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Open Mic Series - Rant 1
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Old Commence... Battle Transmission
pout, pout.
we don't know what it's about
but it sure sound lovely
up on the mic.
style over
the substance drought.
is that your game?
you that devout
to trade
poetics for fame
at shame's cost??
blame's lost on you.
an acid tongue
washed flaccid
and now you wonder
why you get sunburned
under the masses' attention.
no, man.
you fail to deliver.
the rails of a muse's balcony
quiver like shivered legs
in a snowstorm
of booze.
drunk on the notion
"there ain't much to lose"...
but emotional groove
don't move right,
move tight,
under the limelight
of a fake.
a spoken disaster
awaits
the stench of his own
words
to sedate him
faster than he can imagine
how tragic
the disappearing act
of his magic
ensues.
you're a class act
with raps and sonnets
and all other bonnets
to dress up a fuck-up
trapped up
in catchy ebonics
and code...
"booya!
lyrics flow nitro
into a mic-show
and watch the venue
explode..."
