Mysterious

Mysterious
Abel Tasman, New Zealand

March 18, 2011

The Rap King

It aint a crime to rhyme. 
Hard beats every time. 
Thunderbolts pounding on your tympani, 
musical rhythmicity. 
Heavy and loud. 
Proud. 
100 tons. 
Rapping as the number 1. 
Having fun. 
Won't stop until I'm done. 
And then I'll crush it good. 
Heavy as Iron wood. 
Strictly understood in the lyrical neighborhood. 
That's when I attack it drastically. 
Fanatically fantastically. This hip hop will never end, my friend, my posse. 
Rebel enemy. 
I'm the baddest. 
The raddest with out a single curse word. 
When I speak I'm always, all ways, heard. I'm a ghetto warrior at war. 
Ruff rugged and raw. 
Rap Rock. 
Tick tock captain Spock. 
You get the picture. 
Verbal photograph. 
Pink spotted giraffe. 
Whatever your fashion I'll dress you right 
with music that bites. 
All day and at night. 
Beats real tight. 
Don't pout. 
I'm out. 
Peace

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