stream of consciousness: bang bang 2.0 / nines over aces

/...bang bang, she shot me down, bang bang, i hit the ground, bang bang, that awful sound, bang bang, my baby shot me down... /

here's another story from the house that rhymes built, a song about my guilt, the blows that i've dealt, the writing's on the wall, i put the letters in the bricks and mortar, nothing better than these licks i offer, i'll toss ya with the timing of a high kick, and strike it so you fall, wet like water... hell or high, author i, meant this to torture, your silence says it all, dumbstruck, numbed up, til you scream like there's awesome, lightning and thunder in your head, mad frightening like the monster metaphors under your bed, felt my black belt tighten... all around your necks like pelts, noose hooked, goose cooked, what's for dinner, as you enter my thirty sixth chamber, danger, targets strictly aimed for, the best of my dirty tricks, stranger, charmed ya, the quirkiest, flavor, quark spin so ill the sickest truth couldn't save ya, but what don't kill just, might send thrills up, the spine, bussed nines send chills up the spineless, bite dust, the light prince's mic skill's divine, so he might kill righteous, or maybe he might just, divy up the dumb, deaf and blind, here is liar's poker, of the wisecracking joker's design, straightened faces that hide pairs of aces behind, walk a line twenty paces then show off the nines, fully house, bang bang.

stream of consciousness: mad scientist 2.0

let's start this, some darts are too sharp to eject, so i might save mine for later, pass time, create wine, to inebriate, a drunkard's thoughts too hard to dissect, i reflect, waves of light off the mirror of the mind, like mines i'm an improvised, explosive device, dots too far to connect? fuck straight lines, i'm space-time, the fabric bender, language blender, rap defender, stitch one to save nine, then i'll spit game like ender, i rattle fools in battle school, be flowing hanging G's, sling a razor sharp laser armed in zero gravity, pain will make you glad to see, dirt naps and diatribes, coffins dropped and doors are knocked on, death raps, it's genocide, when i rhyme the nines applaud, guns clap for clever lines, like every time, liquid swords chop and sever ties, off of necks strangled by killer hives, and vocal chords surrounded, hope is lost and bodies hit the ground when, i'm become death, destroyer of worlds, i'm toying with words, ploys in reverse: molehills out of mountains, i kid perhaps but i'm not clowning, though i smiled for that one, if i'm wild i'll crack one, put a nine to your back son, i'll blast you with a piece of mine, such a real delight, just to give you peace of mind, a master of disaster, rhyme blaster sparked, genius bright, i seen darkness unseen like night, travel faster then the speed of light, i'm bert einstein's hip hop heir, dropping bombs like it's E = MC squared, leave no emcee spared...

stream of consciousness: bang bang / the anarchists / song for nancy

[[ lyrics written to rza's (nancy sinatra) bang bang remix, vocals intended for Masta Killa ]]

~~~

i been silent for a while observing, pub- servants, -lic servings, off my plate, dictates from, suburban high society, the projects should be rioting, their planning, the Man's in, vis'ble hands quietly, out to rob us urbans, so mindfully, i keep, the flames alight fanning, rigged games much like manning paid tonnes of bribes, hands in, crazy money maddened insaner ones, rhymes dropped liked dimes, hits ordered, sight lines, clips dusted, never rusted nickel plates, or chrome or silver polished, young homes often offed in close quarters, backs kicked, facts flipped, bucks are passed, much amassed, fuck the past, time's spent quietly as a convict's, i'm quite convinced that all their halls of justice, just involve con kings, drama queens, aced up sleeves, and some overblown courts of jesters, marcus guilty? yes, please, this and then some, monochrome thought suggesters, get hanged, bang bang, deadly melodies, as such the master's enemy, i add a touch of class from the A-2-1 felonies, the crime-iest, the shiniest designs like the Midas's, Osiris built the pyramids then lined 'em all with mines, the maddest machiavellian, might just pack a toolie then, introduce the violence in the rhyme without a reason, see weakness through the iris of the mind, unrefined, you will find that which is spit from the speakers unsweetened, awful sounds like slaughter all but drowned and coughed up like water, thick like hawked up phlegm, but thinner than my blood, thirsty hounds you'll be the feed to, pounds are lethal, bleed you, holier than thou the dirty metal rounds'll leave you, all spun around and mad see through, rotten bodies coff'ed up in the ground, bang bang, something loud nothing fancy, no frills, sample nancy, Rza's killers up the ante, christ.I.AM, shut 'em down with the skills...
~~~

the spy who came in from the cold

"And to a point I am flattered that my fabulations are taken so seriously. Yet I also despise myself in the fake role of guru, since it bears no relation to who I am or what I do. Artists, in my experience, have very little centre. They fake. They are not the real thing. They are spies. I am no exception."

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recent studies show that crybabies are indirectly beneficial to society through blubbering self-identification, thus aiding in their preclusion from positions of leadership...

stream of consciousness: somebody help me! i'm warring and i can't get stopped!

what will you sucker mc's do when i've used up this rhyme shit, outta time, you better sharpen your teeth to start biting, my lines while i'm just baiting y'all niggaz, fit for a fight and, you start a TRADE in MARC's lyrics, fuck it i'll COP You a RIGHT hand, you see this Marc? he's just, PRO, with the lyrics? prolific, terrific prose with it, prose-wiki-wick-iz-icked. prose whiz kid, PRONE, to rip shit, DOWN, you clowns get, blown, leave your whole kit PRONE... now you all aLONE and you busted, so rewind this rhyme, which i bussed kid, just to under stand what i just did, over ya head, this is lyrical justice, snap, ooooooh! now look how you OWNED!

stream of consciousness: pick a number between her legs and her thighs

i saw her just that one time, we connected for a second, when she beckoned, I, reckoned it was ON, like a DIME, that was turned into a 10, of new pennies for her thoughts which though she said she had plenty they could never be bought, i took this harsh but stood on guard such that i wouldn't be caught, i laughed it off cuz after all i'd score the clever retort: said, "every princess has a price, and every prince has a vice, and everything nice can be purchased, like sugar or spice." a wavered smile prefaced her chuckle, buckled knees held her thighs, i knew that time was of the essence, count my blessings, high five but fore-most on her mind: a number i could get in three tries, so she would be mine, and i's inclined to guess 69, and though i meant that figur-atively, she put her figure eight on me, and seven minutes later i saw heaven in her face and heavy breathing mist the place up, picture perfect, pierced her lace-up, missus squirming, words to say: none, sun was rising on her day's, horizon panorama's gaze, from fertile soils to crescent bays, no trouble toiled at all just play, -ful bubbles boiling from the sways, i'm rubbing oil in her olays, the lust was just carried away, the lust was just carried away, the lust just was carried away...