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...
Originally Posted by Prophet Picasso
Good writing man
I can't even critique this cause every lines onpoint.
My evidence, my own testament, written on wood
Twelve tribes layin at the head of corners in hoods
Hell razah
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 real
I can't even critique this cause every lines onpoint.
The dealer of hope is selling me lies
Reasons to live are reasons to die, in disguise
This life was never mine, the rivers never ran
Cross your arms, its too late for helping hands
Spit your pity elsewhere, there's no sympathy needed
For one who's never alive, for one who's never completed (Bigot Hitman)
http://www.wutang-corp.com/forum/sho...=25482&page=61
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)
The dealer of hope is selling me lies
Reasons to live are reasons to die, in disguise
This life was never mine, the rivers never ran
Cross your arms, its too late for helping hands
Spit your pity elsewhere, there's no sympathy needed
For one who's never alive, for one who's never completed (Bigot Hitman)
http://www.wutang-corp.com/forum/sho...=25482&page=61
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 sonPresto! 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...
weep for lost babylon,
the bleeding god, the forgotten sheep slaughtered in a forest of evil fog
bordered by a sea of faults,
fleeing mobs turn to see the holocaust and become kings and queens of salt
screaming shots, police and chalk,
wingless fallen demons walking among us as people...
-.5Kut
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH dope shit
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