Snakes with two lines
Influence rhymes
To be made with drug signs
But who cares black man
Get them dimes
At the expense of our kind
Sellout sellout sellout
Got our fabric cloned for their form
Then call it a new uniform
Despite the source not cited
They never get indicted
Sellout sellout sellout
Hit that ticket catch a flick
Witness the robbery of our slapstick
Our style our jokes our swagger
It resonates when they imitate
Sellout sellout sellout
I don’t blame the man
Or the white hand
Or the illuminati band
Ultimately it’s our folks
That spends the cash
So we always crash

I'm an armchair warrior
trying to sell my soul
to the undesirable myriads
soaked in stains and oil.

Curl up with your coffee cups
(now children)
Curl up with your cigarettes
Take your vice and leave this place
No less weary less.

I'm a sellout to this
yes I'd sell out to a fish
If he'd give me a dime bag
and a paper.

I will sellout to you
I will sell my soul tonight
For a loudspeaker
And a deaf audience.

My life is a mess
I shouldn't cry less
I should really embrace the tears.
But with each coming year

I have come to fear
That I will drown in these tears.
And this beautiful mess
And all this crazyness

Is really beginning to drag.
I'm tired of pieces
Ignorant of puzzles
Give me a ******* cigarette.

If you're a writer your main trade is hating yourself and
finding ways to be clever about it.
Smoke cigar and coffee-stained typewriters,
bachelor in the sixties, suicide in the seventies.
I'm just a cliché, raining cats and dogs, beating dead horses and singing
a little song about death
a little song about love
there is nothing new under the sun.
Dylan doesn't understand what you do is better than
accounting, your trade is people
like stock markets-
string them up and watch them fall
I play with hearts, you say like
a girl showing off her somersaults in the backyard.
But no one is listening.
…
…
…

So you burn your eyes out with hot wax in the living room
and swear
your name is Icarus
throw your diploma into the laundry and watch it turn into tissue paper,
taking moonlight walks down the beach and
straight into the bottom
of the ocean.

(you thought she would hit you
when you told her you wanted to write
but she only laughed...
and you were surprised
how much
it hurt.)

Your father's pride, a phone full of contacts,
seeing straight in the ******* morning and the heart
of a girl that was once foolish
enough to love nitroglycerine,
sold for
a bottle of ink and a scrap of paper
and your name in the
obituaries.
...
...
...

Tell yourself it was worth it.

An upcoming fashion show, and I don’t mean to be unkind here, is lacking in both. It’s just the way it is. These models are beautifully ordinary people, your neighbours, and their designs are self-crafted, each suiting the model’s personal interpretation of high fashion. It’s the social event of the season. Everyone in the “know” will be there.

Eight models and an emcee will take to the Capitol Theatre stage in Oxford Thursday at 7 p.m. for the third annual Foolish Fashion Show. Foolish is the operative word here. It’s an evening of fun, with each model parading across the stage in four outfits during the show. The fashions are indescribable literally. You have to see them to appreciate them.

The show is the annual fundraiser for the Oxford/Pugwash Unit of the Canadian Cancer Society. To date the show has raised about $5,000 for the society’s Lodge That Gives in Halifax.

The show was the idea of the local unit’s Bev Clark.

“At the time there were no people to canvas door-to-door,” she said. “People were getting older or had less time. There were also other fundraising campaigns going on at the time.”

After seeing a foolish fashion show elsewhere, she decided a similar one would work for the local cancer unit. The first show was a sellout and the models of the evening agreed to take to the stage the next year.

Each designer/model is responsible for their haute couture. With the final result left to their wild, some might say perverse, imaginations the creations are a sight to behold.

Unit secretary and past president Bob Hunsley in his best 007 voice introduces himself as “Bob, SpongeBob.”

“Every good fashion show should include good costumes,” he begins. “Here, our unit president Edna McCormick is wearing her all-weather coat. In this coat she is well prepared for sunshine, rain, fog and snow and all the wind that blows (the coat is adorned with representations of each weather condition). Notice her “son” hat (which is a tribute to her son).”

Jane Smith is new to the Foolish Fashion Show runway.

“I came to the show last year and really enjoyed it. It looked like fun,” she said.

First time jitters?

“Doesn’t bother me a bit.”

This show is one in which you can’t do anything wrong. You show off your creation however you deem fit. It’s all fun.

Tom Kay, is making his modelling debut also. And what will Councillor Kay be strutting his stuff in? Not to give too much away but a muscle shirt like you’ve never seen and shorts will be worn.

Nine-year-old Emma McCormick is also a featured model.

It’s a show not to be missed.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015

I bring hit after hit like a boxer
You haters' inconsistent
Everybody's on the same vibe
Mine's kinda' different
Verse hot, hook hot--
I'm gon' sellout soon as I drop
Verse hot, hook hot--
I'm gon' sellout soon as I drop
Minor in poetry, fine-arts major
Doctor goon on deck, call this a fear-factor
I'm going in, but I ain't got no curfew
I son a lot of you, it's like I birth you
Got a lot of verses, but this ain't a Bible
Fallout when you hear this, I ain't liable
Ain't talking 'bout tearing, but the beats R.I.P
Didn't sell a lot of tracks, but I got D.O.E
Put you up on game, my hustle's M.O.E
Music over everything, ain't moving 'D'
I got cash like the bank, I sell CD's
Smells funny, tickled my nose, I might sneeze
You would think I'm water, the way I flow
I'm just like some dynamite, bound to blow
Act like you're in a recliner, lay back
If I ain't on fire, then why they say that?
Feature, feature, can I get a feature
So far ahead I sit on competition--bleacher
My Raps' like a bunch of apartment buildings, complex
Got chicks on my ****', ain't talking 'bout ***
I'm so different, it's magnificent
Haters want me to fall, but that's not how the script went
Thing's fishy, I ain't gettin' caught in that net
Just killed the beat, without breaking a sweat

It's holidays hamsters haven't you herd.
From all that annoying *** music and commercials done by sellout artist
trying to be cool word.
I myself would rather spend this month in a holiday coma.
Buy some cheap hookers some good whiskey and run over a black Friday crowd
in a stolen Sonoma .

It's give me give me and that's just from dad.
He'll break the bank and mommy will give him something the other
night his brother already had.

Maybe I should plant a minefield upon my lawn.
To ward off carolers  who only make me yawn.

I'll poison my cookies and sit back and wait.
Rob the old fat man and take Miss Santa out on a much deserved date.
Make your list and he will check twice.
After I blow his *** to pieces it really wont matter if your naughty or nice.

The holidays are a time for people to act insane over **** they do not need.
There addicts of want the stores are nothing more than dealers
selling coke crank and ****.

Maybe you love the lights and the holiday rush with the family and all.
Well you can eat **** and jingle my ball.
I hope to stay on the naughty list as  long as I'm alive.
Sincerely from Gonzo.
Shut the **** up and stop acting worse than a child who's five.

Don't send me a card cause I wont reply.
Here's your present it's a bomb now please die.

I hate the holidays call me a Grinch if you like.
******* Santa all I asked for  was a brick of ******* ,ten cases of whiskey, a key to the ******* mansion  ,  a  lifetime pass to the chicken ranch , A million dollars in unmarked bills ,
My neighbors dead ,And Harley Davison Motor bike.

I am the definition of a sinner.
This is the life Where no one is crowned a winner.
I'm buried alive, too tired from the struggle that I survive.
I get pulled over no matter how fast or slow I drive.  
They get paid to take me out of this world either I'm convicted, dead or exiled for life.
But I stay true to wherever I ride.
Because I got certain standards I  have to abide.
I'm not slippery but I slip out the back just so I can run to go hide.
I'm not a sellout, so I won't surrender my pride.
I'm just a product of uncle sams factory distribution line.
I live in this box that reads "pure evil, nothing good of his kind".
They put me on your local news and they keep pressing rewind.
So society has a basis to punish me so their ego is fine.
Every night that you eat with your family, in prison is where I dine.
I suffer from nightmares of living the american dream.
Then I wake up and look down at my hand holding this knife.
I only wanted to live happy and construct a real meaningful life.  
My heart bleeds for my beautiful children.
I'm badly wounded inside by searching for this nonexistent philosophical wife.
Some might say it was caused by pure negligency, but I fought for this freedom, revealing my true legacy.

An apostle named Paul said that the love of money is the root of all evil
The playwright George Bernard Shaw said that the lack of money is the root of all evil

I think they're both right, but personally i couldn't bring myself to put any money on it.

If money is evil, it seems like war that it is a necessary one
But that doesn't mean we should spend all of our time training with knives and guns
And like Mobb Deep said a shook one
Would dare to use their natural talents to earn funds

But what about doing something for the love of doing it?
What about artistic integrity and  personal pride?
Well, I'll put it to you like this.
Every artist thats had a hit has also had to miss

And if you can make money doing what you love for the rest of your years
Bless you, creative soul for culturing our sodding ears

Time will tell if we come back together again
Time will tell if we reunite too excel
Time will tell if I strive & make it out alive
Time will tell when I freeze a moment in time
Time will tell if I sellout to a life of crime
Time will tell when I lose balance & fall off my feet
Time will tell if I prosper victorious or meet my defeat
Time will tell holdin weight servin late in aburnin lake
Time will tell when all my enemies turn too ashes
Time will tell the day they are doom crippled to hell
Time will tell when I rise to the sky like a phoenix
Time will tell the worlds terror soon comes to an end
Time will tell when angels & demons come into battle
Time will tell trangressors condemned for impartials
Time will tell true colors reveal fake lovers appeal
Time will tell the day everyone face judgements day
Time will tell when my Lord finally begins inducting
Time will tell instructing where all ships set sail
Time will tell products sold to the mark of the beast
Time will tell demons on fire casted straight to hell
Time will tell when we prevail gathering to depart
Time will tell the trumpets sound off the final call
Time will tell witness sufferings by insects & locust
Time will tell when the plagues come in effect
Time will tell when the earth begins to quake
Time will tell if I ever see your pretty face again
Only time will tell, Only time can tell, pick heaven or hell?

Girl who shreds the stars in August
Trading taxis like radio stations
Fire in her eyes, sharp like diamonds
Who knew she’d be the sellout?

Just roll the dice

Boy who marches to the drummer’s beat
Holds the truth upon his knees
Breath all he has, death all he needs
Who knew he’d be the sellout?

Just roll the dice

We'll die another day
Running all the way.

“where do we go from here?”
a line that haunts a million songs
like a small, aching insect
creeping in through the cracks in the lyrics
and spreading its wings to infect the expanse
of music that reaches my ears

do you ever feel like there’s a theme to your life?
some familiar collection of words, some thought
that pervades the space around you
and finds body in the world that follows
your every move
some chord, bright or dire or dim
that resounds in the echoes
in the tunnels you pass through
and sings silently after each word you speak
ringing softly beneath your footsteps
colouring the air you exhale

“where do we go from here?”
the first time i heard those six words
i have no idea where i was
or when
but i remember the thought that came to mind as
desolation
and it made my heart hurt
and i was happy
because i now i could prove its existence

“where do we go from here?”
one day i heard those six syllables
as i often did, above me
tinny and abrupt from the speakers
hidden in public places, among the plastic clouds
and spiderwebs
and i, at the precipice
of some great beginning
felt that thought beneath my step
and my soul sang, it breathed in deep
and i was happy
because now i could prove its existence

“where do we go from here?”
one day i found those words
etched into the notes of some electronic
heartbeat or sellout tune
and i, in the middle of a slow tumble
towards the realization of a loss
of a feeling i had worked so hard to find
felt the emptiness between my fingers
and the ground pressing into the soles of my feet
and the ache once again in my mind
and my heart and my soul
and i knew now the existence
of the feeling inspired
by the downturn of that phrase, six words
that speak to us all

“where do we go from here?”
i thought of this line on my own time
and never knew how to use it
until today, aware of a familiar scent
in the air, i sat down
and faced the six words haunting my ears
and embraced their meaning
closed my eyes and breathed in their truth
felt the confusion and desolation and joy
that seeped into my bones the harder i tried
to join myself with the forever aching phrase
that i now know was written
to describe the way i move through this life
and today, as i walked
with false purpose along the real lines of the road
i felt words pressing sharp into my cheeks
and i turned to you but could not let them free
six words, a simple door
into the patterned floor and closed curtains
of my untidy mind
and so i let the sentence be
swallowed it whole, let it sit in my lungs
a while longer
and i still have yet to ask you

“where do we go from here?”
has there ever been an answer to that question?

My feeling have issues
I'm trying to live
aside from the anger
I'm trying to give
nerve endings scream
you cannot go numb
breeding the theme
that I'm coming from.

I need to forgive myself
for selling out to be with you
I loved your lies
boring was the truth
I guess I'll stay with me
and let your ways be
you'll never actually see
what I saw in you and me.

I've never cared for money.
Even less for politics.
All of the lies and the chaos
always seemed to make me sick.
I hate going to school,
but I guess I'll play the game.
Or maybe I will quit one day, sellout,
and chase the fame.
I can solve a math equation,
so people insist that I'm smart.
But it's never felt like much to me,
compared to others art.
Others tell me I'm slow
and lack common sense.
But common is boring
so I don't take offense.

well im the funky hocus pocus
emcees loose focus
cuz they know when i step to a show i blow
harder than Gillespie
aint none stoppin me droppin' me
uh true southern playalisticadicallic music
ya cant abuse it
ya thiught we was dead but resurrected injected
ya brain with a high funk overdose no syringe no pretend
our flows leave ya bent
competition just blowin'in the wind
my flow stings like misquito
enticin' west nile virus sound the chorus
dirtu ***** is what im about
we fight neva pout the gun in to snout
one shot no shout we all about
dollaz n cents i see you instense
but naw playa dont hate me
hate the suspense
as my  money gettin' thicker
and thicker
richer and richer
and ya know foes try to roll.with ya uh

yosef don't play no games
when it comes to fame
I say **** the fame
n the shame
I love black people
but hate ****** mane
detrimentAl for out mental
tv's paint a tainted reality no positivity
in the black community
they told me
if I wanna be a star performing artist
I gotta sellout
Naw never that I like raider hats and baseballs bats to gats
quick to watch ya blood splat
**** the records execs
cuz I'm a threat poetic terrorist
this ain't the summertime
but I'll show ya porgy and Bess blessed from the sessed
so I can manifest
this beautiful lyrics
so foggy you couldn't clear it
I'm on ya conscious like bad nerves
twitchin forever lynching
mind of those who ain't listening

Don't sell yourself short,
child the world is too tall
Trying to reach to the top;
you must invest in a stool
Grab what you need at that top shelf,
quickly, quickly before they make you fall

Don't sell yourself short,
child your soul is too tall
It's easy to sell out, but not to buy
into those worth while dreams
What sells the self is a sellout,
and I wouldn't want you to lose it all

Chuckles
          Ironically, I'm sold by that advise.

It's political, isn't it
the ones who get the book deals
acting like actors
starry eyed
dreaming to be
the next Stephen King

******' sellout

entertainment
that's what wins
and who decides the words
a company on market street
in a big tower of steel and glass
coffee machine


people hate to be proven wrong
they hate to have their methods questioned
Geocentrism maintained until the atomic age
and even after

let go of preconceived notions
of ideology and dogmatic sheen
step away from petty partisans
perhaps then we can come together

you won't like it if it targets you
because today
our hearts are fragile
and we feel the instinctive
(instilled)
need to defend and revolt
against a system that is broken
in all the wrong ways

but tearing it down
and building back up
is always more tough
than simply,
agreeing
to disagree
and working
to find
a solution
somewhere
in between

c'mon
please wake up
don't keep eating soylent green
mean broadcasts and slanderous media
consultants that own the world beneath their words

Walt Disney (ABC): 92 billion
Comcast (NBC, MSNBC): 186.9 billion
Viacom (Paramount, CBS): 23.7 billion
21st Century Fox: 50.72 billion
Facebook (Instagram): 84.524 billion
Verizon (T-Mobile): 257.1 billion
AT&T (Sprint, Cricket): 444.1 billion
Google: 206.94 billion

These are the biggest industries in the world
manufacturing information
buying yours
selling you fabricated dreams
and hateful wishes
to turn you into time bombs
picketing angry on main street
buying pamphlets
buying lies
buying momentary good times
so that the dividends incessantly continue to fund

And you fear youtubers?
with thoughts
different than the conglomerates
and the fourth estate
in beded on the capitol building
drinking martinis
jacking themselves off on an american flag,
saying
Land of the free

silencing the opposition
quietly
behind the scenes
MKULTRA
greedy
and mean

and you'll eat it up
thinking you're kind
playing exactly the cards
they printed for you
and handing their printed money
over
with interest
siphoning the wealth of a generation
like ticks

but the solution is not to redistribute
it is to reinvigorate
the innovative
engine
and accept,
maybe,
that all states are doomed to die
eventually

but don't fear death
please
that's the first way
they get
in your skin
and through that wound
will inject you
with sin

How could I ignored it
How could I say it don't feel it
The feeling of been betrayal
The feelings of been sell short of my worth
Flames in my eyes burn with anger
And you don't see it how
Don't tell me to calm it down
How about looking me in the eyes
See how I feel before you say something

#sellout #bitterheart #flames

I quit my job today
it's like gaining a beautiful freedom,
Wouldn't you say?
To wake up, In a world free from the clock in, clock out
I didn't leave a note, I just walked out
Honestly, I'm smiling with no doubts, no regrets
Even more honest, it's been five minutes,
I haven't even gotten in my car yet.
And I haven't had a chance to dissect these decisions.
I got a wife and son at home, they don't even know,
I don't even know what I was thinking,
Sit down for a minute, I'm getting blurred vision.

I'm taking some time for myself today,
Those bills can stack like dominos,
They fall, I didn't plan to pay them anyway.
I'll play these video games and become a legend,
Sodas will pay me to represent them
I'd be a sellout in a second, that isn't even a question
Just as long as I don't need to get out of bed, then I'll be fine.
It's alright, keep telling myself, it's alright.

I retired from my job today,
I gave my title away
What will I do without this purpose?
What is there, now, for me to seek?
I'm trying not to freak out
Honestly, my nerves are shot, my brain feels so tired
Even more honest, I'm driving home to try to explain to my family
That really I just got fired.

Your chalky eyes
read my chapped lips
as words tumble from my tongue
like a sickness

Your wryly fingers
Trace shapes against your knee
Like a spider stitching it’s web
And my voice cracks

Your closed lips
sit motionlessly on your face
like art in a gallery
and I am a sellout

Your destructive neglect
Weighs my tireless breath
And I am screaming now,
“I need your help,”

Your eyes glaze over
As your fingers drum
And your lips purse
And I am nowhere to be found

I'm a spineless puppet
A foolish doll that everybody seems fit to play with
I'm too scared to say what I feel it's
Annoying when I don't want to do something
And everybody keeps shoving thoughts ideas and opinions down my throat
Like I'm a **** hungry ******* what the flying ****
I'm not a sellout so stop forcing yourselves into my head

Please, let me grow myself a spine... Before my individuality is dead

We all know shame and understand to avoid it when necessary. But sometimes, we just walk down her street and hope the world would forget.
Do they forget? Or do you forget? The unexplainable embarrassment of the year.

Yeah! My case was a shame of the year and this is how it happened.

My grandma, "a hajat" runs a retail shop along a highway in some small town. It faces a rising sun which I enjoy bathing on the cold days.
I greet her, grab a chair, place it onto the verandah as soon as she opens her doors to the shop.

She is a tough person to read really. Unlike most elderly ladies who give a cozy feeling while talking to them, she freaks me out. Like she doesn't like me. Or for some reason, hates me and just blurs me in her mind's eye. And I think I did give her a reason to.


About eight months ago, I came to live next to her, at my own place in my own first home. A single room, rented, along a muddy road (cause it's raining now) off the highway. The building is one block away from where the shop is. So if the shop faces north, my room would face the east.


I should say I didn't know her until that time. Like we had not seen each other until then, and until she sold me a three litre Jerry can for I think triple the price, Ugshs 3500. And then, she gave me a reason to go to other shops. It was expensive even in my own ignorance since I had never done shopping for household items before.
So I tried other shops and bought a five litre jerry can at Ugshs2500. I was happy. It felt like money well spent. That I was a genius finally in control of my first days in the real world, away from home and school.
But at the same time, a wrong or the best idea of never to buy from her again. I mean, if family is to be exploited by you, am sorry grandma, I ain't going to be part of your legacy.


So the sneaky dealings started like I was buying drugs from another dealer and had to be sure she never comes to know. Not that she would do anything, but really it would look weird.

My new dealer would be a shop along the same highway, on the same side, just a one block away from the grandma's left.  A she of course, who undeniably is beautiful. A gracious voice and radiant smile, offering to do way good stuff if I buy from her. Like she sorts my rice so I take ready to cook and eat. Which of course my grandma, wouldn't do. And again, she is beautiful.


Anyway I usually peeked at the verandah to see if grandma wasn't there, then walk like a boss to my dealer whom am so proud to buy from. And this was just smooth until, I can't even say...


It was a normal black out, just a few candle lights from the still open shops, and flashing lights of passing vehicles. The sky was dark enough for the  many visible stars that dotted it's canvas. And this guy, myself, chooses to take a walk, masking the night, thinking about my own duties till I come close to my dealer's shop, "mama Mariam" that I remembered I had a pickup to do.

It was dark and if that wouldn't have been the best time, then there wouldn't have been any better. She was not on her verandah, but dumping ******* into a "pit." so I took hold of the moment and made the pickup. I didn't ask for a wrapping for my 1kg of rice and turned to leave the shop.

And duh, lights everywhere. To be specific, light above my head. Electricity was back from its normal routines as it always is in developing countries. Very bright. Probably a new bulb. Looking across me, grandma standing on the verandah looking back at me. With my spoils in my hands, I swear I wished to be anywhere else but not there. I was drowning literally in my mind that I froze for sometime. May be a minute or two. Until I went back into the shop and asked for a wrapping before walking shamefully with my head low.

It was the worst I had ever felt in a long time. Wait, the worst that I still do feel. So guilty that I have been avoiding my morning sun bath.

And when I did see her, she replied to me like nothing had happened. Huh? Nothing?!
Just with her stale face like before which could mean she always knew I bought from that shop. Or worst, "I don't care. You can go to hell grandson. You are a sellout."

And to the moment I write this, I still feel her stale eyes, hear her raspy voice like echoes from a nightmare that am never to wake up from, taunting me like a ghost.

Grandma, am sorry. But she is a pretty  lady the stole me from you. Please just understand why I had to do this. It was a tough decision that took seconds to make and would probably do the same until you start selling a bit cheaply. Wait, even if you did, she is a pretty woman and that's a good reason to keep buying from


And again, am sorry! Love you!

You said im an o.g
But i am just the same old me.
You told me i was a legend
I tell you im a writer
Nothing more
As you hold me up in such galor.
Im not an o.g
Never was
Truth is
There's little original about me.
I mean
Im not a sellout
I dont copy
But im not hype either.
My spirits get low.
Im not an o.g
Just let me be.
Dont try to lie to me
And tell me im great
Cuz **** well i aint.
Im no o.g
But thanks
*anyways

I woke up on my comfortable Sealy mistress
And turned of the alarm on my Apple iPhone 6
I walk into the kitchen and turn on my Keurig machine
And I put in my Dunkin Donuts medium roast coffee
I set my Starbucks coffee mug beneath it
As its filled with two teaspoons of C&H; sugar
I turn on my widescreen HD LG television
And start up my Amazon Kindle Fire HD tablet
I order some Dominoes pizza for delivery
And put in a Walt Disney movie
I proceed to drift to sleep on my JC Penny's couch
And I dream that I am nothing but a sellout

I do wonder why you chose me,
     Could it be my foreign looks,
     Or perhaps you wanted to add an Asian to your books
Why on earth indeed, especially when you're free?
I hope it's because we're destined to be,
     But I feel as if I'm on a hook.
     This feels surreal just like out of a book;
I do wonder how you love me.
  I have a volatile mind,
       That will not cease doubts
  From overflowing until I'm out-shined.
  I feel drained from being entwined
        With my thoughts, hoping for that final knockout.
        Hoping for all this to end - yes, I know I'm a sellout.
  But this is my life; I will not be out-shined.