Freestyle. Strut your stuff.

Reply Fri 2 Dec, 2011 05:01 pm
Startin' a freestyle page, since Neverending Rap Battle has turned into a freestyle page now anyway.
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Type: Discussion • Score: 9 • Views: 14,969 • Replies: 36
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Reply Sat 3 Dec, 2011 08:15 pm
hey listen here bambino,
my **** i spit is the best did ya know?,
that if ya mess with me my slow flow will hit you low and **** your misses, man what a crack hoe,
you think your famous? maybe on the corner were u buy your dope,
ill have you left just like your rhymes coz ur rhymes are broke.,
and again, mess with me my daggers gonna collide with ya throat,
and 99 percent of the time condoms work see,
your just a fluke and lucky to be here with your family,
even though im your dad, wait thats too far, enough said.
Reply Sat 3 Dec, 2011 10:12 pm
0 Replies
Reply Mon 5 Dec, 2011 08:09 pm
Ha, ha, ha, ha ayo
Spin that **** and let's go
Ah, ah

Ayo, you see my hands tanglin' on this peice of paper
Hard week of labor
Still ain't got no money to put on the table
Workin' this dead end job and not goin' any where
Sit stare at this fuckin' press all day till I cash a check
Cash a check? ****, it ain't even close to bein' Friday yet
Migraines startin' to kick in, head aches are for pussies, trick
Which would explain why my motherfuckin' cats sick
I flip a trick on a dime, should be a quarter but I penny won't buy you a nickle
Cause I ain't ever turnin' this game down bitch mainly cause there ain't no down switch
Down syndrome, yeah gimme' em
I could everyone in this game a disease they can think of bitch
And all you little fake G's still wouldn't be sick
Reply Sat 14 Jan, 2012 03:11 am
I wrote the following today, Bambino. It's prose and poetry. If you don't think it fits the idiom of this thread just delete it.-Ron in Tasmania

Great Russian poets are, in some ways, like martyrs of the church in that vast land. They have thrived on persecution, on attacks, on being silenced. Such treatment has given a type of holy status to their work. Anna Akhmatova (1889-1966), certainly one of the most famous of 20th century Russian poets, was very conscious of this status. In 1962, four years before she died at the age of 76, Robert Frost, the American national poet, visited the Soviet Union and paid a call on her at the dacha, or country house, lent to her for the occasion at the writers' colony near Leningrad. The two distinguished old poets sat side by side in wicker chairs and talked quietly. For more on Frost’s trip to Russia go to this link:


I knew nothing of these poets and little of Russia at the time back in 1962. I was immersed in my small town life in Ontario’s Golden Horseshoe at the age of 18: finishing my high school studies, working out the relationship to my libido and girls as well as to the new religion I had joined three years before, a religion which had been in Canada for some 60 years;1 finishing my short and adolescent baseball and hockey careers, having fun in various forms: swimming in the lakes, eating sundaes and milk-shakes with my friends at the local Dairy-Queen, going to the movies at the Roxy theatre in that small town of 5000, playing touch-football in a local park; attending to my part-time jobs and ensconced in a small nuclear-family of three where I have been raised for 18 years between the banks of Lake Ontario and the Niagara escarpment. Famous poets were in another universe to mine.

''And I kept thinking,'' Akhmatova wrote after her meeting with Robert Frost, ''here are you, my dear, a national poet. Every year your books are published. They praise you in all the newspapers and journals; they teach you in the schools; even the President receives you as an honoured guest. All they've done here is slander me! I've had everything: poverty, prison lines, fear, poems remembered only by heart, and burnt poems. And humiliation and grief. You don't know anything about this and you wouldn't be able to understand it if I told you. But now let's sit together, two old people, in wicker chairs. A single end awaits us. And perhaps the real difference is not actually so great?''2-Ron Price’s references include: 1the Baha’i Faith had been in Canada for 64 years in 1962; and 2John Bailey,” The Sheer Necessity for Poetry,” in The New York Times on the Web, 13 May 1990.3

3 John Bayley was in 1990 the Thomas Warton Professor of English at the University of Oxford. His books include ''Tolstoy and the Novel.'' The piece I have quoted is from his review of THE COMPLETE POEMS OF ANNA AKHMATOVA, Vols 1 and 2, Zephyr Press, Somerville, Mass., 1990, edited by Roberta Reeder and translated by Judith Hemschemeyer.

We were all from different universes:
me, Frost and Akhmatova back then.
But, perhaps as Anna said, “the real
differences were actually not great!!”

I wrote my first poem back then and
it was somewhere out on the edge &
periphery of my life—while society
lived on the edge of extinction that
October as the Cuban missile crisis
nearly engulfed us all so silently….
as I watched TV in the smalltown
smugness of childhood surrounded
by salvation’s complacent trinity of
Catholic, Protestant and Jew, while
Akhmatova had been engulfed most
of her life. Her grave is at a Cemetery
near St. Petersburg if you are ever in
Russia as a tourist for a holiday-visit.

Ron Price
14 January 2012
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Reply Thu 19 Jan, 2012 12:37 pm
yo im competing in cyphers and taking home the victory
shits got me bored, like a high school assemblly
**** cops, tupac got hit in the chest with five shots
got a lighter and my pipe, all im missing is my eyedrops
ill be rapping till the sky drops, making them classics
no offense but your whole crew, consists of faggets
wearing skinny jeans, tight shirts, and bright colorful jackets
i already beat you, yupp im talking about past tense
im a rapper eater, leave you puking with a high fever
im the reason they call a tank top, a wife beater
i have enough rhymes, homie i dont need more
and you dudes are getting fingered, ima call you a keyboard
Reply Sun 5 Feb, 2012 06:14 am
Strutting one's stuff, as this thread enjoins, brings out both the worst and the best in writing. I used to say to my grade 4 class "just fill up the page with your writing; I don't care what you write." And they did. Some of this material at this thread reminds me of this grade 4 output and many pieces I received in my 32 years as a teacher. In writing, as in everything else, one only pleases some of the people some of the time.-Ron
Reply Thu 9 Feb, 2012 05:29 pm
nigga i been seen ur name a lot, its kinda gettin on my nerve its needs to stop
spit propa words on what u drop, **** aint hot, ill make it for u if u want?
a gun u can never shoot, **** a shot, u still got the same bullets i gave u, what?
the same ones u got?, u'll get jacked up in da hood, ""like yo give me ur top""
now u shooked up running for cops, now act like u tha top notch?
too much action bout u shot rocks, holdin glocks, bet u never ever been on tha block/

nigga how can u claim we all fake g's that wanna be sick, bitch
pussy u lick, garbage u spit, leave u starvin, creamin for dick
dont let me have ta pull tha switch, my clips hit on this trick
burry u down six, wen i flip i'll leave ur body underground ditched
killed, underground, so i dial up the reaper to see what he think?
shanks i sticked, cut ur hands and things, on ur dead body i ****
lookin all grim, ur momma shooked up like ""yo is that him""
after u, your boy's my next victim, after i kill him
im officially known as the towns villin, amounts of killins i did
god forbid, my lifes ruined with the amounts of sins i did
but **** it i'll still live, still be able to **** ur bitch
givin births at yo crib, then much on kids at abortion clinics
cannablistic, attack vicous like the breeds of what pits did
sickenin? best get used to it, imma beast that'll bruise u to bits

0 Replies
Reply Thu 9 Feb, 2012 05:39 pm
"rap", its the expectorant of life un lived
and in absence of feeling and anything that
the experiences life can provide .
Our wave lengths wont ever cross
we'll not ever come across
a rapper whose life's worth a looksee, except to him
and a very small cadre of homies.
Reply Thu 9 Feb, 2012 05:57 pm
Lol. Funny?
0 Replies
Reply Fri 10 Feb, 2012 09:40 am
Man let me show all yall how to rap you guys are beginners!! Im a M.C.

your metaphores are like pores
i fill in with puss
and just like my dick, it took you a couple hours to bust
a rhyme thats so weak
and if your fly then im the Mount. Everest peak
to me your rap is so little
and thats why they understand you like riddles
you rhyme with small words
****, your like the bug that i kicked to the curb
i took you out the trash and put you in the toilet
and i hope you know i flush what i ****
i was on a hunt and you the first thing that i killed
let me introduce myself i am a rapper that is Real
Reply Fri 10 Feb, 2012 02:32 pm
Mc? Smh
Reply Fri 10 Feb, 2012 03:37 pm
what does Smh mean?

MC means Master of Ceromonies (The guy with the microphone)
Masters of Ceremonies.
A person who acts as host at a formal event, making the welcoming speech and introducing other speakers.
A performer who conducts a program of varied entertainment by introducing other performers to the audience.
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Reply Fri 10 Feb, 2012 04:03 pm
0 Replies
Reply Fri 10 Feb, 2012 04:21 pm

"This guy ain't no mothafuckin' MC" -BRabbit
Reply Mon 13 Feb, 2012 11:51 am
yo, let's do this ****

you know i'm always first, never last
i'm livin life how i like my cars, fast
and when you see me up on this stage
you start spittin' **** bars in a blind rage
but when will you see?
you're never ever gonna be close to me
you're at the bottom, i'm top with a T
you're a housefly i'm buzzin like a bee,
Reply Mon 13 Feb, 2012 05:20 pm
last, fast
stage, rage
see, me
T, bee

yo, try different rhyme schemes
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Reply Tue 14 Feb, 2012 09:21 am
U stupid or something ill murder yo weak ass try me
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Reply Tue 14 Feb, 2012 09:52 am
alright listen
imma throw some mouth wash in your eyes and make your tears glisten
you say your first and youll be the first to die
i wanted a reply not some bullshit ass lies
to me your like a molecule
and of course if theres a heaven then bitch imma bring the hell
theres no point in trying to resist
cause im the genie so ill grant your fucken deathwish
i have to school your ass so class is in session
i had to shut you up some how call me a supression
this was your D.O.A. someone bring up the bible (DOA means dead on arrival)
im not a nurse but someone should check his vitals
0 Replies
Reply Wed 15 Feb, 2012 12:20 pm
this is a full blown attack on your asses
spreading aids to the massive
i can see through you see through hatters
like yall make outta glass
you thomson square ass rappers
need to stfu
i didn't even have to spell it out
yall get the message i'm sending out
i don't rap battle, i rap up the battle with one rap
one of my lines can redefined the meaning of a simile
no like or as, no rapper as similar to I, i fly around you garbage rappers
....i take a nap in the middle of my rap to let yah caught up
i'll leave you looking like a bun cover in kitchup,
now you hot dog, dog how can a dude this hot
be so raw, king of New york, Dj unflawed
all i do is LIN, LIN, LIN, let floyd to **** off

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