If you don’t have patience,
that weight might get you 4 to 8,
if you don’t pace it,
that weight might make your loved ones have to wait,

but I guess that’s better than a 9 to 5,
from 20 to life,
rather be a free man locked up inside,
than in prison on the out side every day of my life,

run away slaves still runnin,

we were once kings,
they turned us into pawns,
how we’re just corporate meat,
for sausages from Uncle John’s farm,

how quickly one can go from,
being Father King to an Uncle Tom,
these cities were never meant for us,
that’s why we’re restless and never feel at home,

anxious yes but if you don’t have patience,
that weight might get you 4 to 8,
if you don’t pace it,
that weight might make your loved ones have to wait,

the whole farm’s for sale,
there’s much more at stake than just steak,
Holy Cow where are we now,
somewhere between Chance and Fate,

somewhere between total failure and absolutely great,

not a rapper not a chance,
at least not anymore,
not here to sing and dance,
I am not anybody’s *****,

this is Capitalism gone wrong,
Consumerism gone rouge,
where every new idea seems so passe,
that it’s out of Style before it’s even En Vogue,

Yo,

yo yo yo,
Yo MTV Raps got you to dance,
but all those black faces dancing got the white pockets paid and,
most of all the One Hit Wonders didn’t even get a 2nd chance,

gave all our time to Time Warner,
but we all know Warner Brothers is anything but a brother,
from the corner office right back to that corner,
from the lime light right back to those street lights,

better get right,
better save and invest,
we could get an island for what we spend on these diamonds,
know when to hold ‘em know when to fold ‘em well you know the rest,

if you don’t have patience,
that weight might get you 4 to 8,
if you don’t pace it,
that weight might make your loved ones have to wait,

but I guess that’s better than a 9 to 5,
from 20 to life,
rather be a free man locked up,
than in prison on the out side every day of my life,

run away slaves still runnin…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

author of multiple bestselling poetry books.

Let me introduce myself,
I’m Paul B.
P to the A to the U to the L to the B.
You say Paul,
I say B.
You say Paul,
I say…

I used to teach English, try to inspire.
Least you can say is, I was a trier.
Love this rapping: it gets my feet tapping,
Even though I ought to be napping.

I write poems like a word ejector,
Keep away you Grammar Inspector!
Jay-Z writes in iambic pentameters,
Making out he’s got no parameters.

Honey G just copies off him,
Oh my God she really is dim.
Does her rap like Barbara Windsor,
Do you remember Needles and Pins-ah?

Me I’m copying off them both,
Though it’s only for a laugh.
Whoops a daisy that don’t quite rhyme,
Another case of Butters Rhyme Crime.

Rap is ******* I often say,
Though it rhymes the poetic way.
That leaves me with one thing to say:
You say Paul,
I say…

Paul Butters

© PB 17\10\2016.

A White girl figure with a blank face and
a dress cropped over her knees lays
smeared flatly onto a restroom door;
a black star encrusted shoe kicks open the
Door.
In comes a knocking the delusions
of grandeur that stay suspended in the
Fragrance of workaholic soccermoms.
In one of the bathroom stalls
swims a ****** rosemary, teenage midlife-crisis
Averted. Theses tests were ironically
positive for the genesis of an unborn
Icon. I might have just used the wrong definition of irony.
Moving on. A hand flushes
the remanents of immortality down a sparkling, smiling toilet.
Rolled poems become unscrolled
when writeen on the pampered virgins paper.
In the next stall,
there lives substance for the homeless man
in the deep, brown soil
Of the marsh. A trash can is hunched over the sink,
attempting to dispense it’s
Apathy for a commercial world.
He turns the corner and sees writeen on the wall in
legible, abstract graffetti; “Ugliness is shrouded
under layers of positive
contradictions.” The words are engraved
deep into the cracked out, white tile wall.
Socialist Olympic torches blaze before ash
crumbles into communists tendencies.
The water is clear but the benches
are polluted with foreigner sea ****,
and
beneath the jangled sands
lie the zombies stuffed deep in the black body bags.

And it's absolutely FREE to download... 100%. ∆

https://soundcloud.com/americandreamin/aaron-lux-truth-live-sky-tower

#jayz #thewall #experimental #amazing #hiphoppetry #illuminati #pyramids #hollywood #conspiracy #thetruth #loveletter #allfacts

(written backstage after Beyoncé final Formation Tour EU Show)

Gold Bottles

Flew into Barcelona,
en route to Portugal,
after two weeks in Budapest,
and one week in Milan,

Milan was for a lover,
Budapest was to relax,
Portugal is business,
and Barcelona was for fate,

had no idea Beyonce was performing,
her last show of the Formation tour,
so I went to her show after the Picasso museum,
walked right in no need for a pass,

went on stage,
watched the show,
got off the stage,
and said hi to Jay,

Jay Z was popping’ gold bottles,
yeah you know Ace of Spades,
and yeah I know,
that might sound a little cliche,

but hey,

it is what it is,
and I am what I am,
Jay had his classic Yankee Blue colors on,
I was wearing my tattoos,

the music had been so loud,
everything seemed so loud,
inside    and    out,
please pass me the champagne,

grasp,
the glass,
and,
sip…

Life’s such a trip,
I’m not even sure it’s real,
it’s like I went to sleep when I was a teenager,
and I woke up in my dreams,

I swear,
I could wake up tomorrow,
this could all be gone,
and I wouldn’t even be surprised,

in fact,
one day I will wake up tomorrow,
and this will all be gone,
and I will not at be at all surprised,

for now though,
I’m wide awake in this American dream,
and I can feel everything except for myself,
I eat but I’m not hungry I drink but I’m not thirsty,

sure I’ll drink that champagne,
Ace of Spades what a name,
maybe then I’ll be able to feel something,
maybe then I’ll be able to feel like this is real,

right,
now,
I,
slip…

Away from myself,
away from Jay Z,
away from all the eyes and attention,
away    from    this….

This silence,
seems so loud,
it screams so loud,
I’m tearing at the seams I bow,

trying to bow out gracefully,
exit stage left exit stage left,
where is my family where are my friends,
why is this silence all I have left,

left,
on a flight,
from Budapest,
to Barcelona,

Budapest was thermal paths,
and Eastern European women,

Barcelona was Beyonce,
Jay Z and gold bottles,
I’ve gotta to get to sleep soon,
got a flight to Portugal tomorrow,

got,
to,
get,
some sleep,

some time,
I don’t know who I am,
I just know I am not mine,

will touch down in Lisbon,
and be picked up right there,
taken on another tour,
no one said life was quite fair,

no fairy tale endings in the dragon’s lair,

where,
were we,
it seems we’ve gotten off track,
where,
was I,
somewhere with full bags and no place to unpack,

where do you go,
when you’ve gone everywhere else,
where do you find your silence,
how do you fill that void inside yourself,

somebody help,

I’m on a constant worldwide tour,
and everyone thinks it’s great,
people want to take my time and my attention,
but I don’t have the patience and I really hate to wait,

so before I’m even really here,
I’m already gone again,
and all that’s left are these words,
in the form of poems that I send,

like a message in a bottle,
I send from this island across the seas to you,
platinum plaques and gold bottles,
First Class seat I don’t deserve this it’s unbelievable,

flew into Barcelona,
en route to Portugal,
after two weeks in Budapest,
and one week in Milan,

Milan was for a lover,
Budapest was to relax,
Portugal is business,
and Barcelona was for fate…

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
The Poetry Trilogy

author of The Poetry Trilogy
author of The Hollywood Trilogy
author of The Holy Trilogy

∆

and here's some totally free music as well:
https://soundcloud.com/americandreamin/aaron-lux-truth-live-sky-tower

#beyonce #jayz #formation #poetryforever #thepowerofwords
#barcelona #formationtour #worldtour #hiphoppoetry #thelife ∆

An airplane crashes into an uncharted island and hundreds of people die in the burning debris, and somewhere a group of boys and girls are taking selfies as they stand next to a burning office building.

Thousands of teenagers sit on the couch and eat ice cream until the buttons on their pants explode off.

Kids light themselves on fires as if they were monks from the Tiananmen Square, trying to gain acceptance, their dreams of stardom translated through a series of YouTube comments.

We can't afford books for college because the tuition is ridiculous, but these glossy tabloid magazines are only a few bucks; pick one to set the course of your life.

Middle-aged people spend their lives indoors, away from the thirsty, hungry, withering children, and check how many likes did their photos receive on their smartphones.

Pornographic images in front of our tired faces, our eyes locked to the screen and we do not blink as our memories become embedded with objectification.

So we don't look up and see the chaos transpiring.

Cat memes and colorful gifs hold our attention while our parents slave away at their boomerang-shaped desks, trapped in clustered cubicles.

I saw a post on Facebook of a girl who was sexually assaulted at a house party and now her name was being hashtagged and kids were posing in photographs, laying on the floor, legs and arms sprawled out, left and right, trying to mimic the injustice.

We swipe right to find our future hookups, but what if our future husbands and wives were on the left?  

Society spends millions of dollars on drinks to numb our conscience, until our brain cells are wretched like the homeless guy on the street corner drinking liquor from a coffee mug.

Israel and Palestine battle each other day after day while our generation gossips about Solange Knowles beating up Jay-Z with her patent leather purse as if that news conquers every other bit of information out there.

The world will always be corrupt, but it suffers more from the apathy that belongs to us.