Archive for the ‘rap lyrics’ Category

Only been here six months
Already gone through two pairs of shoes-
Precarious precariat
Living like who cares if you lose-

Nothing to shoot for
Nothing to use for ammo-
Let the snow cover my jacket
That’s Canadian for camo-

Hid like a chameleon
Tongue whipped out like a toad-
Snatch the dried fly snack
Of the dirty curb cold-

Arms rolled up
Like receipt paper ready to be used-
Head case pried open
Reveals sixty eight wires ready to be fused-

Precarious robot
Missing parts from the instructions-
Finally did my own taxes
Maybe missed some of the deductions-

Trusting in a universe I made
But probably forgot about-
Traded for a shiny quarter
Before I even got it out-

Looking toward the front of the sky train
See the pilot-
It’s Charon steering the long pole
It’s a hijack-

Hades runs for mayor
With Poseidon as foreign minister-
The jury is full of old fates
Witches and spinsters-

Crows fly Vancouver
Snow piles on the mountain streets-
Status quo keeps the quota up
But are they counting  me?

As I snuggle into my humility
Shaded conformity bubble-
Nothing the shoot at
And not quite looking for trouble-


Crazy Sexy Unsexy

Posted: April 13, 2016 in rap lyrics, romance, sex

I need to keep my fingers out of my own ears, doctors orders-
I need to stop drinking drops of my tears, that’s not important-
Enough to be crying openly on the MRT, during the day-
Trying to pry hope from misery in such a hopeless way-
Way off the edge of sticking to the middle path-
Lost instead in a sick riddle on a little raft-
Navigating the rivers of hell and old bad habits-
swelled up into an armor plating built around a sad rabbit-
lonely, but this androgynous girl on the train keeps staring-
if only we weren’t drifting the same deep uncaring-
attitude held together with contempt for random strangers-
with an aptitude to descend into the dispassion of cold players-
cause I’m old and grey or at least solid salt and pepper-
told I sound okay but could probably dress a bit better-
like I’m allergic to style and react to technology-
as if a person filing a tool shack from a fallen tree-

Maybe I’m unlikable, maybe all my past lovers were flukes-
Maybe I’ll only strike you as cool in a black hat or toque-
Maybe it’s not worth it, maybe stay good and free instead-
Maybe this shirt doesn’t work with this grey hoodie vest-
Maybe I’m just not sexy, boring like sugarless lemonades-
Maybe you wish I never wore spectacles but only shades-
Maybe I’m over-exaggerating, down with a fear in my head-
Maybe I just need to get my eyebrow pierced again-
Maybe I need more tattoos, or better stories for the ones I have-
Maybe it’s a sad truth that the only sweater I own is from grad-
Maybe I’ll never be a player, maybe never hit a home run-
Maybe I’ll never upload tinder cause I’m just too phone dumb-
Maybe I’ll go a whole year with no sex, like a monk-
Maybe I just haven’t met a girl or boy with enough spunk-
Maybe I don’t care, but than maybe I do-
Maybe it will drive me crazy like it’s supposed to-

Sex just seems like so much work I don’t get why we propagate-
All these dreams of love’s absurd set and designs to populate-
White father with an Asian mother pushing the baby stroller-
With a toddler making faces to juggle the way they hold her-
Like it all fell out of a diamonds are forever commercial-
Climbing the mall like a mine that will make you a better person-
Worth more on the scale of what we want on our shoulders-
First score in the detail of the desire gods and shareholders-
Of cool incorporated and the confidence clubhouse-
But the poor fools left jaded on the fence of the hub browse-
And try to look like they can afford to buy a membership-
With lies and crooked comforts they cry into no significant other’s pits-
Just a white glowing laptop screen and a youtube playlist-
And fight a growing sad sob story dream of loose patience-
Waiting for the faintest hint from the other human beings-
That one day one of them will relate as a lover who can complete-

Maybe I’m not the one, maybe there is no single individual-
Maybe we’ve got it wrong, maybe we make our answers too simple-
Maybe we need companions, or maybe it’s just a mirror-
Maybe I feel a substantial need to fill my bed out of fear-
Maybe I’d be good for you, maybe we’d make our lives hell-
Maybe you’d liberate me or maybe you’d harden my shell-
Maybe I’d be your savior, maybe you don’t need any saving-
Maybe all this behavior is a greedy instinct based on a craving-
Maybe it’s fantasy, maybe it’s a game we cleverly crafted-
Maybe all this dancing really is romance ever lasting-
Maybe true love exists, maybe I already ruined it-
Maybe a new trust can live in the heads that I’ve screwed with-
Maybe I do this on purpose, maybe I like dramatics-
Maybe despite all these words I’m still a sucker and romantic-
Maybe I don’t believe in love, but than maybe I do-
Maybe it will drive me crazy like it’s supposed to-


Left on Burned

Posted: February 21, 2016 in lyrics, madness, poetry, rap lyrics, writer's block


Unless I can become like chameleon
ready to feel again, steady enough to in my own head
deal again
with the spinning wheel that keeps stealing
every deal I was ever in
Like a clever pin
always flies away from it’s own donkey tail
cause what taught me failed to teach me
to stop haunting what I preach
with lies over-reached
Every whale on every beach sinking
back into the ocean and thinking it’s close
to where it’s supposed to be
meaning as a mammal of metaphor
an animal edit store
of energy, memory and angst
an inch from death pinched
doom breath of old turtle toon talking
spoon walking red herring overload
exploding into a prolapsed sun
expanding into the new universe
of unheard, wish and well-lookers held
fed all the ego juice so it breathes
grows fruit mold Pegasus wings
and flies between the fridge door
give birth to a new monster
haunt the kids for crying
staying up
watching R rated films
pocketing nightmares
like models of a horror kiln
over turned on burned the house down
turned on burned the house down
burned on build the house found
burned on learned the house down
left on burned the house down

A fighter
muscles left to pound themselves out
stress obsessed with a shiny grimy magazine
vision of science fiction
tugging at the gravel scabs of being airplane spun
out the driveway window
out of the highway symbols
when the absent glow of traffic cone robots
gives a last lift home to the last bit of hope
of decency of an asshole drunk cyclone
on hypnosis self-help clone training videos
to train your clones to hide in ninja clothes
so you can try to whip their asses
when they jump out at you
but when they jump out at you they are too trained
and your brain is being paved
as the triple pane of glass on the driveway window
on the highway high-speed chase
CGI fight scene of you
fighting a loose tooth and a screws loose
and a cyborg goose laying gold plate
hiphop beats that hide as rawhide transformers
enhanced torture on every fantasy
of every leper colony dirt bag beggars cup
left open to suck up all the writers block
and all nighters chalk
outlining your body like god was a hobby
you forgot to read the instructions about
and now you try to build a cloud
out of IKEA Lego towns
but the tools are for an alien species
and your hand cannot handle these
wood panel cheese volvo
station wagon memories
left burned on
set upon words
messed tongs turned
bar-b-que bird
and I am not a cute cartoon stuffed friend human
to hold close like aspirin
I am not your last ditch effort dad asking
if your sister washed your hair again
not the garbage being walked out
to get burned
I get burned by being left on burned



Who called it writers block anyways?
more like usually writes but not today
jam tomorrow jam yesterday
but never clever enough to stuff the pin cushions
roll up the bills feelin’ unstitchings
saves time nine sink kitchens
wishing the elephant was an automat
check the status of that closet hatched
still full of dustmites
that crust sights flicked with a finger licking
sting lights at the mingler picking
one nurse hurt for the doctors heart
start calling out numbers art
post-it notes cover a wall unspoken
broken wheels on a spell potion
maze anagrams with the goblin King
spring summer monk temple fling
moon shines handmaiden sings
acid sunday’s girl from the prairies
isn’t really from the prairies
barely windy enough to make a crush
rush the pill to pillows untrust
thrust into a forest subtropic
the topic is drugs and hot chicks
and flame sticks dancing like back home
marty mcfly in the delorean
scoring plutonium on moms door again
biff’s got the book all bets are off
being john malkovich charlie coughed
caught the bus to bee-alzebub
rub a dub give Aladdin the tubs
catch the carpet for the snub replay
too sane for my say
blue face-paint from the free shelf
we don’t serve that kind of elf
wait outside while the sabers dance
prolapsed chance to save the universe
for what it’s worth
still bleeding ink blue perverse
this side of a sideways hangover
one rung short of a come over
exercise on the year of the monkey bars
all-star almanac and flying cars
and weird futures like impossible
one year ain’t that long just improbable
yet unstoppable I kiss the girl at the airport
summer of love, summer too short
now I’m in a forest and its god’s court
gold watches are so last year
tennis players commercial for beer
and I fear the desert is un-insurable
purple t-shirt worthable
worthers originals with Grandpa
replaced Wilford Brimley switched with David Bowie
and all the crazy just knows me
flows and grows and breeds
like bees kept secret from the Vatican
I’m my own clown fetish in a vat again
of mixed up chemicals
carrying fixed up decibels
to jungle mountain festivals
and back again
sunday distorted
on track again
from the mist imported
luck dragons and garbage bin bullies
didn’t know me since I spun soul leaves
in an avatar avalanche shirt bender
word turf mender
on all the quilts of yesterdays
who called it writers block anyways?