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Since old times, I wrote chimes, so you know I
I grow rhymes in my own mind
So dope lines you won't find
A way out.

Now I'm co signed, by me and I
And my clothesline, will be so fly cause I don't like
Jeans, you say where have you been
I've been way out.

I'm way out with 47 AKs!
I spray doubt like I'm a renegade with grenades!
And grade A mouth I'm
Way way way way out.

I was born in the North moved away south,
I was formed on the porch of my playhouse,
I've drawn all my swords in my notebook,
But I'm not a drawer, so don't look.

I grew up out in the garden,
Farmed cabbage and lived in starvation.
Now I'm paving my path to stardom,
I'm going to take the nation by -

Storm! More! More! More! More!
War! War! war! War! YEAH
I! Am! So! Calm! I! Am!
Gooood *blasphemy*s


I thought I had it all planned out...
I kind of understand it now.
All I ever planted here was sand of doubt.

I put a rancid pear in candy clouds,
Just keep it candid, let me rant it out!
Let me stamp my brow!

I borrow frowns like a foreigner, I scurry round.
Half the time I don't know what is real,
What's funny now?

Pen in my hand, while others have a gun in mouth,
I'll stand the test of time, I'm not running out.
Time! You're running now.

For All The Days I Stray

For all of the days I stray,
I've been making haste,
I've been chasing after,
My own place in space,

If it's not the world,
Wheres there space for me,
Should I race to Mars?
Does it taste to breath?

Lately life is tasteless.
Life has lost its taste.
I look inside my mirror.
And I see just a face.

Lately I'm evasive.
I contemplate my place.
I contemplate existence.
I guess it's just a phase.

For all the days I stray,
Yes I've been making haste,
There's so much on my tray,
But none of it does taste.

I don't know if it's me,
This cool and groovy dude.
Or if it is my food,
That puts me in this mood...

Lately I've been shady,
Lately I've been grave.
Lately I don't know if I am here
Or far away.

Lately I've been jaded,
Lately I've been brave.
Lately I'm still going on
With promises I've made.

For all the days I stray,
I know you'll know the tone,
I'll make you feel at home,
With poetry and prose.

That's oh so monotone,
Like waiting on the phone,
With just a mono tone,
That never stops to say:

"No I'm not at home" or "Leave you message at the beep."
So you can let the phone play, and lull yourself to sleep.
If they don't ever pick up, you'll know they never were, really there,
But you'll never, really, know where.

For all the days I stray,
In a place, far away.
I wonder,
I wonder where is dear.

I wonder about air.
If it lasts alright?
Or runs out, in the middle,
Of the night.

But I have air to spare!
I can breath all year!
And even then it never leaves me
With a croak to die.

And I have lies to spare,
I'll stick to them all year,
Even though I say I never lie,
It holds a price.

But that's just my disguise.
I wish I, like my principles, were unviced.
I wish I was as nice as I made seem,
But nice is just a dream.

Nice is what you had,
Until you wake up and realize,
That the nice you felt inside no longer feels!
And what does this all mean?

Nice is what you say when you say trifles.
Nice is what you say when you have nothing.
Nothing left to say! Is there nothing, nothing left today?
But the vices and our life that is in vain?

Vanity is frail.
Vanity is planted in our grail. Vanity is candid, but we fail.
We fail to tell the difference from candy and our kale.
It goes to say, how little taste we hail.

But life has its own way! Life is like a knife inside your sail.
And every time the wind blows, it rips up, and in folds,
And never goes away, so even with this wind!
You never blow away!

You race less, when tasteless, this place lets, just face it, and wade.
Through these tasteless days.
Until our buds spring up like a blaze flood,
That washes all stale mud away!

Yes, we prevail.

Yes we set stitches in our sails,
And reinforce the fabric with a rail,
And row our boat, or tow our boats with whales!
And never let things get in our way!

For all the days I stray.

Epiphanies Aint Shit To Me

Superbowl is just a bunch of hyperbole,
I see you smile, cloaked,
Blow your nose like I provoke, yolks,
You've just barely hatched, you're clearly matched.
But no match for me! Not nearly! Flee!
Or I swear I'll catch.
I play catch with little chickens,
I rip em, stick my knife in em like mittens.
I'm fed up with these Feds, I'm hacking the feeds,
I'm little but living, I tackle my needs,
I'll begone and bigots no others begin to dread...
Apathy, the living be dead, heheheh...
Laugh with a croaked cackle! Float backwards, stack all,
I've hacked in packs with these black daggers!!
I'll make no amends. I make no amens. The last who laughs lacks all -
Sense! Ahem. But it's a twisted word, I'm with all and with all friends,
Here's a notion you won't comprehend:
What goes backwards... goes around the bend.

Cling On Like Klingons

Cling on like Klingons! Wage a war. But can you cage us more? Can you live on, like minions, of vagrant hordes? With warlord swords. Just taking all. Just rake these lands like your lake is poor. It's full of fish, you could lay your swords, just play some ball. Is chase your call? Your case and fall? Like you're a dumb lawyer and your dates a fraud who wants to launder your money as a great facade, but I could care less bout how you play as Gods! I rebel, cause I'm the Cyberdevil.

The Golden Rule

He who has the gold makes the rules.

Genius. :D

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