Gimmick and Mimic Men

What’s your gimmick?

How you spit it?

How you flip it?

What’s your angle?

You’re Mr. B0-Jangles?

Or do you hand out mangled, threats?

warning your foes about strangled, necks?

Face contorted and twisted toting, tecks

What else? What’s next?

What you wear on your vest?

Superman, Hulk-types biggin up your chest

or maybe you’re not Bruce

You Duece, braggin, you loose

Not pumping up your chest

But humping up some mess

you say fuck a caress!

ma lif up ya dress!

Leave your complaints bout stress…at the door

let’s not fool ourselves, I’m a pimp, youza whore

Anything else, is there anything more?

Oh yeah, youza keep it real cat

born 89, yet steady with the boom bap

wrist bands and nap sacks

ones, twos, and vinyl racks

making the past last

your gold, is their trash

spinning on your head

break dancing till you’re dead

1990 windmill, spin go head, flare if you dare

Battle on wax tracks, and on cardboard mats

graffiti on the side or everything stating random facts

spraying yourself and laying your tag

cops come and you’ve got paint-stained hands

woop! woop! that’s the sound, pull up your pants

here comes the mans

aww damn you caught…cops harrassin’

fuck you! you fart! you steady blastin’

cuz you see it as art

It ain’t no scandal, I ain’t no vandal!

You’re a college student, slacks securely on your waist

shirt tucked in, black, but passing for white in the place

and you acting, trying to fit in, forgetting your face

steel bars enclose you, you wasn’t face enough

Allah enrolls you, you’re a diamond in the rough

Flow to Freeway’s – What we do


to the double to G-A

I’m the future

Listen when I say

I’m the future

Not the past, not yesterday

It’s not a game I don’t play, the bammer it will spray, leave the barrel all mistay

Make to mistake, it’s all about cake, drawing fouls off pump fakes, and I pump fakes

Young Rigga had the real

You had the fake pumps

And I’m done with you lame chumps

Listen out for the beat punks

ores, aws, oss, arts

Inexorable sores

you mack horrible whores

what’s the deplorable cause?

you weak son, you flossing with flaws

get ya hands off the faucit boss

this ain’t a randy moss, lateral toss

it’s just me Rigga flowing like a faucit boss

said it twice cuz of course it costs

to spit psychopathical thoughts

just rhyming, not trying to top no charts

rhymes funky like farts, but not stinky, my darts

envelop the mind and tangle all of its parts

malls went from k to wall marts

quarter for shopping carts

who knew strudel done shot up dem tarts

flew who? travel a maze with these talks

Quik-E Mart Flow

to me your rhymes tranquilize like a sedative

and you seem to have a brain diameter that is negative

while for strong rhymes, a strong mind, which both arrive on time

I’m credited

some say I slid

but they’re the ones on the slippery slope

not realizing it’s relative

oh no he didn’t!

you bet I did!



Please see this video and others in my VodPod on left.


In closing…I’ll say to you, listen to the lyrics.


Straglers In The Night

She stopped me dead in my tracks

The track skipped a beat

I don’t need a beat

I need her in my bed sheets

You see her?

Over there?

With the natural black hair?

Looking so worldly

Paris to Providence

Puerto to Prague

synapses snap

inner dialogue…



I don’t know if you know me

I don’t know if you want to

I know I don’t know you

I know that I want to

But how do I know

If my true feelings are shown

That to bits, my heart won’t be blown

Dream about you, wake

and you’re gone without a trace

Feel in my soul

That with me is your place

I swear I

see heaven with every glance of your face

But until I muster up the gusto

to take a chance

to stop dreaming and snap out of this trance

with you

in lieu

of love

we shall never dance

I’m even scared to say this to you

because to me

intimidating equals beautiful

so I go over this in my head

inaction again instead

Am I willing to prove that all guys aren’t the same?

Where I want to be

Is by your side

dry your tears, help you conquer your fears

my arms always

open wide

surrendering my soul through

these few words

supple love verbs

we could be

a couple love birds

you and me

flying high

Come on Ty!

The dream is too grand

not to take a stand

not to attempt

to circumvent

my own fears

my own tears

and get in gear

and ask her now



To not be shy

to give love a try

to stand up tall

once and for all

to be a man

take her hand

squeeze it tight

fight for my right

finally tonight is the night

to have the right lover

damn I waited too long

she’s gone

the night’s over



…against it all

there’s a problem with over-population

so aids is poured on an entire nation

call me a conspiracy theorist,

but this shit is serious

we’re getting cooked raw

and our minds are delirious

Monday Mourning

Monday mornings.

Public transit.

Bumping into old friends from high school that you’d really rather not have.

Social anxiety.

Ex-girlfriends who still haven’t forgiven you for dumping them just because you were starting fresman year at university and wanted to be available for all the young rich white girls.

People you see and pass everyday.

It’s Monday morning and you’re headed to work.

Just one of many like you working a job they are unhappy with.

And still we rise every morning, determined to get to work where our bosses expect us jump through hoops and smile as if we could not be happier to do it.

We go to bed early sunday night, wake up early monday morning, make breakfast and pack lunch.

We do all that is necessary to continue in our unhappy lives but will do next to nothing when it comes to fulfilling our dreams.

And so dreams remain just that, never finding their way into reality.

On the train they read prayer books; probably asking god for the strength not to go psycho postman on everybody in the office they are about to spend the next 8 hours in.

Some read newspapers, mystery novels, others do word and number puzzles.

Students study for their monday morning test.

I wonder if their will ever be a day when my monday morning is one I can’t wait to wake up for.

I know that I won’t unless I put the effort into actualizing my dream and not the stupid things that help us (those caught up in the rat race) continue with the illusion of comfort brought by routine.

I respect all people, and empathize with the ‘freaks’

I respect all people first. Rather than judge you off the bat I like to give you whatever credit to start then let you either keep or diminish that respect as I get to know you better. I can respect a gothic person because of the tremendous amount of courage it must take to leave your house dressed so shockingly different from everyone else. As long as they are dressing like that because it is an accurate reflection of who they are inside; which I believe for the most part is why they do it in the first place. Just by dressing like that they are challenging every single person who shops for clothes that are cool rather than for what is true to them.

Dare iz a Darkside