Archive for the ‘Horrible Hip Hop’ Category

As of Right Now – an ode for the 99% and #ows

Occupy Wall Street Chihuahua 2011 Shankbone 3

Image by david_shankbone via Flickr

As of right now: we know who’s guilty and we’ll give them time to make it right.
As of right now: those mental midgets might just pull it off in time.
As of right now: there are solutions that could save our country’s struggling life.
As of right now: we wait and beat our drums and rhyme.

But if you wait too long this boiling kettle’s gonna scream.
The many marching feet will shake you to the ground.
We’ve cowered far too long beneath your kicking, stomping feet.
It’s time we seized the wheel and turned this car around.

As of right now: we’ve been complacent and we’ve followed all the programming.
As of right now: we went to school and sunk ourselves so deep in debt.
As of right now: we work long hours, get no raise, never complaining.
As of right now: we trusted that our time would come, we’d give then get.

We play the game but you’ve paid off all of the referees.
The rules have changed, you left us here with no defense.
We’ve got one play left — no one gets out, everybody bleeds.
You play for keeps, but we will not be empty-handed in the end.

As of right now: the clock is ticking. We’re assembling in your city streets.
As of right now: the one percent should prob’ly not invest in hats.
As of right now: you took our money, now we’re coming to your house to eat.
As of right now: we’ll all be grabbing souvenirs on the way out.

I'll believe corporations are people when Texas executes one.

I'll believe corporations are people when Texas executes one.


WRITING: Shoot the Neighbors

When I went to NerdRage in Philly last month to see my long time friends in Scrub Club, I had the pleasure of talking to King Pheenix for a long time about many things. Among them he hinted that he and Madhatter would be working on an album of political rap in the near future.

King Pheenix from Scrub Club Records

King Pheenix from Scrub Club Records. Image borrowed from

I’ve been a bigger fan of political rappers (Public Enemy, KRS-1, etc) for a LONG time, so I was tickled to hear this was coming down the pike. Unfortunately for you, it also has me thinking in rhymes now, which means there will probably be bad political poetry appearing here more frequently. Who knows, maybe KP or Hatter will find something among these they can use or that inspires them to something better.

Anyway, here’s your torture for today…

Let’s go shoot the neighbors / they knocked down our tree / we could just call the cops / but what fun would that be?
Let’s go shoot the neighbors / they’re way out of line / I loaned them my chainsaw / to get Jim’s tree, not mine.
Let’s go shoot the neighbors / and if their neighbors cry foul / we’ll be lobbing grenades / over there in an hour.
Let’s go shoot the neighbors / until they see things our way / or just kill them all / they’re not like us anyway.

Shoot the neighbors! Raise your guns to the sky!
Shoot the neighbors! Hold ’em up real high!
Shoot the neighbors! Don’t warn ’em, just aim!
(and) Shoot the neighbors! ‘Cause peace is so lame!

Let’s go shoot the neighbors / you gettin’ lippy now Bob? / You know you have to drive by here / to commute to your job.
Let’s go shoot the neighbors / Chuck, I need to use your yard / to get over to Steve who / thinks he’s all big and hard.
Let’s go shoot the neighbors / I’ll shut down this whole street / until every last one of you / swears allegiance to me.
Let’s go shoot the neighbors / and whoever makes it through / can come to my yard / for beer and barbeque!

WRITING: Gangsta Geriatric

Golf carts

Image via Wikipedia

 Without wasting too much time explaining something so silly, a friend and I were joking about the elderly in FL and I got this image in my head of an elderly version of the Beastie Boys rollin’ in a pimped out golf cart. What followed are lyrics to a hip hop tune worthy of The Lonely Island that should probably never get produced beyond this page.

Gangsta Geriatric

We rolled up to the buffet it was about four-thirty
My girl took out her teeth because she wanna get dirty

I told my bitty ‘no, this ain’t no time to start.”
‘Cause there ain’t no doors on my pimpin’ golf cart

I get my ass out the ride and I unfold Chuck’s walker
Larry need to take his pill and he’ll need a sip of water

So we swagger up the walk all sportin’ wicked gangsta lean
Cause you know we got bad hips and Larry’s breathing machine

Mah girlie hit the door first and she’s panting so hard
‘Cause it’s at least twelve steps to the door from the car.

Some youngin’ open the do’ wide ‘cause she showin’ some respect
And she know she gotta work to get a tip with my check.

The hostess looks my way and she smiles real wide
She ask me “Do you want your usual booth sweetie-pie?”

I give the girl the nod and tell my peeps to go ahead
But I make a right turn and hit the bathroom instead

I had take care of business ‘cause my trousers be saggin
Depends can only hold so much after a night of bottle-baggin’

To you it all seems so amazing but to me it’s automatic
Another day in the life of this gangsta geriatric

—======== Verse 2 ========—

Last night my bruthas and me all got a bit crazy
I know we did a bit of drinkin’ but the details is hazy

We sipped on forties of prune juice hangin’ in the park
We messed around so late that it almost got dark

Didn’t want to be out hootin’ when the kids came out to play
No whipper-snapper’s gonna ruin such a pimptastic day.

We stumbled back to the cart and swerved back to ‘the home’
I found my girl knittin an afghan, took her back to my room.

Where we sat and watched Trebek while the juice swam in my head
Then the nurse came and helped us both jump into bed.

My girlie started moanin’ right when the nurse turned out the light
And I knew that we’d be getting’ no sleep in this night.

So I pressed the call button and the nurse came back
And I said ‘Bitch help out my girl’, she got a pain in her back!”

You know that girl got busy ‘cause she don’ wanna make me mad
And ‘cause she think I look just a little bit like her dad

And ‘cause I let her go out and sell my ‘scriptions on the street
She makes herself a nice buck and cuts the rest all back to me

The cops all know she work for me so they don’t give her no static
Them pigs don’t wanna mess with THIS gangsta geriatric.

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