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trap.
02-03-2013, 05:15 PM
Name: SCISmatters
Reps:


Title: "Paint the gown red"

Fresh concrete, a stick molded the pavement with ease
used to hang in the breeze and carve my name in the trees
where Adam's apple dangled for Eve, that was back in the day
when I could find a pin in the stack by extracting the hay
molding verses like Jesus with an Exacto and clay
me and pens formed the truest divine two of a kind
been up Russell Crowe's nose pickin' his Beautiful Mind
losin' the prime factor can't get the root of a line
could point a finger, but it's moot if it's mine
knew the design when the ink was rationed in endlessness
a sleepin' dragon awoke in a bastion of sentences
here to feast on a leper world who's fashion is decadence
Cash is a treasure missed when ya mic checks bounce
matchin' the templates that the hands of fate etched out
Slave to the rhythm, air stretched out over a crooning lung
to the soothing hum of the music's drum
made a pinky swear to check the index for the rules of thumb
crumbled food for thought makes for some useful crumbs
illusion one: check the rope and how the eunuchs..hung

-----------------------------------

Title: L is Ressurection.
blink of the eye, a dip into the ink of the mind,
writes the thought on ya canvas to think ya demise
the suns twinkling rise, rays wrinkle the skies
while aurora's aura soars, in hindsight let's drink to the blind
raise ya glass..jaw..stirred drink w/ the last straw
now we're perfect blurs, slurrin' words w/ gas drawls
loomin' fumes, who is who in this monochrome rubix cube?
my voice drops like the ball on monotone eunuchs do...
i'm insightful, in a mirage i search the illusions truth
tho the more i see spirits, the more i'm losin' proof
glued to you like the horses hide, still the mane event
i'm pavin' the road to perfection w/ gray matter, but it ain't cement
nevermind...the clever kind who can take a breath of mine
and exhale a second and minute hand, sewin' a thread of time
stitch a better trail than Magellan whenever I set a sail
down to the cuticles I lay thoughts on a bed of nails
stigmatism, i live the rhythm and it bleeds thru my skin
dot my eyes with the breeze, cross t's in the wind
and that's the final draft, 'til the second season begins


Title: "Blunt Edge"


Perfection is that section missed in nevermore
we think inside the box and glimpse in metaphors
seekin' similies, there peeks Infinity wonderin' who is who
I put two and two together and rubbed the color off my rubix cube
parallel to a eunuch crew hung in a nudist feud
the tide shifts whenever my tongues in a moonish mood
see; my illusions loom every one turn; bottled in the suns urn
even a plate of spaghetti's an orgy to some worms
follow the paradigm thru cataclysm where even doves cry
even salty emcees can just squeeze, and slugs fly
love lies in the cracks of the concrete and slips passed
then spills like eucharist from a tipped glass touchin' my lips..last
sip fast and still manage to keep my mind able
so on point, I'll snatch the Pi right off ya times table
last supper; feast or famine, creep our hands in grace
I'm divine in touch so I've got lines to cut; you just stand in place
A dance with fate; here's my chance to take the grandest plate.....


1 or the other.
Fuck life if it aint death.
Fuck right if it aint left.
Fuck writin', it ain't stress relief.
Fuck a mic if it ain't checked by me.
Tryna pass the time but half the time it passes me by.
Cus time flies.
Especially when all ya doin' is trying to kill it.
No use in milking the system if you ain't dyin' to spill it.
Give a brotha an inch then off he'll go,
tied to tracks like maidens in a Vaudeville show.
Die slow. Mind tricks. Mental hijinks.
I can write a million verses in a Snuffleupagus eye wink.
Ceaser. Brutus. Jesus. Judas
Prick the thumb of the martyrs; see who bleeds the bluest.
None of you do.
I am not the one or the two.
I ain't run of the mill, but shit I'll run for few
You've kept it real for years but none of its true.
I done beat a dead horse for some of the glue.
I stuck to my guns and shot the breeze
I could give a fuck if my lungs relaxed and I forgot to breathe
I could give a fuck if my tongue was snatched and I couldn't rock a beat.
cut my right hand off, I'll still write with the left
Bring the verse to life, and still write it to death.

Saint
01-16-2018, 10:31 PM
Shaken/Stirred

Time flew.
My mind blew. This rhyme's through.
Guess I'm back on my grind duke, and that's times two.
to static cling the wool fabric over the eyes of the blind few.
Now the fruits of my labor come with the rind; True.
Y'all seasoned vets lack spice, ain't even half nice.
fuck y'all trippin' on?
This rap shit is like black ice.
Get slapped, twice; please get ya facts right.
Two pulls and get cracked like whats up in ya glass pipe.
Grizzly emcee, but I tell my lies bald faced.
Murdered the verse and left the chorus dead in the crawl-space
and still got a way with words.
Leave lyricists shaken; stirred,
Barely makin’ the curve,
plus leave no traces or blurs.
Rappers lacin’ the world wit’ convoluted music,
Supposed to be pros-tryna con the dudes who use it
as entertainment.
But they ain’t entertained wit’
ya slave mentality; only talkin’ bout chains; whips.
Different tree, same shit; got lames pissed,
I starch iron anemic thoughts and leave they brains stiff.
Rap's therapeutic, I need to vent for free
See essentially, in order to live I need the pen to bleed.
Write to the death;
a mic and a check are the means to my head's extremes.

"Avenue Hell and Glenwood"

Another gunnned down.
it's hush now,
but the loudest of secrets,
is he who forgets his story is bound to repeat it.
We gotta crawl before we walk we're barley waddlin' yet.
I'm tryna withdraw before I even deposit a check
Our ladies lay with a man and ain't got his respect
Our babies play in sands thas needle infested
Our fathers are role models, we see 'em arrested
Apples dont fall too far from trees and the seeds are infected.
Pressure is mounting, every breath we breathe is congested.
Figureheads of ours lead misdirected,
we're spiraling down an awful abyss.
Even the blind can see we're lemmings walkin' off of the cliff.
My pen runs blood thru it but it's soft at the tip.
Shooting monkeys in a barrel, guerillas lost in the mist.
Its not often we sit and talk, but often we drift,
into the violent winds of caution, and piss.
Turning away only leaves you yellow backed and ashamed.
If Harriet could see us now she'd prolly laugh in her grave,
then wonder why we lust chains and whips;
it's the path of a slave.
No stocks and bonds, but bond to stocks like back in the days.
Half of the shit we buy is silly see,
if you aint got the cash yet, even ya assets are liabilities.
Same cats in the same spot askin to hear the flow
Same gats with the same shots blastin from years ago.
Another gunnned down.
it's hush now,
but the loudest of secrets,
is he who forgets his story is bound to repeat it.

vs the FRANCHISE
round 2? why?
Y'all know he aint used to the tempo
Fran wrote his last battle on his body like dude from Memento..
so he wouldn't forget the shit. Make ya exit quick.
You got an accredited flow with no pre-requisites
And those college days seem like some time later
when there were no tapes or DVDs, this nigga pledged Phi Beta.
Seriously fam, you gotta be the worst clown
who entered every tourney here and never got out the first round.
Ya bald and old. Hoes love to see you on pay day
cus you'll never get Free ass, dukes a lamer version of A.J.
If you the Franchise, it gotta be common stock
or better yet this dudes a corner store owned by mom & pop.
You lurkin at Prowlers, like I'm the one wit' a bone to pick
You mad cus you old enuff to father the Son who owns the shit.

But I'm Brooklyn's own.

I'm from where if you can flow ya respected.
Kids stay hopeless, dejected.
All you see is smoke in the air like a new Pope was elected.
I know people whose intentions are so evil.
The closest ya'll been to serial killas was boll weevils.
Kids shootin’ hoops where fiends are shootin’ up,
and their dreams are shot.
Basketballs get deflated by old needles.
Keep ya eyes open, you never know whos holdin'.
Dudes stay on the corner and shoot like they Bruce Bowen.
I don't dance no mo'...all I do is THIS
Double my money by shootin trips,
then, I'm snatchin’ my bread up like its Eucharist.
Fed up with the foolishness…
…It’s either; get killed or you locked up.
Tell ya friends you’re moving, right to the projects a block up.
Little bitches knocked up, still thinking they hot stuff.
Box cutters and rocks stuck, inside of their socks, tucked.
Poker faced villains is willin’, and they do not bluff.
They’re eatin’ whatever’s available, this is potluck.
Step on a man’s shoes, you get blew if his S Dot’s scuffed.
B.I.G. fans scream at the top of they lungs that Pac sucks
Get ya knot touched over some he say, she say.
Ya mom will make it home in time for the news replay.
Just cus you had no idea about where the Gs stay.
You do your bids on E-Bay, but I'm a lifer in B.K.

Keystyles 2002

Perfection is that section missed in nevermore
we think inside the box and glimpse in metaphors
seekin' similies, there peeks Infinity wonderin' who is who
I put two and two together and rubbed the color off my rubix cube
parallel to a eunuch crew hung in a nudist feud
the tide shifts whenever my tongues in a moonish mood
see; my illusions loom every one turn; bottled in the suns urn
even a plate of spaghetti's an orgy to some worms
follow the paradigm thru cataclysm where even doves cry
even salty emcees can just squeeze, and slugs fly
love lies in the cracks of the concrete and slips passed
then spills like eucharist from a tipped glass touchin' my lips..last
sip fast and still manage to keep my mind able
so on point, I'll snatch the Pi right off ya times table
last supper; feast or famine, creep our hands in grace
I'm divine in touch so I've got lines to cut; you just stand in place
A dance with fate; here's my chance to take the grandest plate