It’s Like That

February 26, 2013 by

Guess my last verse put chy’all in a speechless daze for over a year.

Mic Cinema, I know you got a cold rhyme that has been brewin’, HIT US WITH IT!


Dust off

September 27, 2011 by

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….

December 24, 2010 by

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


October 7, 2010 by

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

September 20, 2010 by

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//


July 1, 2010 by

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

June 5, 2010 by

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

how i’m rappin’

April 2, 2010 by

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 bubbleman, 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

April 2, 2010 by

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”

March 18, 2010 by

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!//