
At the baatiboys I'm sneering

Stay off me beach

Here's a little story I tink you'll like.
It's not bout' two shmucks looking for amour.
It's all bout' me, my life, and my big fat bluntz.
Imma bout' to tell ya what Reggae's for.

Reggae stands for peace and the luv in yaself.
It's bout' them spankable honies and big fat beatz.
It's bout' sweet **** chicken and otha tasty stuff.
It's bout' that dank smell of ***** fillin' da streetz.

Reggae's da warm sensation from a fresh beef patty.
It's the chill rub-a-dub sound of dat Marley noize.
It's the Jamaican sun spreadin light on ya gurl's curves.
It's the dutty jammin ya get in to witcha dazy rond-boys.

*My life is Reggae. Reggae is my life

Sitting in de street
Spitting out a reggae beat
Rollin up a sticky spliff
Jammin out a reggae riff
JAH knows I take the fattest hit
"**** this ****** is strong as ****!"
I see a glint in the eye of a guy
On de street, just passin by
He flicks some cash in me cup, and I begin to smile;
For in my heart of hearts I know, he feels my reggae style

I’m busy as a bus.
Ten hours on the telephone, research resources,
school staff, counsel clients.
Some sleep.
Then invite Lorraine downtown, the lovely loyal
secretary, to hear jammin jazz crew. By taxi tonight,
sans subway.
I’ve never been to this joint before
but admire the women in their dresses and makeup.
In New York, they smell wild. Elsewhere
women are ranchers and gardeners.
We find a small table in the crowd,
order drinks. The band is four young black men.
Lorraine is black too, by the by.
We get up to dance and I leave my cowboy boots
under the table. I’ve always enjoyed
the way Lorraine puts her arms around me.
I’m the oldest cat in the club
which is frightening
since just fifteen years ago I was the youngest.
I wink at the trumpet player with my fairly abandoned mien
who comes over to our table between sets.
He likes Lorraine. They jukebox it.
She falls in love.

So like i wowke up
and i was like i'm gonna read me some poetry
and i did it like..psshh **** it i did it
and i ripped 3 of my faves out
and decided i was gonna be positive right here right now
and decide to be ready for whatever comes my way and to change
because whatever i can't handle now...was designed that way
...so that i could grow and learn from it
so im sorta prepared to change
jammin to miley currently
and i'm just gonna chill
and be completely in the moment
doing my thang
because first of all it's my life
and we don't live in eternity
we live in a world full of people trying to make it
feel important and interpret life
so i don't blame them for being complete *******
but this time around im focusing solely on me
...time is winding down..and life's too short to count up who the **** hates me
and wonder how am i gonna show so and so how much i don't give a **** today
...like my life should be filled up with joy, adventure, and i'm gonna push my self to do that
me personally chooses not to give a **** about ****
that's me
that makes me happy
and ******* can talk, can laugh, and what not
but it's my life
straight up like i'm sorry if i offended you or if your angry of something that's going on in my bubble
but whatever our world right
but i'm focused on what i'm doing and on what the **** I want do
and I know you people viewing are like what the hell
your right

Crunches and pops
Silence is stopped
Needle finds a groove
Beat begins to boom
Black plastic spews
Lyrics that fill the room
And in this moment
*Nothing else matters

Sick of your politics
[undecipherable]
I guess I never acted
To be free of this
Running backwards to blind myself
and please don't say the names
No one wants to hear them, not from you
Do your best
to work things out
without making a scene
I want, I want, I want, I want
I just want
cover it up
real real good
I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried
I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried
But just can't.

I used to think things were pure and good
I jammin' might with you
But that was then and this is now
and all I want to do
is eat you
Is eat you and beat you
and beat you
Is eat you, is eat you, is eat you

I'm over it, I'm over it, I'm over it
I'm over it, I'm over it, I'm over it

Your money buys you everything
but I'll just fade away
and it's **** good and it's no good

I can't stand it for much longer
I'm getting, I'm getting, I'm getting
so hungry
I can't deal with you anymore
All the things,
the things that you can do
and it will stop
It will stop
The anger just builds up inside
I feel like I'll blow up
I'll blow up
I guess I'll blow up

Now and then, a long, long time
I'm so **** tired
and now it's through
I'm almost done
and all I want to do
is hate you
I hate you, I hate you
I want to spit in your face
Hate you
I hate you
I'LL GET ON THE BUS AND **** YOU!
I hate you
I hate you
Hate you

I'm over it, I'm over it, I'm over it
I'm over it, I'm over it, I'm over it
I'm over it, I'm over it, I'm over it

Somewhere between four cans
Of sweet metallic madness
I found myself dancing
Lost in the murmuring wave of a rasta beat
Leaning into the bounce and jive of the jammin swing
That made me feel the beat the bellow the warp of time
Closing my eyes to the glowing halo drunk on the feel of rain against my lungs
I did not care
I did not worry
And for a moment I was in no hurry.

Bartender,
Pour me a drink
Bourbon on the rocks.

Why is this music so loud?
so flashy and colorful.
Lovers dancing,
Trumpets blaring
The bass bumpin’…

people are having fun,
enjoying themselves.

I dare to let a smile creep across my face
as the ashes fall from my cigarette
My eyes close as the music
grows softer but the people still dance…
smoke clouds the air as the colors dull into the night…

on the beach
with a drink and a smoke,
the reggae band pumpin’ it out,
the guitar wailing,
keyboard buzzing

people are laughing
enjoying themselves
and living life –
no regrets

funny –
I remember life having responsibilities  and being stressful.

A long drag from my cigarette
and I close my eyes as the tropical breeze
turns back into a cloud of smoke

my eyes open –
the band still jammin’
the bar jammed just as much

the smile’s gone as I sigh
oh look – Billie Holiday’s up next
pour me another drink Bartender.
the night is young
and I don’t wanna go home.

Jammin to Californication,
While The Zephyr hums a tune.
While it may be to early for a Monarchy, the Roses are finally in bloom.

You can have it all, if you don't need nothing
Keep the good vibes rolling, if it helps with one's loving
It's like a whole EDM festival, coming from your mouth
Not like those turntable dudes, down in the deep south
I thought DJs had had their freestyle spinning last days
Like Catholic church priests and their unholy ******* ways

Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE
Then screams to three, to come on back inside
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside, never never,  friggin Disneyland
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal

They say, ‘I'm the new messiah’.Thanks, but, I don't even try
Thanks to so few, excluding the ones, who waved me on by
I'm sort of creating, a brand new hype and buzz
Full of pure clarity, with a dash of man-made fuzz
When the beat stops, from its fast-talking pace
We all like to flop and drop that ******* bass

Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE
Then screams to three, to come on back inside
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside never never, friggin Disneyland
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal

A shout out, to all my southern conquistadors and homeward bound homie’s
Ignore all the Los Angeles doomsayers and Hollywood snapchat phoney's
Elevator doors always be jammin' and then coming to a closure
We all like a moment, of shy mouth miming, with very little exposure
From a worldwide hit or an Aussie Whispering Jack golden classic
From the sound of a crackling frisbee, made from nothing,
but pure black plastic

Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE
Then screams to three, to come on back inside
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside, never never, friggin Disneyland
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal.

Last night, I awoke to a sound so sweet
The soft sound of rain hitting the street
But as I drew closer to my front door
What I heard was not a downpour
Men of all walks jammin' out reggae riffs
The rain was not water, it was, in fact spliffs!
Spliffs were lit, people did smile
I thought I'd stay up and jam for a while
Happiness abound and sweet ***** steam
I opened my eyes, it was all a dream

I lay awake in Babylon, tears in my eyes
My brothers from Zion are deaf to my cries
My chalice, my comfort, I pack the kush up
Bring it to my lips and I take a deep puff
I cry, oppressed
My mind, distressed
Babylon got me down

Like a gray cloud,
you block out the sun to my self
when I’m having fun.
Yelling—drinking—jammin’
Your memory rains
on the campfire I’m sitting next to
with friends I’ve only met tonight.

& the rain start's pourin'
the rain start's pourin'
       --the rain start's pourin'

dark clouds
on the outlier
of that single ray of sunshine
time can't unwind
that molecular moment
our bodies decided to part.  

& the rain start's pourin'
the rain start's pourin'
       --the rain start's pourin'

yo the homie Juan C
pass the mic to me
so i wreck this beat
like SPC protege of k rino
hos call me mandingo poppin' ***** tapes demo
never rode a limo
only smokes primo n got pitches in otcos
8 bars make ya see the star im far from soft
f them boys in the nawf
woth south side ****** til we die
we ride with the hardest regardless
if they try to break our clique
we still gone spit ****
like a cobra ya know its over
once the venom in em then couple.of minutes later
finish em
mortal combat **** all the rats
despise chit chat call my youngest ** ***** cat
pack a black gat
we push loot in the golden regal
every thang we do is illegal
lethal
as gibson they don't want none
boys crackin' rhymes til the crack of dawn
then wake up next day just
to bust another one
my OGs rollin' with Don Key n Pokey
hardest in the pit
and if you disagree we make haters **** our ****
sloppy **** no ****
them ******* can lick the pigment off a ***** stick
but i play it safe n cool
cuz hos try to burn you
got it played smooth groove
to the sound bound to get down
if ya down bow down listen to the gun shots sounds
now ya leakin' where ya be speakin'
now ya body tweekin' n geekin'
soon to crossover
like epmd mic check ya know me my crew be
fascinating minds with our hocus pocus never lose focus
my raw raps got them nervous
got Juan C next to me
and got the tech services
and no playin now from the htown
still holding top with no crown
dont need a status we the baddest
turn the lane three wheel leanin' with bird chirpin'
still smokin' up the scene
with clip fully loaded magazine
glock cocked we aint gone stop
sip the prometh to the day i drop
dont stop
the music cadillac funky so ya know im gonna abuse it
drip up drapped out know what im talking bout
deep in the south we put guns in ya mouth
no flappin' we stay strappin'
like willis ya know whats happenin'
and we aint gone stop the rappin'
mad at us cuz we bring the real
o so real make every nation feel
what them southern slangers do
dangerous as the Bronx Zoo
what ya wanna do
with stay with more than sun tzu when death comes to you
them boys n blue
cant save u
on the mic i gets wicked after a meal ticket sadistic
as charlie manson
got a twenty two mansion
followed a long benz with the big blue lens
zero percent window
so i can smoke my indow
what they dont know wont show
follow the peckin' order my game smarter
jaun n yosef isthe real hip hop martyrs
and we ready to battle
sogo ahead and shake ya rattle
cuz we'll be quick to slaughter


yea man let me come through
versace with the blue
jeans coming clean sip lean
with an ounze of promethazine fiends
be on the look out
cuz ya know im about
to clown harder than Corey Holcomb
boys gettin' dumb dumb
got hos thats chewin bubble gum
shakim' *** too fast
make a ***** urge for a ***** lick
yea im rollin' with the *******
up clique we sick
as a muthafucka
enticin' all types of diseases
cuz the lyrical content pleases
many foes and hoes
i wear baggy clothes with jabos
dont ya know
im rap don vito stack chips like frito
lay i parlay
on sittin on the dock of the bay
jammin k
or that *****
htown is how we do?
ride ***** with the bulls
euro grills caprice with pipes made of steel
o so real still
got every nation on they feet
they cant feel
this uh coming down on ya blvd
ya can see me on tv or 60 inch screens dvd
**** blue rays i rock ray ban shays
like Mj ya can catch me on a fade
doing what i do in the paint
with a Styrofoam cup full of drank
grams of dank
smoke so much we cant think
eyes cant blink im on the brink
of an overdose
ya suppose to rock the flows like me
im like biggie
spittin the classic mr magic
girls call my **** game fantastic
stretch ***** holes like elastic
leave her visions plastered
like she drunk as ****
im pushin luck six flat riding a black truck
40 oz in the gut gangsta strut
im the best ***** whatttt?
im ina rage one luv to homies
in the cage
when i hit the stage
ya know the crowds gone get wild
im flagrant like a fouls problem child
use my cash bills to fans thrills
no spills on *******
ya know the deal
hos be reachin' still teachin'
n im all about mass appeal

Sweets Return Wrap

Boy, wouldn't cha know it,
just when you think, you've got control,
you think you understand the situation,
then they make you dig, down, deep in your soul

you think that you've been playin,
the part of your life, and doing it so well,
then you're called out on the carpet,
something's not right here, it's a game called the shell

What the hell, I'll try anything once,
just got to keep an open, mind this time,          
you knucklehead, you big dunce,
it's only rap, all you gotta do is rhyme

the Queen was in her royal tower,
she was just, doing her thing,
you heard there was a power struggle,
all about the money, all you hear is ka-ching

I'll put my game face on, tar under my eyes,
insert my mouthpiece, buckle my chinstrap,
looks like it's going to go 10 rounds,
now you're jammin, to the Sweets Return Wrap

Gomer LePoet...

walked upon your avenue 'bout a thousand times before
ironically, wasn't looking for a score
only had a pen as my sword
it's a shame
but good to know, some things remain the same
don't know what sounds were ringing in my ears then
but the beers and the tears made me a brave ten
guess I didn't feel enslaved then
guess I knew when turn the page when
someone enters your life's story
and you think you're better, cause everything seems boring
when you got neil or tori spitting wisdom in your lobes
and the poor **** is jammin' to that gangster **** that runs the globe
illuminati, glitterati, they don't want your body
it's just an echo of nevermore
used to know a girl named Lenore
until the birds poured into her head
stolen first were the memories and things unsaid
next came the dreams from a solitary bed
might as well have been in the middle of the ocean
I don't pretend to know your pain
or what it's like to lose or gain
I only know that I can conceive the notion
of waves crashing, so soothing, so earth-shattering
the infernal pressure felt from above while you're barely floating
and God seems to be gloating, like he created something in his image
so hold on, no matter how sinister
and of course, they all tell you it's in your mind
it's the devil doing paint by numbers in disguise
it's a gift-wrapped present with nothing inside but lead
but you know that crazy is just a term for the clock in your head
so you listen to his rhymes that flow, so lightly but so heavily
that they become your desire
so you use your last match to blow your best smoke ring
and never notice that the bed's on fire
and now you're back walking on the avenue
it took quite a few spins of that **** for you to get the gist
cause even the sages wouldn't know what side to be on
when it's you against the world, outsider vs insider, and on and on
it goes, so you rub elbows with a stranger
next move could be heaven or be danger
but this is your least favorite life
so you say **** it, hello, my name is, welcome to the show

Mona Lisa clowned
Mona Lisa frowned
Lynda said she got browned
Lynda rolling, toiling, gliding
Hitting a meeting in town.

Riding, jammin, bamming
Moonlight in the lightning
Lynda cramming, driving
Blasting to the beat...

Badass ***** hitting, smashing
Thundering in recovery
You don't do Lynda,
Maybe or
Maybe not....Dummy

Got the radio blasting, got the favors in my hand
Meeting  the crew, jammin with the band
Crowd lined up around the block
Doesn't even matter cause we are gonna rock

Making plans to win, plans to sin
Eyes on a beauty, I'm getting right in
Gonna leave my mark make her squirm
Gonna blew her mind like she's smoking sherm

The sun cracks thru the darkest night
People take cover to avoid the light
Try to get to bed try to sleep
Breaking hearts ignore their weeps

ive been traveling
my legs are like jello and my eyes are crusty
I can feel a shakyness come up upon me
but I wipe my eyes and take a sip
I look to the future
im a hippie *******
i live for peace love and pride
my breathe is stinky so give me some stride
im listening to take a free ride
my windows are down and im jammin outside
but my travel is loose and easy to the vibes
youll never see me stumble or fall
my shoes are tied tight and my chins in the sky
noones gonna stop J A ******* Y

Sometimes, Words are Just Words
April 28, 2011

Have you ever had that feeling
when words become boring?
You get that idea
that you really want to express yourself today.
Too bad that everything seems so plain.
You post a provocative status on Facebook,
but you already do that all the time...
You get that idea
that maybe you should try something different.
You could scream at the top of your lungs,
jammin' out to your favorite song.
But those words aren't fun either,
they're not yours after all.
Even writing a poem seems dull today.
You get that idea
that you can just shake it off
but the magic of your words doesn't come back.
I wonder what good words are when you lose the will to use them.
You could build castles, toasters, pudding, people, anything you imagine.
You get that idea
that your words just don't excite you today.
Thinking, speaking, writing,
have never ****** so much.
You get that idea
that if words are just words today,
then maybe today,
you are just you.

Short rap story






Lil loonie was a loser school abuser at home told he's was no more than manure
Always down on frowned on
Hound on!
People he's a supposed love are
Far being bigons
Stuck between two
Mother with issues
Dead brother picture hanngin in the window.
Constant reticule only peace
Was dream of revenue
Own a avenue be a block owner like the corner toker smokers shadows crews
Jammin to the bad words they lingo ,
The way lean tho , havin honnies chasin at they feet too
Seems so blissful
I want it!
Soo lil Lonnie became a grown up,
Started selling grass up in the school bus,
Ayo man. Lonnie gone nuts !
Starting fights skippin class grabbing *** up in the hallway ,
Stealing cash,
And ****** in the hallway,
Jumpin other kids in the stall way
He's gone gray,
He finally dropped out , linked up with the corners, made a connection now he's transporting product ,
Constantly eyes shut , to the fact that he blind but makin quap to support his mom and dads ****,
So they didn't question his surprised bust ,
Did 20 rough , came home to a dead conscious mutt , and******* addicted **** ,
Moms up in hospital, dad has lost his mind , nuts. A remarried krutch Brain is crust , powdered dust loonie.
Lil Lonnie lost a huge portion of life to a past hobby, trying to good now, takin flowers to the lobby. Only to find he's heading to mortuary section , mom didn't make it past the first chemo injection.

really jammin on my werds.................but      dont  w    a    n    t         t       h  e m    
tooclosetogether itsok.i gotem bak.





i make space for my mind.
dont get in the way.
otherwise youll experience yourself experiencing yourself.. and thats just too intimate.
for someone like us.
wed rather part ways than rub backs.
sweat share on two backs.
moving bales of hay i assume.
some sorta hard werk.
proper werk.
make a man a man.
feel strong.
but dont rub backs with yo self.
cuz youll know you have to follow yerself forever or until one of you kills you.
so its already done.
go home.

most nations are divided by
either the south vs. the north,
or the east vs. the west,
well... some, not all,
there's no clear indication that
there's a true indicator -

in the case of england though?
well... you
have the emergence of
a "demographic" slang,
and apology for a lack of a better
word,
but i already indicated
this to be a misnomer,
meaning?
               third-parties,
i was never into coining a phrase,
so i took the lazy route,
and unquoted ("     "   vs. '        ' -
hence the inverted commas)
what would sediment into a fluid
pretense for rhetoric...
sure, the picts know
that glasgow is poor, while edinburgh
is rich...
   but that's an anomaly
of the rules...
       most of the underground
services are bound to the earth-worms
of north london...
  south london barely touches
on the convenience of underground
services...
               the underground
stretch of influence goes as far
as brixton (victoria line) -
   and morden / mordor (northern line) -
   **** me! on the north end, we're going back
as far as epping! farmland!
croydon? croydon?! talk about
                heathrow for ****'s sake!
   what the **** happens in west ruslip?
so kilburn is not a mini-havana / kingston
a jamie-jammin-chicken-****-fetish?
marble arch through to edgware
not a niqab "cat walk"?
             i knew i'd loose my compass
when strutting in london...
              homerton, hackney whick,
stratford...
           oh **** me, you go beyond
   hainault....
can you believe they still have
a video rental shop (blockbusters) just
outside of woodford station?!
               cities within a city,
like all modern micro-states of
frowned upon nation-states are:
   london? a city-state...
                           it's not a nation-state,
that 19th century: uh-hum...
                       ya ya...
                          i'm living within
an ancient-greek tickle of a city-state...
i'm living on the membrane,
i'm at the gates
  of the barrier between
   a city-state, and a nation-state...

newcastle, liverpool, manchester are
not actually considered to be
city-states...
           they're national-disconcertives...
   birmingham? ha ha!
           is it either? is it not the lahore
of the north-west?

mind you, me drinking an ale from
newcastle, walking in essex,
the "demographic" slang springs to mind...

i'm a southern fairy... drinking a
northern monkey's brew...
         ain't that a cause for rhyme?
i'm ******* sure it it:
what thrill in crafting art,
   within the confines of a mind
that knows no ill,
               for what of art,
if there be no ill of mind -
         to craft the thrills of true art?
is not art the craft that
          encourages control
over a decomposition, into the vigour
of ferment,
  like wine, like cheese,
                    so too...
   a florentine gallery...
    god: by a tarantula's bite, immobilißed
in the uffizi: mouth agape, pretending
to yawn.

ah yes... a reminder:
with a northern ale in the southern lands
of england...
   ******* southern fairies...
      bollocking northern monkeys.