"posse" poems
Gangsta
I'm the gangsta who can rap,
give me **** and on your face I'll crap.
I'm the gangsta who is white,
you all know my rhymes are tight.
I'm the gangsta who calls the shots,
inside my head are tiny blood clots.
I'm the gangsta who will kick your ***
show me respect, or I'll take you to class.
I'm the gangsta who does no wrong,
only the good stuff, goes into my big ****
I'm the gangsta who needs no gun,
carrying a pen is much more fun.
I'm the gangsta loved by all,
black people call me the chosen cue ball.
I'm the gangsta who needs no posse,
hating people who are to **** bossy.
I'm the gangsta who poses no threat,
always broke and knee deep in debt.
I'm the gangsta who likes living,
never forgets, but sometimes forgiving.
I'm the gangsta who doesn't care,
walking around in my stained underwear.
I'm the gangsta who can't sing,
but if I bite, it will sting.
I'm the gangsta like no other,
if you don't believe, just ask my mother.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
Gangsta
I'm the gangsta who can rap,
give me **** and on your face I'll crap.
I'm the gangsta who is white,
you all know my rhymes are tight.
I'm the gangsta who calls the shots,
inside my head are tiny blood clots.
I'm the gangsta who will kick your ***
show me respect, or I'll take you to class.
I'm the gangsta who does no wrong,
only the good stuff, goes into my big ****
I'm the gangsta who needs no gun,
carrying a pen is much more fun.
I'm the gangsta loved by all,
black people call me the chosen cue ball.
I'm the gangsta who needs no posse,
hating people who are to **** bossy.
I'm the gangsta who poses no threat,
always broke and knee deep in debt.
I'm the gangsta who likes living,
never forgets, but sometimes forgiving.
I'm the gangsta who doesn't care,
walking around in my stained underwear.
I'm the gangsta who can't sing,
but if I bite, it will sting.
I'm the gangsta like no other,
if you don't believe, just ask my mother.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
So I'll have mine
and you'll have yours?
who could ask
for anything more!
grey beards march
the union jack
build a wall
and send them back!
Grudge, sludge
a sanguine view
****** off
and take the cue
hide, plunge
aristocrat
run the field
like an old tom cat
Narrow pass
and capital flow
falling crude
and currency woe
deep depression,
mutineers
the mastermind
of project fear!
Silver spoon
at Hampton court
madness waits
in Davenport
divisible
and off the grid
**** it up
100 quid
Helen’s horsemen
unified
the springbok club
will never hide
plebiscite
in deep despair
an open scroll
Trafalgar square
Grapple, grovel
sentry shame
along the shore
of river Thames
king of wankers
lord of beat
break the rule
of old elite!
Stone the posse
bullets bare
load the chambers
fists in air
voices, faces
haunted souls…
should i stay
or should i go?
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
My Estranged Dear
Why couldn't we piecemeal the past
The pieces that crashed
Over dinner and a cup of joe
Over the branches that glow
Why did the leaves fall from their limbs
Before the Autumn hymns
Before their time
Our days lost in chime
Why do two hearts sever alone
Confetti tomorrows falling to stone
Why my estranged dear do you dread
A benevolence served over broken bread
A posse of good nature willed
In fall of olive branches milled
To my estranged dears
Collectively over the years
I sat in front of the mirror
Farther away than nearer
Pondering the same sad old song
Of where golden went wrong
Was it being on the ruler of the river
With no catches to deliver
Being next to our campfire
Small flames freezing your heart's desire
Was the heat of the night
Dancing in plight
Were the words I spoke
Just a convoy of smoke
Was it sleeping in the restless tent
Your pent up passion spent
On black bears in others, you see
And not in me
To my estranged dears
My eyes were blind to your fears
I admit with regret
And knowingly I know my debt
Yet I can only wander on the past
In hopes that an ember is cast
A ruler I was not
Though vetted by such for naught
Logan Robertson
8/11/2018
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
(Author's Note: For those of you who have read "The Outsiders" by S.E. Hinton, here you go.)
I am used to insults
after seventeen long years.
I should be, I create
half of them
and suffer through all of the rest.
I lived in New York for part
of my life, so
I am also used to violence.
I am able to rebel against everyone,
opposing gangs, the Socs,
even my own little posse of greasers.
They are like brothers to me, and
I am willing to lay down my life for them.
Not that I'd ever say that out loud.
I am not without pride
and I have quite the reputation to uphold.
I am rough, tough,
and a guy you want to have
on your side in a rumble.
But at the same time, I have seen to much
for a kid my age.
Fighting, blood, and a good guy getting in trouble
with the law for something he didn't do.
Death is the worst.
I am affected most by this, so I have built up a wall.
I am truly the one on the edge of our gang.
I am an outsider.
I am a greaser, a hood,
and proud of it.
So you can call me what you want to,
but
I am used to insults
after seventeen long years.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 7:50 PM UTC
NY Hip Hop
Gold Express
Bling Shop
Afro Brothers
proprietorship
buyin and sellin
filthy lucre
of down hard
Gat packin
Gangstas
on the down low
throwin down
fallin hook
line and stinker
just a bunch
of lil fishies
wigglin at the end
of golden chains
its all about
the bling baby
all about the bling
"I pity the fool"
saith Mr. T
the potentate of
soul and gold
who ain't
down with
the cool jewels
of righteous
B Teamers
arrested by
the silk rope
of glitzy discos
bribing bouncers
with an
earnest Jackson
to *** rush
the vanity faire
of bumping
A Listers
Or was it
Def Jam
Buddhas
minting
coin on
MTV?
exploiting
misogyny
and ghost
face killas
NWAs
slugging cases
of Kristol
blowing
fat spliff
smoke
up the *** of
Phat Farm
kids in
the hood
shooting
silver
bullets at
the man
takin baths
in tubs
of fifties
lighting up
with crisp
C Notes
rollin
through
life
in black
Escalades
its silver
spinners
twisting fast
round
corners
where
being cool
went blind
and
Coolie High
homies
still tip
a sip
for the
brothers
who ain't
there
Today
its all about
the raised fist
of power to
the P Diddy
fighting
the power
of the people
as leggy
Beyonce
warbles
songs
for the
posse
of a
Libyan
Dictator
whose
blood
money
pays
a cool
mil
cover
for a
New Years
Eve
tune
Its all about
the bling
baby
All about
the bling
baby, all
about the
bling.
NY Hip Hop
Gold Express
Best Prices in
Trenton Since
1997
You Tube Video:
Gil Scott Heron
Ain't No Such Thing As Superman
Trenton
2/25/11
jbm
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 9:19 AM UTC
He's found himself in the closet
After he lost to himself in a game of tic-tac-toe
And tied his lobster bib tightly
Then hid his cheat sheet, for the pop quiz he knew was soon to come
It's curtains for her
She let the cat out of the bag
And now she's up **** creek with ****** for paddles to go **** herself with
Right in the birth canal
Then we'll auction off the ******
We'll pass them off as European defibrillators
Maybe some extremist will want them
If we spew out enough mindless dribble
The All Time Shit-Show is about to begin
We have
The Chronic Masturbater
The Hypochondriac
And The Pathological Liar
It was either sometime yesterday
Or sometime tomorrow
Or was it sometime today?
That you were all going to make fun of the boy with the cleft lip down at the laundromat?
Out of the three of you The Pathological Lair sticks out like a sore thumb
I can tell he was the runt of the litter
Who always bites off more than he can chew
I see the Hypochondriac has convinced himself he has eczema
He rattles off all his symptoms
Inordinate filibustering
Now there's the Chronic Masturbater
He looks like he's over the hill
He's only twenty one
But the blue circles under his eyes and the deep defined lines on his forehead denote his inelegant aging
I sign all your lives away in my horrible cursive
And now you belong to the ragtag trigger-happy posse of gun-jumpers
My billfold his happily filled
So I must go do some reconnaissance
Spy on those who have quit their day jobs
The fish out of water
You must find that thing that really rolls off the tongue with a nice ring to it
******
*******
*******
*******
No...
Go hang youself with dental flossed you home-schooled fool
Indentured servants we're just an after thought
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
Aurora borealis,
aurora australis.
Mare nostrum,
sub silentio,
sub secreto,
ad libitur,
as infinitum.
Ira furor brevis est,
amor suo iure.
Memento vivere,
in dubio,
in dolorosa,
in posse,
in nubibus,
in pace,
in spiritu et veritate,
in pleno,
nvne avt nvnquam,
ad vitam aeternam.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 1:28 AM UTC
you shook my status as mere mortal,as you opened up Satan's portal, achieve true greatness
true power, the omnipotent godliness, begging the end when the end should begin
different yet accepted by the black sheep, and the wolf, pit against the weak
archetypal situation bleak,beware of what you dream for,entrails spread across the floor
you'll pray for death, when they all find out, the wicked darkness from the dragons mouth
now I live in the borderlands,blood and **** within the sand,Blood of every man
PERSONAL DEMONS BECOME COLLECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS. irreverent irrelevance.on the fence
we've lost the keys to the kingdom. we must stop running in place, be the change you want
day dreams, must be a reality. sanity chosen inside the minds of the insane
being lost a perennial classic. you want them to see the little movie in your head
Christ posse, blue birds, and the doors is painted red
how do your dreams match up against this created reality you exist in now
the city of the dead, the cities have all burned down
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 4:20 AM UTC
The
Decider-in-Chief
made
another
hard
decision,
rebebilitatin
a debilitating
Gaddafi.
The
Agog
Decider
sleekly
peeked
into the
bleak
soul
of the
master
Bedouin.
The
Pious
Decider
peered
pretty
deeply,
so its
hard to tell
what his
arcane
rebelations
revealed.
Some say
The
Jaundiced
Decider,
saw the
desert
bleeding
deliciously
malicious
sweet crude
onto the
scabby
tongues
of
Halliburton
Executives
while
Big Time
Vice
Dickey Boy
******
a petrol
nozzle
dry,
licking
the dripped
drops
that
drizzled
from the
shoot
hole,
so as
not to waste
a precious drop
to satiate
the black
viscous
goo
coursing
through
the ebony
veins of his
chingling
heart.
Others
say
The
Condoning
Decider
sized up
the man
and saw
a brother-in-arms
in the fight
against
The Evil Doers;
yet failed to
see the
revolting
obscenities
his new
comrade-in-arms
inflicted
upon his
own body
politic.
The
Forgetful
Decider,
blessed
with amnesia
forgot
Lockerbie and
applauded
BP's royal
court of
justice
for
pardoning
all perps.
The
Oblivious
Decider's
near
sightedness
failed to
foresee
a brewing
blow-back
amassing
in the
desert
winging
its way
home
on the
blasting
sands of
a blistering
Saharan
sirocco.
The
Pollyannish
Decider
envisioned
grand
spectacles,
only happy
visions of
Beyonce,
JZ, Usher
and the
Def Jam
Buddha
Russell
Simmons
yodeling
filthy
lucre
tunes,
sending
giggling
tweets
while
partying
down
with
Muammar's
posse
of martinets
and
way cool
far out
crazy
execs
drunk
with the
power
that blinds
the eye to
all discernment.
The Decider
decides.
Music Selection:
Lady Ga Ga
Beyonce,
Telephone
Oakland
3/3/11
jbm
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
Reunion Of The K.K.K.
I jumped from the plane with a prayer and a dream,
gonna hook up with my old Alabama team.
Welcome to the land of red necks,
a place filled with no excess.
I got in the closest taxi cab,
white robe I had to nab.
This all seems so crazy,
tired of being so **** lazy.
Lots of pressure, getting kinda nervous,
they say it's my civil service.
Then the Eminem song came on,
then the Eminem song came on,
so I then twirled my white baton.
With butterflies in my tummy,
starting to feel like a dummy.
Hands up while they play my song,
time has come, it won't be long.
It's a reunion of the k.k.k,
it's a reunion of the k.k.k,
it's a black person buffet.
Get out in the hood, from the cab,
my white hooded robe, I had to grab.
Everyone looks at me now,
I just wave and give a bow.
They can tell I'm from out of town,
hundreds of black people with a frown.
It was sometime around noon,
when they played my favorite tune.
It's a song from the Insane Clown Posse,
it's a song from the Insane Clown Posse,
us ten members started to get bossy.
It's a reunion of the k.k.k,
it's a reunion of the k.k.k,
some people are gonna die today.
Burning crosses on the street,
as we get our ***** beat.
Throw my hands up, like in the sixties,
we knew this would be a bit risky.
It was a reunion of the k.k.k,
it was a reunion of the k.k.k,
now our heads are on display.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 1:26 PM UTC
Obama jetted
back to Africa
soaring aloft on
gulf stream swank
a posse of
oil company execs
in tow, intent on liberating
Dark Continent
fossil fuels from unjust
underground prisons
American
entrepreneurs
angling to get the
upper hand in the
high stakes global
resource poker game
pulled a big time race card
to trump China’s
full house
On Goree Island,
political paparazzi
popped and clicked
a perfect image
of the neocolonial
white clad President
framed in a doorway filled
with dark shadows and
heinous memory of the
unspeakable horrors
of global trade
leering from
the portal at the
Gate of No Return
Obama welled with
meditative epiphanies
of personal seachange,
and the vicissitudes of life,
pondering his meteoric rise
from a Land of Lincoln
State Senator to
American President
in the span of
one golden
9/11 decade
At a
South African University
Town Hall Summit,
the fist bumpin,
mike droppin Prez
telepromted the
star struck folks with
solemn universal civil rights
pronouncements,
wrapped in the riddle of
the pursuit of peace,
hidden in the enigma of
the reverence for
human dignity
Later in the day
Mr. Obama sat at the
feet of a comatose Mandela;
whispering into his ear
why an Afghan peace
eludes him, why his
drone strikes rain
death upon innocents
and why his democratic
republic defiles
the civil liberties of its
citizens to ransom
a daily diet of fear
But Madiba does not hear
Mr. Obama’s feverish
confessions; his
ears are closed,
he dreams only
of the paradise of
liberation he earned
for his life's hard wages
Music Selection:
Gil Scott Heron
Western Sunrise
Oakland
070213
jbm
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
Scarecrow
Made of sticks and straw !
Certainly
It ain't I what scares ya !
--
Death do its own song
Got its own crew
It's own posse
Now
--
We watch
We see eachother
We laugh
Ha! Ha!..
..
Trying to ignore
Our own isolation
That which will
**** us in the end
--
Our poetry
Is just the wind
Soon to knock
The scarecrow down
--
And we fall down
Grasping for straws
Tryin to gather
One last dream
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 2:51 PM UTC
Any slave that escape bring him back and torcher him.
Strange, but mostly true were slave masters mentality.
So it's amazing, we still, have these slave matters today.
Oh, I forgot, we call them business owners of professional teams.
Who?
Have dictated to their slaves?
I'm sorry players.
What required of them?
When the national anthem is played?
Oh, yes it's America.
And we have the first amendment as freedom of speech.
You BETTER stand during the playing of the national theme.
No choice!
Yes, your master has spoken.
You better listen?
Wait!
Do the players realize the power they posse?
Unions, years ago brought manufactures of product to a halt to settle deals.
Players, especially the National Football League African Americans can HALT any season from being played?
Power in numbers.
Who?
Would be hurt?
The masters of the slaves.
They business owners.
Many locked into deals with a various organization to make a profit.
Cities, the economy will suffer.
All those tax breaks that cities cheaply gave to get the team.
All those soda, food businesses that make money during athletic seasons.
Sure, you lose some fans than many are like fair weather friends.
When winning, they there.
When suffering you can't begin to see them.
In modern time, the slaves have the power.
Oh, my fault, the players has the strength.
And forget about threats from THIS president.
Years, ago.
He played the owner of a franchise in a sub-par league.P
Probably, still holding a grudge cause we see many present owners gathering up to him.
And, what if?
The NBA players throw ALL their support to their fellow group.
Heck, imagine the thunderstorm of losses.
Only ones safe is the baseball owners.
The odds of these players supporting them is slim.
And that based mainly on the racial hue.
So just think of the power that players got in the NFL/NBA?
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 8:42 AM UTC
I’m indebted to the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations, 4th Edition 1996
**Ab Imo Pectore
A**b imo pectore,
Blandae mendacia linguae,
Cadit quaestio,
Desunt cetera.
E*st modus in rebus.
Faber est quisque fortunae suae,
Gigni de nihilo nihilum, in nihilum nil posse reverti.
Hic finis fandi,
Interdum stultus bene loquitur?
Jacta interdum est alea,
Labuntur et imputantur.
Magni nominis umbra,
Nec scire fas est omnia,
Omne crede diem tibi diluxisse supremun,
Pallida mors aequo pulsat pauperum tabernas regumque turres;
Quid rides, mutato nominee de te fibula narrator,
Res ipsa loquitur.
Solvitur ambulando…
Tempora mutantur, nos et matamur in illis.
Urbi et orbi,
Vestigia nulla retrorsum.*
From The Bottom Of The Heart
From the bottom of the heart, the falsehoods of a smooth tongue,
The question drops, the rest is wanting.
There is a balance in all things, every man is the creator of his own fate.
From nothing, nothing can come, into nothing, nothing can return.
Let there be an end to talking, for who can tell when a fool speaks the truth?
The die is sometimes already cast,
A moment comes and goes, and is laid to our account.
From the smallest shadow to the mightiest name,
No one can claim to know all things,
I believe that every day that dawns may be my last,
Pale death knocks impartially at both poor and rich men’s houses;
Don’t laugh, change the name and the story is yours,
It’s so obvious, it speaks for itself.
As the concept of motion is proven by walking…
So in time all things change, as we must, in time, all change.
And to all the world,
There’s no turning back.
Ab Imo Pectore / From The Bottom Of The Heart
Ab imo pectore,
From the bottom of the heart,
Blandae mendacia linguae,
The falsehoods of a smooth tongue,
Cadit quaestio,
The question drops,
Desunt cetera.
The rest is found wanting.
Est modus in rebus,
There is a balance in all things,
Faber est quisque fortunae suae.
Every man is the creator of his own fate.
Gigni de nihilo nihilum, in nihilum nil posse reverti.
From nothing, nothing can come, into nothing, nothing can return.
Hic finis fandi,
Let there be an end to talking,
Interdum stultus bene loquitur?
For who can tell when a fool speaks the truth?
Jacta interdum est alea.
The die is sometimes already cast,
Labuntur et imputantur.
A moment comes and goes, and is laid to our account.
Magni nominis umbra,
From the smallest shadow to the mightiest name,
Nec scire fas est omnia,
No one can claim to know all things,
Omne crede diem tibi diluxisse supremun,
I believe that every day that dawns may be my last,
Pallida mors aequo pulsat pauperum tabernas regumque turres;
Pale death knocks impartially at both poor man and rich men’s houses;
Quid rides, mutato nominee de te fibula narrator,
Don’t laugh, change the name and the story is yours,
Res ipsa loquitur.
It’s so obvious, that it speaks for itself.
Solvitur ambulando…
As the concept of motion is proven by walking…
Tempora mutantur, nos et matamur in illis.
So in time all things change, as we must, in time, all change.
Urbi et orbi,
And to all the world,
Vestigia nulla retrorsum.
There’s no turning back.
r10.1
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
Igor was torn between casting
the body of a girl
or young woman,
that was merely sexually attractive -
or whether to employ a procession
of young nubiles as secretaries;
now that Natalia had thrown him over for Ivan,
he needed a girl or young woman
who was sexually mature;
possibly even suitable for marriage;
sexually mature; sexually attractive,
desirable, **** luscious; marriageable;
informally, beddable:
Ivan constantly surrounded himself
w/ a posse of nubile young women,
to forget, that's what Eli needed to do;
mid 17th century: from the Latin nubilis
‘marriageable,’ from nubere,
to cover or veil
oneself for a bridegroom;
from the nubes the ‘puffy cloud-like nips’
of a child bride;
[risqué]
photos of coeds of the
fifties & those of
| _sex-trafficked nubiles_
from last week; |
glamour isn't glamorous;
as GMO skanks get injected
w/ female growth hormones
just in case they
decide to
to be mothers someday
slightly indecent or liable
to shock, especially by being sexually
suggestive; "risqué humor" ribald,
rude, ***** Rabelaisian, ***** ****
earthy, indecent, suggestive,
improper, naughty, locker-room;
****** ***** ****** crude, adult,
coarse, obscene, lewd, ******
blue, raunchy; off-color
"risqué stories": mid 19th century: French,
_past participle of risquer ‘to risk’_
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:04 AM UTC
My bones are shattered porcelains
And Dr Frankenstein is recreating
My body from the toes up
I have more screws than tarsals
More plates than fibulas
More scars than cracked paint on derelict homes
Greens, yellows, blues, blacks and purple
Dye my leg in splendid hues
Plaster decorates my toes and pokes under my knees
Pins and needles tingle constantly
But these are made of steel as well as
Peripheral neuropathy
My hospital discharge form
Reads like poetry
Displaced tibea
Goes on adventure and brings back
Swollen instead of souvenirs
And crushed ligaments as testament
To broken steps they have fallen on
Perhaps it is not as profound as sunsets or romance
But I am finding beauty in pain
Intricacies in injury
And the limits of my creativity
To distract from nightmares
Of how this happened
And to drown out the hungry goblins
Deep in my guts demanding opiates
Like drunken teenagers
They loot my stash and trash my viscera
Legal or not I'm still a ******
Writing poetry rather than sleeping-
Confronting demons with stanzas.
Over screams I am armed with the arsenals
Of metaphor, personification and symbolism
Whatever the pain, my posse of poetry and prose
Has always got my back
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
Its timeto yoke the joker
yo to the emcees that think they could get with me
i wet em like an ocean tide personality like jekyll and hide
which means im a killa slash for short drama no comma imma
brutal emcee eatin' 'em up the best of em im the lyrical cannibal
flesh rent devil sent no need for repent
comin' with wickedness born with 8 flows if ya only knew
******* come in the sets of three im givin' wishes for free
the rap genie aint' comin' to be a hero the black zorro thorrough
shoot up the barrio dead eye hawkin' assassin' blastin'
with the greatest tech mouth shots or physical shots it don't matter
whatever it takes to get the job done
my posse cocked d slapped you *******
you can smoke all the spinach you want and you leave like popeyes
get it naw forget sensitive ******* i knit it
write in graffiti love hoes shape like Nefertiti queen b goddess
never a ***** **** in my encore **** with me and ill bring the war along with gore
******** never been a softie
daddy had to be a gangsta **** hustler drug dealer all summed in one
so i had no choice but to pack a gun
but meanwhile im onto bigger and better things like rappin' on the mic i cling
flows tighter rhan pliers leave emcees wrapped up like cable wires
the sire embraced higher learning spurning over obstacles
turn complexity into miracles
how could i ever fall if i never fall failure not an acceptation
id rather sells drugs and extortion and get caught wit 25 big ones
fed time **** the state time im on the grind one time
always wanna see me fall black man finna rise planet of the apes style
hot and wild j ceasar with these skills i spills sendin' chills
its an ice age all over just say its over when big yosef grab the mic
prepare for fright when i ignite blast through hearts like a cannon
i just smoke ya ya mediocre its time to yoke these jokers
yea
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
***We are hittin' hard in Oakland
Word!
We are hittin' hard in L.A.
Word!
Cleveland, Chicago & Yo-town is on fire
Word, word, word!
Atlanta's proper
Word!
And in Miami, we are mooovin' somethin'
Hmmmmm.
Turn this ***** out
Oaktown posse they will
Turn this ***** out
Yeah boy, they will
Turn this ***** out
M.C. Hammer he will
(chorus ends early)
Hammer, you ain't hittin' in New York
What?
So what you gon' do about that, Hammer?
I'm gon' turn this ***** out.
Hammer, he is...
Strong like a lion, no denyin'
I'm in effect and you suckas are tryin'
To get with me, you can't hang
Doin' it like this, I'm in with a bang
Goin' boom like thunda, and you wonder,
How in the world can the Hammer be underneath me?
He's gonna beat me, say yes to the master and I will teach thee
(chorus)
Turn this ***** out
Turn this ***** out
Turn this ***** out
Turn this ***** out
Hammer, tell 'em how you came up babeeee!
I was a student, now I'm the teacher,
I was a member, now I'm the preacher,
I was a worker, and you were the boss,
Now I'm gettin' paid and you're takin' the loss
Once says stop, the other says flee
No, don't perpetrate M.C. Hammer is the feature
Step off, you punk, no fear, I'm M.C. Hammer and I came here to...
(chorus)
I'm improvin', better start schoolin
Headed to the top where I'll be rulin'
On top, of hip-hop, I'm in effect and you're not
Your records aren't cool, your shows are weak
Duel with the Hammer and meet defeat
Every night, every week,
I'm comin' correct, you don't want none of me.
(chorus)
X2
I keep hearin' what you sayin'
"Yo Hammer, we knowin' New York's on the wayin'"
I don't care where you from,
I make most look silly, and others look dumb
Yeah suckas, you should, run,
I am, def on the stage, pumpin' at the club
Hammer is an eagle, and you a dove
(chorus)
(funky beats & breaks)
(chorus)
I'm from Oaktown, B-boy straight down
Takin all comers, whoever want to get some
I'm original, you're digital
You want somethin' to say, you're show is pitiful
Don't worry, I'm in tact
Whatever I say, the Hammer will back
Twice as strong, It's goin' on
And I willll...
(chorus)***
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1q2TA2zPtac
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 8:32 PM UTC
...... I need a rotation and reaction
But by default I'm placed in the wrong fraction
Ima soul who intentions are for the good
But let these ******* tell it I'm the devil in the hood
Are you surprised ???
You should look deeper into my eyes
Cuz your bout to witness a dead soul that's bout to come alive
My freedom I swear it comes with a Hail Mary
Future telling but the plot is too
scary
For these tails, but the dust are haters ashes not the fairies
Fictional imagination results for these non fictional can also vary
Towel over my head they want me half dead for the wash board
Cuz my mind is my voice
My words is my roar
Skin black but my bloodline runs white and red
The world say I'm mix
But heaven say my soul is fed
My mother was a phoenix
My father was a wolf
They gave birth to me Yes
I inherit the flight and the dangerous look
Still standing Im branded by different cultures
Jamaican posse gave me the RUDE
While the Natives caught my rotten dreams with the vultures
His hair was wool and long, He wore it like mines
I only get to hear his voice and shake his hand when I spark up the pine
It doesn't matter if you believe me or in my proofs
I've learn the patter of my misunderstanding , Now I became master of creating the truths
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 4:57 AM UTC
Random Sentences
Everyday people will die,
for a moment, you might cry,
but as yourself why.
Celebrate their life, don't mourn,
think of all the new being born,
life or death, millions are torn.
Earth rotates around the sun,
just try to have some fun,
no fork in me, I'm far from done.
I have yet to get going,
like a strong wind blowing,
the future is always unknowing.
Be yourself, don't be fake,
no one likes a sneaky snake,
open your eyes, it's time to wake.
Smell the flowers, smell the coffee,
unlock your powers, don't be so bossy,
climb those towers, no need for a posse.
Nightmares used to haunt my every move,
no more fears left to prove,
my dreams are starting to improve.
No clue what I'm saying,
don't believe in any praying,
my life, I'm happily portraying.
None of us know the truth,
about how we wasted our youth,
can't remember last time, I saw a telephone booth.
No creative writer is better than me,
I even write, while I take a ***
you're lying if you don't agree.
My haters are just jealous,
I like being so rebellious,
love being so overzealous.
Way too much pollution,
no one has any solution,
that will be my final conclusion.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
Arresting artificial bloom from a make believe garden,
Oh! magalomaniacal face of ill gotten glamour,
ribald queen of the kitsch, with endless variety in store,
age, cannot wither your, unmistakable garish taste-
or sadistic delights, each you do organize is outrageous,
than the one before, no doubt, how do you manage?
I'll forget all those in an instance, but, that kiss, oh! that,
the one you gifted, to show you were pleased utmost,
stealthily away from the eyeshot of your posse of lovers,
other cannibals and party animals, under the darkened staircase,
was the last godforsaken straw;
what a poor camel can do? if you so desire,
beggars, never were the choosers, you'd tell yourself,
in a self congratulatory note,
that much I am aware, my dear tormentor!
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 10:36 AM UTC
It was known just as "The Tree"
It was on the fence line of Jade Ranch
And on the wizened, hardened oak
Was a limb, known as "The Branch"
On the branch hung seven ropes
Of seven different lengths
Depending on the sentence
They chose one of seven strengths
Now a posse and a lynch mob
Are two completely different groups
You may always end up hanging
But through two different loops
Get caught with someone else's horse
By someone from on the ranch
Then you'll face Western Justice
And end up hanging from "The Branch"
Western justice it was called
And lynch mobs had a thirst
To see you hanging from "The Tree"
If you didn't meet the Marshall first
Get caught with an extra ace
You'll be called out as a cheat
You will never make "The Tree"
You'll get gunned down in your seat
But, have a horse, that's not your brand
And a lynch mob's soon around
Western Justice will prevail
With you ten feet from the ground
You'll sit upon the horse you stole
No one hears your weak defence
One slap and the verdicts in
You'll hang on the ranch side of the fence
Shoot a man in town and you
Will end up in the local jail
But, shoot him where the Law is not
And Western Justice will prevail
Seven ropes of different lengths
Take a man on to his death
Once the horse is slapped to go
No one will hear your last breath
There's a lynch mob and a posse
You don't know just how close they are
One does what they think is right
One feels the same, but has a star
"The Tree" is there in waiting
For the next rope to be strung
If you aren't caught by the Marshall
From "The Branch" you will be hung
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC