Dust off

I’m a manic depressive//
“The Man” like Colonel Jessup//
My ass’ been reprimanded but I still don’t understand it//
Lexapro will never fix it//
I swear I’m not dyslexic//
The writings’ on the wall but this shit, it looks cryptic//
To get on my gangster, to get at my level//
Ya need a back tat of a black cat, ana’ raised fist like a bevel//
So give me the beat kick, I’ll drop the hook like a loco//
Stick my dick in to the verses, like I would in Hope Solo//
“Whoa, did he just say that he’d fuck Hope Solo?”//
“Does he know she’s 2011’s, 2002 Apolo Ohno?”//
Yeah, I fuckin’ know it, I’ma murder the rap show//
Let me say it again man: I’d murder her asshole//
Hell, I’ll say at a third time: I’d cum on her breasts//
If I’m the Johnny Drama, then she’s my Viking Quest//
But enough of that homie, enough of the chit-chat//
Enough talk of Hope makin’ my dick spikity split-splat//
These bars were a mess before I even wrote ‘em//
Are they even there? Like Chaz Bono’s scrotum//
Man, I’ll dance on this track if heshe can Dance with the Stars//
But can you even call it, if I don’t know who you are?//
Shit, I besta bounce before I act a damn fool//
My inner voice is Jules, speakin’, “Bitch, be cool.”//

we’re all home….

my last post didn’t really get any attention, responses, etc….but since we’re all home now let’s flow. word

?

I don’t speak my thoughts; I speak my sights//
Call it like I see, shit I’ll speak All Night//
Most speak the speak, but can you speak to fight//
Get your asses rounded like homie was rollin a bike//
Be who you are, like Weezy said “Do you.”//
If you’re the shit, like me, then do the doo doo//
Son can’t slay chicks nor act tough like Tito Ortiz//
Your as tough as a Cheeto Puff so please//
Don’t front. Or get called out of that whack bunker//
Like that German mother fucker callin out those German mother fuckers//
Watch close like Glenn Close but NOT like the close talker//
Try and get too close, you only get close like Paul Walker//

I blacked out

Perhaps to much ‘Em’ been blarin out my Boses’//
To the point I fuck shit up with style on a bed full of roses//
Who knows… well ‘mE’ is the one that can know this//
My brains’ so Shady my inner dialogues don’t speak they flowses//
Like right now I’m feelin angry and pissed//
The Em in me wants to reach for the small of my back and just grip//
That all black, 18-round, 9 millimeter Beretta//
And empty it into building where people go to send letta’s//
Then perhaps Shady—shit I mean Brady//
Gosh dammit, it seems like we’ve been the one-in-the-same lately//
But perhaps Fishious will start to feel better//
Start taking his meds and not always feel under the weather//
But those drugs will mean one small simple fact//
And make me forget exactly what the fuck I’m mat at//
And THAT makes me more pissed so I react//
By going out and nailing nails in to a bat//
Next thing I know I’m covered in blood and drool//
Don’t remember walking in to this special-ed pre-school//
Shit… I blame the FCC//
Had they banned Em’s music, well I would be ‘mE’//
Wouldn’t be standing here with my bat and tat of 313//
I’d be doin Soulja Boi//

Fearless

I’m fearless, got less fear than none//
Take your no fear bumper sticker, rewrite the slogan//
No-one can touch me, rap shogun//
Kurosawa can film me, makin classics for-fun//
Maybe Scorsese, pov slow motion//
Reinvent the game, change your whole notion//
Of what it means to have balls, wide load son//
Your scro-tum too empty, mothafucka grow-some//
Meanwhile, my girl playin soccer//
Um, bro? I’m the bomb, this shit’s the hurt locker//
Proctor of the test, pencils down, check the clock, brah//
Spock-er than your logic, real McCoyer than your doctor//
‘Bout to have to mop-the floor with you imposters//
I power forward, fuck the bench, i’m the whole fuckin roster//
I organize c-rhymes, Corleone, cosa nostra//
Callin you cats like i c ‘em, Kevin Costner//
And I’m Clooney, you drownin, Waterworld you a flopper//
Ain’t had a hit since Whit sang I’ll Always Love Ya//
It’s mike, the C. stands for Clayton, winnin’ oscars//
I turn that gold to platinum, you turn bronze to copper//
I’m so Fantastic, Mr. Out-Fox ya//
You could be a heart stopper, I’m the pace maker//
Bushido blade bitch, if ya want we’ll trade sabers//
Hattori Hanzo-made razor, taste the blade flavor//
My other sword made of light so go ahead and spray lasers//
I’ll return the favor, another taste for you to savor//
Cut out your fuckin’ tongue then cauterize it, see ya later//

I want to post anything

Rubba dub dub//
Me and two chicks in tub//
Haven’t feel this gangster since rollin with Bub Rubb//

how i’m rappin’

Rap is in my grasp minus a g and an s//
Like your midsize lexus got repossessed//
And while we on the alphabet, i rap without a c in front of it//
So you can look behind you and kiss where you gonna sit//
Your ass g-double-o-d-b-y-e//
Courtesy of me, m-i-k-e-y c//
Call me a-t-g-c: rap is in my d-n-a//
Rappin like a double helix around a nucleotide base//
Rappin’ these presents like christmas is your birthday//
Or like saran over Christmas dinner on boxing day//
That’s december twenty sixth and december twenty fifth//
The other 363, i’m still rappin’ these gifts//
Peanut butter rappin, bust a rhyme in a jif//
I’m rappin like a tree trunk, all around the pith//
Or a bone around the marrow//
I been rappin so long i got rapunzel’s hair flow//
Rappin like woody allen’s arm around farrow//
Rappin’ like dorothy’s arm around scarecrow//
You rap like a sparrow, i’m rappin like a raven, ever more//
Rappin like edgar allen on your chamber door//
You rap like a bitch: Lenore//
This your last time rappin, you rap nevermore//
I’m rappin’ like parappa, playstation not sega//
I’m rappin’ like bubble, man, i’m mega//
Rappin like a movie on the last day of shootin//
Rappin’ on another level, i’m highfalutin’//
I’m rappin like a flour tortilla: gluten//
I’m rappin like the Shroud of Turin//
Rappin like my knuckles on a table//
Create my own beats, ready willing and able//
Rappin like my hand around a mic//
or your neck, either way its what i’m rappin like//
Rap like my fingers, clenched in a fist//
Most of all, mothafucka i rap like this//

short freestyle

i jump your shit 8 ways like chinese checkers//
you could call me the jesus of the record//
not water to wine but vinyl to gold//
gold in to platinum 1 million sold//
another fuckin million, i’m so multi-//
if i went blind, fuck glass, i’d get a gold-eye//
which makes me james bond bitch, double o seven//
you could be dr. no, i’ll still send you to heaven!//

mic cinema feat. brenny t, “Harry Potter freestyle”

Brenny T:

you can refer to us as harry potter cuz we get gettin high on dem broom sticks//
Hermoine Granger is not even cool enough be my main bitch//
seein is belevin when u trying to trackin our shit//
blastin on those muggles when try cock block our shit//
ministry of magic is on our tail//
so kids just wait to exhale//
like like whitney houston in 95′, mic c getting extreme on this freestyle vibe..

Mic Cinema:

fuck weezy i got a weasley and his name is brenny t-easly//
mike c-eezy, harry p eatin every flavor beezies//
easy as potions without professor snape//
i drop rhymes like fine wines, you welch’s grape//
i’m the great escape, steve mcqueen, big hitter you the ball boy//
i be dumbledore, bitch, you lucius malfoy//
slytherin on the floor, bitch why you slippin’ for?//
if you aint heard the sorting hat yelled out  GRYFFINDOR!//

Hip hop history lesson

So about a couple of months ago (maybe 6) I updated my facebook status and said that Eminem was the greatest rapper of all time. Now some people commented and said that he was pretty ill and stuff like that, but then there were some haters and said that he was not good and that there were better rappers out there. At the time I had made an Eminem playlist on pandora and heard a lot of his tracks from his albums that didn’t get a lot of radio play (mainly because the content could never be aired on public stations).

To pay tribute to Eddie Murphy’s ‘Delirious’ and swap Marshell’s name with Stevie Wonder’s, “Eminem is a musical genius mother ——!”

In tribute I want to share a verse from the Album ‘Infinite’ that came out in 1996 (about 2-3 years before ‘The Slim Shady LP’ dropped and the world was introduced to him). This is his second verse on a track called 313 and it is some of the craziest and most clever word play that I have ever heard. Enjoy.

So what, you know about a sweet MC, in the 313//
You don’t know shit so when you see one flee//
You can be Run-D, you’ll never beat the MC//
I’ll stop the alphabet at S and got it down to a T//
I’m sure your bound to agree, a sweet MC crashes the spot//
I’ll make the roof hot like I was Rock Master Scott//
Your ass forgot//
So just in case you don’t remember me I’ll run your brain around the block to jog your f—ing memory//
It’s either them or me man, kill or be killed//
You will and be sealed your casket closed you still gonna be billed//
My facilities filled with fans, packed to capacity//
I’ll send a rapper back with the crack of his ass shitty//
If he’s acting soft and he cowers//
He better come cleaner then Jay Rue jacking off when he showers//
You flowers got no clout with a thing//
You could date a stick of dynamite and wouldn’t go out with a bang//
I showered the slang, simple as A,B,C’s//
Skip over the D’s and rock the microphone with E’s//
Dethrone MC’s and I’ma max alone//
Relax your dome like a solo from a saxophone//
So facts are known, writers get treated with shocks//
I rock a beat harder then you could beat it with rocks//
I’m greeted with flocks, of fellow follower’s singers//
You couldn’t make the fans throw up their hands if they swallowed their fingers//
But you can bring yours let’s see what you got//
But don’t front and never try to be what you’re not//
Cause you can be quick, jump the candlestick, burn your back//
And f— Jill on a hill, but you still ain’t Jack//