Archive for the ‘rhyme bag.’ Category

See Spot Rhyme Like a Social Media Slut: A Love Rap

December 6, 2010

hello and good evening, ladies and germs, and

girls with extensions and dudes with bad perms, and

get a translator if you think i’m speakin’ german,

i’m a little munster, but my name was never herman..

i like my cover girl to stay easy and breezy,

her presence is a present, like that man, kan-yeezy,

i fell in love right there when she told ’em to free weezy,

a lady in the streets, but in the sheets, a little sleazy..

shiksas are for practice, but that girl is so profesh,

i said my A.D.D. kicks in along with booty in a dress,

i wanna be like mr. clean when her life is in a mess,

get rid of dirt and grease and grime and goo and fear and funk and stress..

but you know..





frankie says relax, and right said fred,

’cause when you’re six feet under, you’ll be better off dead,

and when she goes all sleepy hollow and she loses her head,

she be pickin’ out  her pumpkin when she’s sleeping in my bed..

i’m an oral interpreter, a master debater,

a teller of tales, a linguist, a sayer,

a caller-out-of-bullshit, please do me a favor,

and go vanilla on me, ’cause i’ll have to bring the flavor..

ice cream is for quitters, imma be her fro-yo,

and i know she’s lived a fast life, so imma go slow,

in the car POOL lane, i’m her dick, she’s my jane,

and the way we maintain

is the highway in our brain

so, getting back to the main,

(that was the A.D.D. again)

you make me drool..’cause carbs rule..and i vote pancakes for mayor.


there’s no place like home.

May 13, 2010

soap suds swishin’

momma’s in the kitchen

she’s standin’ doin’ dishes

and it feels like home

she pops a tape in

cassette starts playin’

mike’s bad, we’re shakin’

and it feels like home

spelling words in black font

she quickly quizzes “restaurant

and now that “a.u.” will haunt

what was my home

she slowly sucks her cigarette

and this is what i won’t forget

painted ceramic alphabet

hangin’ in my home

now home is nothing more

than ash on the yellow brick road

she walked through that great door

i’m in survival mode

sent to sleep swiftly

checked in that heavy load

and now you’ll have to agree..

that you can never go home

no, you can never go home

she wanted it so badly

somethin’ to call a family

at twenty-four she had me

and brought me home

wasted years and drunk nights

four-letter words and fist fights

and flashing red and blue lights

this was my home

i moved out after high school

she did the same with some fool

he had a wife and swimming pool

this was his home

then another came along

and sang to her that same song

she felt the right in his wrong

and they made a home

now home is nothing more

than ash on the yellow brick road

she walked through that great door

i’m in survival mode

sent to sleep swiftly

checked in that heavy load

and now you’ll have to agree..

that you can never go home

no, you can never go home

the curse, it follows me, through ins and outs of everyday

sometimes it’s hard to breathe, she wasn’t yours to take away

but there’s a part of me that thinks she wanted it this way

maybe, inevitably, she’ll help make everything okay

but i can’t help but think about the way she’d love my kid

and it makes my heart sink, she won’t know what her daughter did

just like her cigarette, her spark went out, i closed the lid

now home sits on a shelf, can’t bring myself to open it

gotta find the home in me, and sweep the ash up from the path

and when we meet again, we can look back and we’ll laugh

at how we billie jean‘d and slip ‘n’ slided in the grass

but until then..

until then..

until then..

i’ll never go home again.

the tina-verb agreement.

December 30, 2009

you tell me you’re a writer,

and i think it’s mighty sketchy

’cause the subject-verb agreement

in that claim is kinda messy

so you test me –

and i’m guessing

you don’t even know the answer

and, yes, i do love tina,

but i ain’t your Private Dancer

but you just keep on pushin’…

do it. do it for me, puppet.

fine, i’ll start at the beginning,

do you know my girl, Ms. Muffet?

she liked curds and whey and all…

and Humpty Dumpty had a fall…

and Jack Sprat despised fat,

the Big Bad Wolf had quite a jaw…

i’m feelin’ kinda like him –

wanna blow your house down.

you sit all high-and-mighty

need some polish for that crown?

no, i said polish, not Polish

now you’re stinkin’, like old fish

have you checked the menu lately?

ah, revenge. it’s a cold dish.

so you eat it up, and then spit it like it’s yours

you’re ridin’ on my coattails like i’m down on all-fours

word whores

be sure

that what you say is what you say

’cause if you keep on clownin’ me, i’ll be like Tina Fey…

i’ll bring it to you LIVE, then i’ll have to 30 Rock you,

blow up your whole damn spot then get distracted by a hot jew…

’cause i like my girls from israel,

they beep my horn and ring my bell,

don’t need the money from my honey…

just a brain that wrinkles well.

i’ll jump right back on topic; see with women, i digress…

the A.D.D. kicks in, along with booty in a dress…

i said a dress, not address, fool;

you’re makin’ this stressful,

when hand goes up – mouth goes shut.

i’ll treat you like grade-school.



class dismissed. bitch.

the [un]fairway.

December 30, 2009

you sip and you snort

and you function to fight

practice FORE!-letter words

for when you call me at night

i guess it’s mourning, mostly

when you get around to it

don’t understand this gay shit

although i know that you knew it

you bragged and you boasted

then you made big excuses

sure, i brought in straight A’s

but felt my efforts were useless

it’s not about numbers, it’s not about stand

it’s not about who does or does not have the hand

speaking of hand, have you seen my 9-iron? ’cause last time i saw it, it was up in your head…

and now that’s it’s not, guess i’ll go shoot a round, only time to kill now – ’cause you’re already dead.


ice cream.

December 29, 2009

i make noise.

i rant and i rave

for the clans in the cave

for the landowner’s slave

and the sperm donor’s babe

and i scream and i cuss

for the kid on the bus

who they turned into mush

’cause he checked out their butts

i kick and i yell

for those “burning in hell”

’cause GOD…doesn’t think kindly

of their colorful candy shell

melt away, little faggot

it’s ok that it’s tragic

you’re a gay, we won’t have it

kick you out, like your dad did

then i’ll shout and i’ll punch

for the fat girl at lunch

who just ate all her feelings,

washed ’em down with fruit punch

chicken nuggets and tears

as she hides from her peers

sure, she jiggles and sweats,

but she’ll be hot in ten years

and then i’ll point and i’ll laugh

’cause fat girl’s had a bath

dropped some weight, changed her shape,

fuck your broke, pregnant ass

and you can’t go abort it

’cause your vision’s distorted

jesus christ, hallelujah,

your bastard child’s a lord-send

isn’t that right?

so i fight

for the “wrong” in the right

for the black in the white

for the chink and the kike

for the devil in the dyke

little coloreds on a bike

mother hubbard’s hating life

hubby’s always beating wife

and then taking her life-savings and going bump in the night

the girls take bumps of the white

just to feel whole inside

as he rapes her hole outside

by the flag pole’s where her hope died

pledge allegiance to the dope guy

a little yay makes her nose fry

at least she doesn’t cry

’cause sex will sell

in kolorful kandi’s shell

while the homos in hell

watch the fat girl’s gut swell

there’ll be coat-hanger dreams

for the nubian queens

paying rent in the alley

blocking out their own screams

so i scream

you scream

we all scream

for something

for one thing

or nothing

let’s all make

some fucking