you know those blogs that are nothing but promises to post more?
this is gonna become one of those if this keeps up.
I did my other new year’s thing before I wrote tonight and my mom’s occupying the tv like it’s zucotti park, so I thought I’d do something different.
here’s some raps I wrote a while ago!
I’d say I fucked your girlfriend, but I don’t wanna kiss’n’tell
I’m a fucking rapper, you’re a monkey with a speak’n’spell
Wishing well, ask the genie for infinite wishes
Bitches, fishes, dishes, stitches and new britches
I call me Mr White, FYIV or Joe Criger
I don’t own a gun but I’m about to pull the trigger
When I spit you see reflections of yourselves, but the dark parts
My surname isn’t Riddle but I’m practising the Dark Arts
Bitches on my dick like it’s a motherfucking kennel
Goin’ back to college at West 5th and Fennel
My allusions are deeper than an Olympic swimming pool
My references are wide, unlike the Queen’s gene pool
I write shitty comics when I’m not rappin’
But I can’t write so how in the world did that happen?
Stones in my kidneys and death on my mind
Got a two-finger ring, ragtop on the ride
You ain’t heard another motherfucker spit like me
My rhymes are fresh and clean cos I got OCD
I’m a writer on the set and a pirate on the net
If you do my income tax, take a fuckload off the net
Got strictly legal income with obvious rhymes
The rhyme in this line is just wasting your time
I text this shit to Dan cos I know he won’t forget it
Don’t sweat it, I’ll type it up and put it on the record
Drinkin’ water by the gallon like I’m a fuckin’ fish
Some actual talent is my actual wish
But I’m stuck in the same one stop sign town
Watching my dreams come up and just go back down
Shootin’ movies, bustin’ booties–got a watch with fuckin’ rubies
I could rhyme this with Jacuzzi or doobie or fruit smoothie
I’m not a fucking writer, but this is a movie shoot
Two seconds, I’m breaking in–seein’ if I get the boot
I’m back with a wig, a couple cameras and a tripod
And some cute production assistant’s fucking iPod
If you’re a man, then I’m Zod–prepare to kneel or be destroyed
Or am I god like every speck of dust floating in this void?
Either way, you better salute your rapping superior
Interior or exterior, I always put the fear in ya
Spittin’ fine with written lines but not bitten, I’m
Hittin’ bullseyes with every dart right on the dime
Got two of these left, so I guess it’s time to conclude
Never talk in my theater, son, because that shit’s rude
I don’t need a qualuude if I wanna pull a chick tonight
Just a smile and my raps, you know that’s fucking right
In conclusion, your shitty raps can eat a bag of dicks
I’m the Tony Hawk of rapping, dude, I fucking invent the tricks
Tropes, cliches and everything you hear
So if you rap after this, then you owe me a beer.