[verse 1] (skinny p.)
Another freestyler sliding
Through the tricky turnstile
Colliding
With a six-three urn while
Imbibing
State Street cider, dial
The fire, flood, or bud for hire
Department, tell the
Officer, this fellow fell
Right through the floor
Of his apartment
Landed in a random
Assortment of debris
That used to be in tandem
With his old deportment
Put in the memorandum
How he cried when Candice canned him
How he lied then when we scanned him
For bumps and lacerations
—Things he never had
Back when he flied
As a bona fide fly-guy
Yeah, he was fly, but now he’s flew
His flying days are through
But fly or flew that foo is always flow
‘Cause you know
Didn’t no one throw
The spoken word like him
When all else stopped and you said go
[chorus] (Lady Ladle)
Not the flyest fly MC
Sorry for what I couldn’t be
Still the flowest that you’ll see
That’s his u-mich legacy
[verse 2] (El OraToro)
In recent times some decent rhymes inspired
Their lines, combined with rhythm’s fire
Conspire to send our spirits higher
Transpire what may, our song ain’t gon’ expire
Unlike Ali in Jack Kevorkian’s office
We float like bees and sting the scorpions off us
Deliver shots that make your liver quiver
Give vivid verbal balls till timbers shiver
Dish out verse like goulash with a ladle
To hags and newborns spoon-fed in the cradle
Spinning the spoken like vinyl records
Jumping the tokens like Chinese checkers
Bring some clippers for my white rap
Cuz it’s dense like Eiffel T.’s a kite trap
Keep the clippers for a fade route
I’ll fade you up before I fade out
Leave the tweeters for Sylvester—
Ain’t no treble to adulterate like Hester
When the bass is frequent and erupts before us
Protect your face, here comes the chorus
(Lady Ladle)
Not the flyest fly MC (the fly-est)
Sorry for what I couldn’t be (so sor-ry)
Still the flowest that you’ll see (the flow-est)
That’s his u-mich legacy (u-mich, his le-gacy)
(everybody)
Not the flyest fly MC (the fly-est)
---Never hide what you can speak
Sorry for what I couldn’t be (so sor-ry)
---The flow will show what none could see
Still the flowest that you’ll see (the flow-est)
---The flow will show its fluency
That’s his u-mich legacy (u-mich, his le-gacy)
---And that will be your legacy
Monday, March 07, 2005
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1 comment:
I hafta be frank
Freaky as the day is long
Flow that rhymes and climbs
in time
in space
and along my mind wanders
transponders
relating electric shock
verbal steak in a paraphrase wok
broken up like the beatles
shots fired, conspired,
baby mamas rewired by other guys like Yoko and Ringo,
John and Mis George go,
lies and drugs and then again
the whole thang been
enufta rough ya
make ya crazy
haze you and ya baby
brush the brush off
kick the back forty
roll till the dust
of Santa Monica crusts
the underside of a car
that didn't bust
worth your trust
and friends as well
who felt the hell
who knew it all
or tripped in for a month or two
and only knew
the beautiful
relivable
conceiveable
retreat
the path to your door
that they wore
with they feet
and greet
the next meeting with
joy and a monolith
struck in their mind
to rewind
us to places we've been
So we can move on
And that's my u-mich legacy, baby.
I am glad to fill the virgin void of this postless post with a written word that is meant to be spoken.
Health to you, Justin. I released the flow of your rhythmic line on my house mate, who responded in turn, "That was awesome!" but wasn't keen on writing it here himself. And now I'm gonna move on too, with a poke in the direction of desire for more writings, rhymes, and reasonings to find their way below dunster, and from below, to rise.
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