Tag Archives: Rap

Canadian Rap

What’s up dawg?

We about to get real!

In my crib we consider

How other folks feel,

Like when a brother asks

“Yo, where da bathroom be?”

You say “The end of the hall,”

And hope they have a good pee.

If your mixtape is flames

But it’s disturbin’ the neighbors

You realize that lack of sleep

Impacts professional labors,

So you crank it from eleven

Back to a suitable volum’

So when yo neighbors see the cops

They ain’t intendin’ to call ’em.

We don’t judge a playa’s major,

Whether fine arts or stem.

We be diggin’ respect

For he/him/she/her/they/them.

We know if a brotha’s vegan

Or wants his food gluten free,

And if you bringin’ people drinks

Why not some decaf tea?

If you come an’ have a holla

In the ‘burbs with me,

I be more apt to thank you kindly

If you RSVP.

You may think we freakin’ tame

Because our hide’s pretty white,

But a party ain’t be rockin’

If da guests ain’t polite!

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When The Subtitles Don’t Match The Singer

Sometimes I wonder

If deaf people have to censor rap videos

Because someone accidentally curses in sign language.

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Songs of the American South

Black Lyrics

Sometimes I ponder

That yonder fonder rapper,

That slapper of the fapper

Who use the public crapper

Just writes, night after nights,

Under fluorescent lights

Whatever rhymes, even if that means

He writes more wrongs than rights

‘Cause the whites, they delight

In da light skin they got,

They ain’t thought how we fought

‘Cause our families were caught

And sold in days of old for a handful of gold.

Dig it?

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White Lyrics

Hey baby, I’m thinkin’

That since we’ve been drinkin’

And we got us a truck

Let’s roll up a joint

And drive to make-out point

And shoot us a deer or a duck!

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Filed under Lyrics, Poems

Why I Don’t Rap

My glass chicken

Laid a Faberge egg.

Last night you laid your hand.

My cow produces

Golden milk.

My bull excretes your band.

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A Review of “Moby Dick,” by T Pain

Let me tell you a story

All about how

My boat got capsized

Upside down.

Was this big f’n whale

Cooked up in a meth lab.

He’s white as a cracker

Like my brotha’, Ahab.

Now my bro chased the whale

Through like 800 pages

Cross a buttload o’ seas

And all through the ages.

So if you’re a reader

You know shit just got real

When you turn to page one:

“Call me Ishmael.”

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Steal From The Naughty, Give To His Homies

If Santa were a rapper,

He’d also be a pirate.

Here’s the evidence for how I know:

Rappers greet each other

By saying “yo” most often,

So rapper/pirate Santa’d say “yo ho ho!”

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Filed under Poems