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11/07/11(Mon)07:57:41 No.314937 File1320670661.jpg-(31 KB, 475x356, judyfunniebeatnickdestroyer.jpg)
Your rhymes are weak it's coherence you seek in this lyrical catastrophe that you claim is unique
You claim your rhymes are fresh like a new folgers brew Your lyrics are a mess We've been in this scene since 1942
We've constructed diamond hard beats The kind that put asses in seats Snapping our fingers as applause 'cause clapping is weak
We know you kind, your rhymes, your braggadocio flows like wine But original? That you are not Your
skills aren't hot, they're recycled, rehashed, re-purposed beats from
my generation's spirit, that lyrical merit set to bongo beats in the
streets and underground poetry meets filling hearts and minds with the
sublime essence of verbal skill that never paid the bills, Selling out?
that's for pretenders and posers, we were loners spitting rhymes just
for fun, we melted down your records on the run from the fascist state
assembled pop-record corporate machine, soulless, faceless,
cannibalistic, consuming art and artists to increase their bottom line,
you'd better escape on time before your shrink wrapped, packaged, and
slapped with a price tag.
Yeah, I know you mad, getting told off
by the boomer generation, the first in the nation to make artistic
endeavours more than a mental vacation, yeah we LIVED poetry, we
BREATHED art...
And all of this Rap in here, it just smells like a fart. |