"P" Rap (1994)

“P” Rap

Hi Ho Hi Ho. It’s off the dope I grow

If you’ve never planted seed then ya just don’t know

First you sow, but ya just don’t throw

Not the surface of the ground but just below

Next important item—the H20

It’s gotta be pure as the melted snow

So to the mountains I go

Tell me more, brother, rap on

Well there’s ever so much more to be covered, son

Because of sentencing guidelines

Dontcha buy no gun

If they don’t stick ya in the ground

Then they’ll put you away

In some lightless tomb

Ya might as well be dead

So don’t forget what I said

No gun, no run, you see them pigs are fat

But rather than that

They’d just shoot you in the back

And that’s a fact

Now back to the story of the little bad seed

Grown up real sturdy

Well foliated weed

With just the warmth of the sun

And some dirt’s all you need

Make small patches so they won’t be (seed)

By the ‘lectronic eye, only feared by the greedy

Cuz more than 10#’s in 3 months is overdoin’ it

But if ya got it covered, brother, see to it. I’m in to it.

One whole page (1994 rap attempt)

One whole page                                                          NOT WORTH IT

Dedicated to rage

And the occasional taste of pain

When I injure my brain in an insane way

I think it’s safe to say, I have

A knack for the inane and I inundate

Everything that I say with hate, tied up with

A piece of tape, I meditate, skip the parade

Stay home and gape at the waste paper

Basket and ask it, do you have a clue? How are you?

And where do I find a new suit? It’s my

Duty in life to remain fulfilled, with every

Little vibe that I feel I make it real

Can’t say I haven’t mastered the profession

Of letting my hair down, I’m downtown

Cause that’s where all the mighty fine hos be around—EE YEAH

Big bad scary God (1994)

He’s a big bad scary God and He’s watching you

Waiting to thump you right over the

Head and

Send you to hell the minute you masturbate

Yeah

He’s a big bad scary God so you better be smart

Don’t read nasty magazines

And don’t eat beans

And fart in church

On Sunday mornin’ smellin’ fine

He’s a big bad scary God and He’ll kick your ass

So don’t you light up

That marijuana cigarette

Shut up, wear ties and keep your

Goddam liberal druggie talk

To yourself

He’s a big bad scary god and he hates queers

Almost as much as

Democrats and immigrants

And the poor (lazy)

Welfare bastards

Sittin’ at home tradin’ food stamps

Drinkin’ beer and fuckin’ and

Makin’ more poor little bastards

For us honest, hard working taxpayers

Like you and me to

Feed

He’s a big bad scary God and he hates niggers

Or colored or black or whatever

Those jigaboo fried chicken gold chain wearin’

Caddilac drivin’ crack smokin’ polyester

Neon bell bottom pimp suit wearin…

Death March (April 1994)

4-94

I’ve been bad, I’ve been good

Faced the things I thought I could

Said my prayers, sang my song

Watched the days grow sad and long

Now I got no one, now I got no one

I seek for things without going to far

I lust for a life not bitter or hard

God picked me up and we rode in his car

Then he kicked my out of the passenger door

Now I’m walking, now I’m walking—on

Life’s a death march

The tired and slow

Are obliterated beneath

The wheels of the strong—

Take me somewhere I can belong

In the shade of a tree

By the banks of the river, yeah

With a fishin’ pole in the sand

And a sizeable joint in my hand