@Jutsu
You won round one, son, but I ain't done,
I got a piece coming up you won't find fun,
it's gonna stun, make you run - your head's being spun,
by my textual wall, and I've only just begun,
It's your fate
to be slate
ed by me, I am great
at conflate
ing this linguistic ejaculate
and on this date
my attrition rate
will inflate
by one Jutsu who I hate
to make wait
as I create
and collate
this perfect, nay ornate,
state
of affairs where he's desecrate
ed by my sedate
and well styled
verse, you're riled
just admit; I've compiled
something that's beguiled
the judges to smile d
own on me, my child,
who never had a chance
in this dance
where I trance
all others with enhance
d conversation
and your realization
of this revelation
and re-evaluation
of your hope in creation
of any dictation
to rival sensation
al words from my station
will let this altercation
end with confirmation
of my education
causing annihilation
of your imitation
of skills evocation,
is this demonstration
enough complication
for the instigation
of total negation
of bastardization
that would have been occasion
ed by your preparation
of communication,
the abomination
that is your damnation:
a bad combination
of rhymes and citation
and manifestation
of procrastination;
cannibalization
which you claim is rap
but is not; it's just crap
to which no one will clap
so just be a good chap
and abandon your hope
of being able to cope
and submit.
Yo check it.
I know a lot of people live life tough,
that what they've got is not enough.
Even if they ask for help from above,
they can't make it any further without love.
Push comes to shove;
and someone's got a gun,
a life without the sun.
Beneath the clouds and rain,
piercing screams of pain.
Bellows of fright,
gunshots in the night,
some people just can't fight.
They fall like a meteorite,
shit ain't right.
The people spitting are trite,
Just hoping they might just get sometime in the spot light.
They will just say random shit;
and then pretend that they mean it,
not like I do.
It's true,
I guess to some it's new,
I'm not nigga blue,
but I can still express my view.
Wish that somebody knew,
Life is limited it has a curfew.
Some take it like they where raised in a zoo.
People will kill you to get what they want,
the power they flaunt.
like it's nothing,
but it's something,
they're regretting.
The time they did that horrible thing,
they'll take it to the grave,
along with what they crave.
Their bodies give way,
beneath the decay;
and let death pave the way.
They never got to say,
what happened that day,
wishing they could stay.
They can't explain,
the fear,
the pain.
But it's to late,
They've met their fate.
My linguistics inventive,
my flows poetic,
rhymes creative.
It's phonetic,
the result effective.
Be perceptive,
because it's not like mathematics,
or altering genetics.
Assigning through dramatics,
resigning fanatics,
lyrical acrobatics.
to state what I feel,
it's like a door that's been sealed.
But it's tearing off, it's opening,
leaking lyrical power
and creating,
decimating all those who are pall,
the foul.
While doing it with style,
verbal guile,
killing the routine and boring,
what's deploring,
it's been storing.
Of course I am imploring,
abscond the dull,
so their creativity may be full,
refreshed and whole.
It's like a vivid grotto,
of what I feel,
something no one can steal.
But I'll open up and let them feel it,
representing my lyrics.
My rhetoric's;
and metaphoric's,
they all have purpose,
What is it? what I suppose,
I propose, the words enclose;
and don't disclose,
or impose.
But who knows? Or understands?
I do,I can,
Take the joy of happiness,
multiply it by ten;
and do it again.
It will undoubtedly be,
the best feeling,
invariably, inconsequentially,
sequentially, physically,
mentally, chronologically;;
and theoretically,
it's meant to be.
Something they should see,
Nothing can be more happy,
not for you,
nor me.
Or anybody,
I don't assume but exhume;
and resume.
With lyrics that loom;
and consume,
the fumes,
of what you presume;
and just as soon they bloom.
Sensual, seductive.
Rich and smooth.
Addictive it makes you move,
the control you lose, you didn't chose.
But don't think about the eventual,
the music is perpetual.
Like counting the stars,
you'll never get it all;
and it goes just as far.
When you hear a guitar,
or a jukebox at a bar.
Whenever it ends,
is where it starts again.
Some just pretend it's different,
but it's all the same.
Like faces all without a name,
or skies that always rain.
It's caught up to me,
the velocity;
and probably is causing me to fade hypnotically.
With every page that gets made,
it gets conveyed,
in many ways,
it's similar to the way I count the days.
The only thing persistent is change,
life isn't just an exchange,
it's like a game,
where you constantly switch names;
and no ones the same.
Forget your fame;
and accomplishment,
all that matters is the present.
Do you enjoy the current?
Passing by,
don't ask why.
Some glide, some fly,
some try, but everyone dies.
Your truth, your lies.
all seen with your eyes.
It's all washed away,
the most you can hope,
is that it all returns some day.
Maybe then you would appreciate,
the way waves move and sway.
As you gaze, you're fazed, lazed.
Dazed you grow torpid,
You'll eventually see,
you will enjoy it finally.
The difference between,
the reality and a dream.
The stream would see to gleam,
so pristine, serene.
You would understand,
what it feels like to be me.
What you see, is what I think
On the brink.
What I mean, is what matters to me.
Even though I am incognito usually.
I want someone to know,
that eventually,
I see myself;
chilling with my family,
It's a mystery,
infinitely, definitely,
eloquently.
Revelations, equations,
persuasion, contemplation.
Flowing like this is my purgative,
I have so much rhyme that I have to give.
It's like it's what I breath and live.
End through start,
straight from the heart,
it begins,
time and time again.
New people, new friends.
Messages sent, people came and went.
But that's all Kemp,
It all feels the same.
The people may change,
but I can still name,
a beat, a melody.
Until my time draws near,
My rhymes will rocket into the atmosphere,
The gap closes,between here and there.
No one knows how or where.
Some would say it's fake,
but it's sincere,
clear,
pure.
I hope this will show,
The creative lines I make;
and flow.
Honestly, constantly,
rapidly, vigorously;
and ever so contiguously.
Not a whole lot of people can rhyme like me.
My rap flows for miles,
I have enough rap for twenty styles.
I would love to make songs,
it's ever so long,
I can keep it strong and move along.
It's towering above,
beyond the stars and sun I can't get enough.
Gargantuan, I rap again.
I don't even care if I win,
because the best always have finesse.
I must confess,
what I intend,
depends,
on where it begins,
it's a rap leviathan,
I'll make it a trend.
I am a lyrical ghost,
an assassin.
Not easily understandable,
but what some fear the most.
Possibly,
a verbal apothecary.
Very much so,
Sweet like a cherry;
and I roll with the flow.
Make it a point to do what I know,
some doubt.
So?
That's something I don't come without.
I grab a pencil, paper;
and just go,
what ever happens, you can never know;
and never ends,
Just goes to show.
I am a lyrical poet,
I know it.
I can banish,
whole worlds will vanish,
people panic.
Chaos unleashes,
I will relinquish;
and rap people to pieces,
not being fasecious,
the way I rap is ridiculous.
I envision,
escape the mental prison.
I feel obligated to rhyme,
for whatever reason,
change the season.
Alter space and time,
Spin it on a dime.
It should be a crime.
It would if they could touch me,
I rap circles around them thusly.
Crazy? I must be.
Don't worry,
trust me.
Thank you stickpage your the reason I do it, all straight from the heart, from the end to the start.
Only fitting for my two thousandth post.
