Search

SpacemanTheJinn

With the Cheshire Grin

Month

June 2017

RAW

‪Watch me get so high‬

‪I may just die‬

‪Let that soul fly‬

‪Halo, devil horns, that combo so fly‬

‪Bloody grace‬

‪I’ll pen the page‬

‪I am the race‬

‪Peep the face‬

‪Watch my feet, this is the pace‬

‪Got the proud loud‬

‪Haters suffocated in the shroud‬

‪Knowing the ins, voluntarily cast out‬

‪Crow soldiers‬

‪”Told your’s”‬

‪Embroidered with boulders on shoulders‬

‪Embossed with “Fuck A Cost”‬

‪Fuck Life raw and give her a car‬

‪Fuck Life raw and make her a star‬

‪Fuck Life raw, make Death pull ya card‬

IN A MF MOOD (or, FUCK YOU, TOO)

I’on’t even wanna think about the madness

Yet, I’m stuck within the sadness

Every now and then, I’m thinkin that I’m baddest

But, I’m thinkin I may baddest

Yeah, far from the raddest

Cuz, fuck a nigga’s “fucka nigga” status

I’ll claim “lame”, cuz fuck your same, settin flame to the grain, insane or in my sane, thoughts are runaway trains, glitchin/twitchin in the game, hammer to the brain

Stompin Timbs temper if you fuckin wit my lane

So, here come the fuck phrase:

Fuck ya name

Fuck ya dame

Fuck ya fame

Fuck ya gang

Fuck ya bang

Fuck the niggas who came

Fuck the bitches who scramed

Everybody and mommas/daddies body get the flame

DRUNK, I GUESS

Gimme three words to write with

I’on’t even really need a beat to fly with

Slick and my tongue is scissors

Methodic with 26, causing fissures

I’m fuckin sick

Better and worse

I’ll flip and curse in ya church

Spontaneous static

Sporadic habit

Flabbergasted fashion

Peep into my windows to see my mansion

Explosive stoic

Hit you with the, “Yeah, I know it”

Cozy with the smoke, yet the brown stay flowin

Best believe, I got ten fingers showin

Hit the board typin, call that progress growin

 

 

ARROGANCE

So much uncultured swine within my line of sight

Mouthy, with visions blind

Get em in line

Hit em with the firing squad rhyme

*brrr wapp wapp brrr wapp wapp click click brrr wapp wapp* hah

Let the shots ring out, let these bitches die

Planned murder, no suicide

Everybody dying

Call it chronic high

Comin for the lives

Credit is vetted

Meditated to predators shredded while full focused and dread-headed, bled without the edited, edit the rested, the bless-ed, the bested

NIGGA, YOU CAN SAY I SAID IT

Voice of The Earthly One

Earned the callus from the callous

Learned from the course that’s coarse

To be discreet and discrete

To disregard society’s sealings upon ceilings

An idle idol is sunken in an inn

So, never mind rolling with roles

I’d rather say, “Good mornin” to those prepared for mourning

I’d rather speak a scene that’s rarely seen or never been seen

My sighs increase in size

As I treat the stares like stairs

I reek when I wreak my write, right

Wring when I ring

Never leaving prints upon a prince

Heavy weighed as I wade with intense intents

Just queue my cue

I’m whole in the hole

I’ll soar out sore

As ink pours from pores

Each phrase inspires and imparts frays

Never lessen a lesson

15 INCHES 

I met the monster inside

He told me tell the rebel, “Hi”

Instead, I took it as “Goodbye”

I think he took me for the good guy

Gaddamn it, I’m the FUCKIN GOODGUY™

The shift is kinda nice, how I can lie to my mind

Fuck my image, I’ll scribble upon the limits

Outspoken within the timid

You bitches ain’t never hear this?

I hut hut all on ya scrimmage

I ain’t gotta know the meaning, I’ll be a menace

118 on the table, I’m a chemist

You realists feel this?

I’m playing Sega wit demons

I’m seeming to be one of the semen

That sets fires to ceilings

As I spoken word or rapping in my dreamings

As I’m bleeding with all my feelings

Finally, dying from lack of healing

Website Powered by WordPress.com.

Up ↑