damn mad ex's haha dope
1
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damn mad ex's haha dope
1
much better than that last bit you wrote...
I have resurrected....
Presto! The Prophet will now return to breathe on ya mental/
to free priests in the central levels of these thieves in the temple/
demons and devils, several heathens that creep in the ghettos/
regions unsettled, they mettle wit children who sleep in the meadows/
sink teeth into metal, I bit bullets while preachers grip pulpits/
grit molars as false prophets indulge fullest in religious bullshit/
made love to the black Madonna, went from queen to baby mama/
crazy drama, immaculately conceived a king in sacred armor/
slumbered in vacant parlors, fled across Gaza wit my Father/
came farther into Egypt to see queens on seaships in the harbor/
bloodline descended from the Anakim, defended by the Africans/
later on I pretended I was Saxon so they’d let me in the Vatican/
but I never forgot my Father, upon the altar, I reign in Masada/
rain on my face, my raiment was soakin as I came out the water/
a white dove descended from up above, I caught it wit my glove/
a thunderous voice proclaimed, “This is my son, in whom I love”/
the Baptizer was bewildered, the cornerstone rejected by the builder/
became the necessary piece to keep the temple from the realtors/
who’ll sell they soul to keep they body, shoddy priests and lyricists/
near abysmal crypts in the deepest crevices of the Mayan pyramids/
Zion appearances in the form of prophetic lions attackin tyrannists/
cryin for divine revelation, but devastation dominates these periods/
revealin the mysterious, my fearlessness is unveiled over music/
swimmin out the dreariness, my tears get smeared onto my tunic...
Quote:
Originally Posted by Prophet Picasso
:thumbup::thumbup: Good writing man
I can't even critique this cause every lines onpoint.
drugs delve deadbeat daddies down demented devilish dimensions
^^ thats a line.
some of your stuff is predictable picasso but unique non the less...keep up the good work
A quick eight...
I lace my sandals tight, saddle my camel, prepared to dismantle a Saxon Knight/
my dagger knife’s inside my Samsonite, burn a sacrifice wit Nazarites as my acolytes/
offend Catholic whites wit my poetically painted pictures, quotes from ancient figures/
their popes cloaked in vagrant vigor, my poems poke holes in their favorite scriptures/
their souls sold to satan’s mistress, pagan rituals, praisin victuals, moons and Jupiter/
delusional Medusas, since befo Methuselah was compliant to the science of Lucifer/
trials and crucibles, smilin at funerals, nervous shakin, can’t reverse the curse of Canaan/
while I disperse these sacred verses slated by the church of David—peroration...
Onto yo spirit I engrave rhymes deeper than the graves of slaves/
words that adversely affect yo days and change the ways you behave/
it’s nourishment for the depraved, encouragement for the brave/
it’ll shave the face of the sea and make the moon obey the waves/
I prayed for days for enlightenment, craved a cliche entitlement/
to spray flames wit the pilot lit in this great plagued environment/
that produces Zeuses who sip juices to get loose wit Medusas/
while green spruces and grey gooses culminate to break truces/
I pray to Jesús whenever my pen calls for my attention again/
when the beat spins it’s like the ink is an extension of my skin/
an invention of my kin passed down to this chosen generation/
I’m froze in veneration of the statements in these cold revelations/
the gross denigration of nations, the consecration of conscience/
constant conflicts common to concentration camps in Auschwitz/
a sky-rocket launches, an army marches to overthrow congress/
Pontius washes his palms of all thoughts that are monstrous/
now the prophecy’s upon us, so the Prophet seems so honest/
he probly sees the farthest regardless of the blasphemy charges/
but at heart he’s an artist, the hardest to impart darts on paper/
and he’s too smart to taper off into something soft or safer/
he paid the cost to the Savior, so he’s been graced wit favor/
the maker of the street eucharist, so come taste the wafer/
savor the flavor of my flesh as you rest against my shrine/
dine on the fine flood from the vine cuz my blood is the wine...
This is the Last Supper, the Lamb has to suffer/
the last chance to sup wit the One in the upper/
room enough for brothers, sisters and mothers/
this is the truth for you, don’t listen to others...
is this what you really feel inside? 4 sum reason i doubt it..., and then other depressin thought is tell'in me your bein realQuote:
Originally Posted by J.T.S.
If i had the motivation to google some of yo phrases and do reasearch on'em, i might say yo shit was legit. SInce i'm not, i'ma say the shit was written with pretty nice schemes like some Mos Def shit, plus it sound like u got sumthin to say, i just dont care what it is ya know? (don't catch a fit, jus give'in my view)Quote:
Originally Posted by Prophet Picasso
yo PP-
you are by far the illest writer up in this wutangcorp site-
high respect bro-
OTB
Fo real, this stuff is insane, i'd love to hear you flow it.
Peace.
Nothing supreme, but something new...
Upstream like trout, while these clowns doubt my route/
they pout about the clout, adverbs and nouns that I sprout/
I’m drownin in rivers of wisdom–during the drought/
blurrin’ em out, I still stand stout while they scurry about/
spit facts so I attract the attention of e’ery curious scout/
I went toe to toe wit God–and it was a serious bout/
my theories I shout from mounts cuz I’m severely devout/
merely surmount accounts of delirium, clearin em out/
hearin em spout venom, I prevent em from treadin water/
bread and water’s all I got, so I gotta prop against the altar/
confess the falter of my culture, as the psalter is read/
I’ve offered my bed to many misled women after I wed/
wit legs spread, Delilah becomes so desirable to the iris/
become excited, cum inside it, now I’m liable for the virus/
and seeds sown outta wedlock, divorce courts in deadlock/
child support headlock cuz I can’t resist hips and dreadlocks/
I hope my next stop’s the rest stop, I can hear death’s knock/
my breath’s blocked, when I inhale I can feel my chest pop/
caress glocks as I quest blocks, asphyxiate on weed smoke/
hoes who deepthroat, I need hope, I can feel the heat close...
yo you was on some predator shit wit that line reminds me of the scene from predator 2 where dany glover's charecter face them in their ship with all the skulls on the wall n shit and where they take their masks off n shit nice work sonQuote:
Presto! The Prophet will now return to breathe on ya mental/
to free priests in the central levels of these thieves in the temple/
nice vocab and the imagery is intense with the scriptural references...
i got a house full of bootlegs, but I'd be tepmted to buy this album...
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH dope shit