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[13 May 2006|10:14am] |
words sparked from furious
rage merc off the curious
who want to peer upon the page of scripts of the insane
fabricated lyrics used by psuedo individuals have been named
target acquired open the bomb bay - spit flame
in the form of the flipped framed
verbalization
this flow is dropped without the fuel of legal tender
no cuss words used - so your demise is uncensored
untraceable faces of death - styles are Infinite
origins reach back to the Earth plus the core of it
energy drawn from the third rock's rotation
existence is finished when in grips of my quotations
im off my rocker like the Earth's twenty third degree
breach as glocs - with flows colder than the equinox
responsible for snow fall - blizzards and freeze outs
never catch another mans lyrics inside of these mouths
many different paths and trails used to deliver these
thought processes that infect worse than liver dees
ease spread like unprotected sex with plagued leperous
cats who speak with the lil cyclops stay lecherous
quick to skeet in your ears with the filth of the executive
branch of the labels that hold the conscious hostage
those who care about hip hop formed the key to pop this
lock its - skeleton - in others back to the bare bones
of the mentality used to torch blocks and flare homes
from the foundation - we revolt against oppression
of those that would muzzle our speech and cease lessons
back to the pirate radio captains sailing from basements
squeeze the mainstream till they run out of their facemen
and have to go scrambling to the bench for their replacements
all of our holy sacred grounds have been corrupted
Mays and Benzino screw up anything they touch with
shots outside of Hot 9-7 erupted
war in the sense of they're trying to contain it
but an animal bred in captivity is still a native
to the jungle once his tongue lays on the pavement
and the blood of hunt falls on the buds and he can taste it
there's too much money that's risk free to be made in
this culture that we reside in - without signin for them to take it
with the onslaught of the internet - fashion and send your own ringtones
why should you work to death - while another brings home
your very soul - along with the tags from the retails
if a man slings 50,000 - they say that he fails
at 5 bucks a piece - that's a quarter million gained
with a percentage put back in to get more of the same
plus you have the freedom to say what's on your brain
these are random thoughts from the fingers being drained
to the livejournal servers that are viewed in the iframe
Mental Infinite - emcee responsible for scripting this
stanza you read - two fingers - it means non war
@xxxxx]::::::::::::::::::::::::::>*
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| Unspecified |
[02 May 2006|01:15pm] |
Kids got big egos nowadays.
They think everything is directed their way.
They find a way to relate with the lies that their eyes' speak.
They're young minds with a ghostwriter to hide speech.
They tried me, but it's never affecting.
I understand their hidden agendas of aggression.
They claim to write poems. I write something better.
It's more than poetry whenever I write letters.
And poetry is much more than lyric and rhyme.
It's never literal. What exactly does their lyric define?
They try to put symbolism within every bar,
but when I do it, my whole verse is the metaphor.
It hurts 'em when they get it all embedded in memory,
and think that they're the subject of every little elegy.
It's sad if you believe that I'm referring to you.
Now, who's really arrogant with the words that they choose?
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| I Write For Me. Who Writes For You? |
[02 May 2006|12:21am] |
I won't be fakin a rap, or hatin at that. (ya dumb rhyme)
Who the hell wants to read 18 pages of rap? (in one time)
You're not worth four bars, you're only worth a word. (word)
The word I'm talking about and referring to is 'Herb.' (ya heard?)
Word up. You spent 3 hours trying to outdo me, (you didn't do it yet)
and I thank you for taking time dedicated to me. (you feel stupid yet?)
If you think you won, you won, but you ain't rip me. (ya missed)
Just remember the saying, "You are what you eat." (a bitch)
Stay smart with the beef. If you talk about me, (watch what you sayin')
you'll be what you already are. A mark on the streets. (i'm not playin')
Your chest, dead in the middle of crosshairs (my aim is true)
for running your mouth, dropping names in the wrong ears. (no more names from you)
I formed tears, opened and closed, they're permanent. (R.I.P.)
Whether through words or weapons, ain't no mercy when hurtin kids. (that's how I be)
Start learning this. You might've won what you thought was a game...
...but more damage was done with less words, less time, and no names.
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| In The Garage |
[01 May 2006|05:04pm] |
In the garage, lungs are inhaling and breathing,
light rays move through the cracks of venetians.
The smoke swirls in the sunlight flowing,
urging me to write another one for the moment.
A lonely soul, listening to the sermon
of the oxygen sparking the nicotine burning.
Tobacco brown turning red, lighting my eyes,
fading into gray ash of life writing the rhymes.
Typing to find the type of life I search for.
Displaying my ideas whenever the words form.
Never planned by the day if ever I'm creating it.
I try to keep everything random and spontaneous.
Smoke fading with the shadows of light,
burning stick after stick. Watching the breath of my life
fade away. I need to quit this really bad habit,
but Philip Morris got me addicted 'til the day that I pass it.
Damn Marlboro Lights!
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| Your Mommy! |
[01 May 2006|02:29pm] |
This is dedicated to your maternal parental unit.
She said X-Men were transvestites. She's that stupid.
She snapped her fingers in a game of Snaps.
Dropped a deuce at casinos. She thought she was playing Craps.
No office skills. She took history class to learn fax.
Sniffed my butt hairs 'cuz she thought that was sniffing crack.
Stuck on the computer, she kept pressing escape.
She bought a box of prunes and thought she had a date.
On a line, she looked at her watch. Thought she was checking her weight.
Sold congratulations and said she was selling the yay!
She tried to turn her TV on by stripping in front of it.
She made fun of puppies just to say son of a bitch.
She bought a baby bed to say she had her own crib.
She thought Fat Joe was singin about healthy ribs.
That's all that I can think of while I'm doing this shit
to talk about your mommy and how stupid she is.
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| Thinkin-N-Therapy (A Release of Thoughts) |
[30 Apr 2006|09:01pm] |
Fake writers wanna talk about skills and talk about kills.
I'm bringing truth to this. This shit is all about real.
They're spending three minutes to post a verse that they quote,
a verse they bought for federal reserve notes.
They might've changed a few lines or words here or there,
but when they read my reply, they say to me, "You're the man!"
I reply with the same response. "Right back atcha'."
I write back to ya'. Never write back atcha.
Wedges of wood think they're me, but they're not.
They're another fake looking for attention and props.
I don't write behind a name that isn't really my name.
I'm one man. Encoded thoughts are filled in my brain.
Decipher it. Recognize that I ain't retirin'.
The chinese explosion never leaves the environment.
It's always new shit and new thoughts'll come up
with every single dis or compliments with thumbs up.
Other young schmucks wanna try to write rhymes,
They pretend to be me. Maybe in another lifetime.
The life behind every lyric I brewed
was made for those who thirst for the knowledge I knew.
I'll drop a few rhymes. Maybe you'll read later.
And if I make it, maybe I'll be on your mp3 player.
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| The Autobiography of Rip Tell |
[29 Apr 2006|10:06pm] |
Whether you want to read my story or not, I present to you an autobiography of the beginning and present of Rip Tell. I wrote this a few months back, and there may be parts that may not make sense, but if you know me or you know the places I'm from, you'd recognize what I'm referring to. It's all facts. It's all truth. It's my life. And it's all I got.
( Read more...Collapse )
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| Watch What You Say... |
[29 Apr 2006|07:10pm] |
I'm not gonna hate on the product of rape.
I'd kill him, but then I wouldn't be stopping his fate.
If he keeps talking the way he does, I'll mop him away.
I carry pounds, he's only copping an eighth.
He's small-time. That fag is clocking away,
and I'm positive that he's a tested positive gay.
Let him rest. I take his night while I'm robbing his day.
I'd de-feet him once and watch him hobble away.
Scale him up. That bitch is not gonna weigh.
This shit ain't a game, but he's still trying to hate.
He heard my footsteps when I stomped on his grave.
When I pieced over his 3D blocking of Haze.
He's smoking rock every day. Someone should lock him away
just to make sure that he never got in my way.
He'll be rotting away, praying to God for a save,
but all he gets is another pop in the face.
I'll knock at his place, and I'm not gonna haste
to hurt him while he sleeps in the cot that he lays.
My long gown is his shroud while I chop him away.
Cookin him up for dinner. Loin chops on a plate.
He thought that he was slick, that he had gotten away,
but R. Tell returned with an impossible play.
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| The History of Rip Tell |
[27 Apr 2006|09:32pm] |
A brother of mine passed along a little code,
so I made my account to spread the knowledge I know.
I started dropping a flow, starting out anonymous.
People were astounded and heated by my hottest shit.
I dropped a six, dropped a ten, worked my way up
mostly because I had a lot of time to take up.
I made up stories and rhymes, dissing all of the lines
I happened to cross paths with at the time.
I was spitting from mind, but lacking the mic,
so I did my best to type what I neglected to write.
I got too lazy to pick up a pen.
Couldn't get hired, saying, "You look like you're ten."
So I made a collection and told a few friends
who told a few friends, one of whom would pretend
to be me. Probably because they had desire
to fill the shoes where my feet perspire.
I worked the wires, short circuiting fuses.
People read my rhymes and chose to steal my newest
bars, turning them in to songs for the public,
but I never got mad. I never held grudges.
I didn't do what the old me would've done
I should've. Instead, I continued with my little run.
Rambling on about my wants and needs,
and how when I got the green, I'd be clean-
flat broke, without a drag or smoke.
So I got myself sober. No more cash for dope.
I gave up on the weed game. Now, I speak sane.
My eyes see plain. No psychodelic green grains.
And now I'm back to do what I do.
I abandoned everybody. Even my crew.
I'm back to write this, while I search for my dream jobs.
Signed, yours truly, Rip Tell of Phreestyles.
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| I Am Rip Tell |
[27 Apr 2006|09:23pm] |
Something in the back of my head is telling me
that someone's on the street, claiming my identity.
They picked up chicks, telling people they were Rip Tell.
Making up lies how they're suddenly making big sales.
I am Rip Tell, and I know me real well.
A filipino man who's ringing real bells.
Wake up! Wake up! I'm five foot three
and I'm trying to be everything that I could be.
I could see that people have been deceived.
Some other toy biter got you to believe differently.
I'm the one and only. _____ equals r. Tell.
If you look at my hands, you can see the scars well.
Somebody told me that another claimed to be me.
You can hate on me, but I'm making it easy
because I'm making my dreams come alive.
Watch me arise past the skies killing lies that were told about me
Who wants to know about me? and the truths I hold?
Who wants to know about the lyrics I wish I sold?
Ask me what you want, and I'll let you know.
But for now, you can check out __________
That's me. One of my many alter-egos.
Just let me know what you think of my freeflow.
Signed, yours truly, minus the ink,
Rip Tell. It's phreestyles until the end.
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[16 Mar 2006|12:35pm] |
dunno why i wrote this, it's pretty unstructured.. anyway, ffeedback would be appreciated
a well-knit sweater of lies
we all be wearin it
perspiring truth
but look at these wet armpits man we starin at it
so here's a lil' something bout confessions
startin a fight on the vessel
but the battle goes on in deep waters so we ain't messin (with it)
i guess the question stands clear
though I'm wearin glasses
can't read between the lines
can't read what's standing in the brackets
hip-hop startegy exists, just don't revise the classics
cuz pac's dead, big's dead, after all there's only guessin (left)
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[29 Dec 2005|05:04am] |
i flip scripts on tips lyrical
data empirical
spiritual riddles keep .coms balanced and middled
pleas for acquittals niggas charged with droppin dribble
within dog fights we bark just to spite this arena of pitbulls
wait, stay out of the eyebeams
ruby quartzes warped the plans of villains with superfly schemes
not to mention he creeps marauder skills
slaughter bills he's slated on become the ex-factor like lauryn hill
not the dude you wanna battle
ride side saddle on cattle slingin herb wacko tobacco
captured lady luck but don't know where to put her
stay with abstracts like phife dig the five footer
leave the jury in an uproar
start a show and cut it off abrupt they screamin cuz they want more
laughin, he seeks to titillate
shiftin weight from upstanding citizen to enemy of the state
radom tangents knock you off positions
the opposition's sub par?
that's unfortunate like lemony snickets
crickets blast symphonies when you rap dog
emit smog from blowhard blowholes you just a gimped blob
gelatinous shape changing when the fads move
have you regretin you did it like a bad tattoo
plus this flow's just a waste of time and talent
eject off to the atmosphere when i'm tryin to find a balance
nobody posts here. this is me bored, drunk, and fresh off of DangerDoom.
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[02 Dec 2005|08:50am] |
Nevermore, death galore, test my sword and you test a god
Rep this hard, dread no heart, stepped this far to test your boss
My sonata blast this propa, cast this opera to tha wrath of my luck
Gun shot louder, rap out of tasks crowder, Niggaz never wanna sign up/
To my slow jam, Twista get blown to tha next generation of idiots
Hypocrites get ripped with ballistic shit, this lyrisist
Get dirty like rolling in your own feces, with these beats
I eat emcees like a feast with theives, beleive this be/
Tha meanest nigga who bless tha warriors' anthem
Get you hands up, damn, I'm done....
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[23 Nov 2005|08:55am] |
I'm hungry to kill, I'm tha beast from tha east
Mediocre rhymes, that's you got against me
Paterson, New Jersey. Bitch! I play no games
I take shots daily like it came with frames/
I aim at brains, pull tha trigga and wait
5 minutes later, I'll be tha one to escape
Thru tha gate, this is fate, I ain't gettin caught
In my life time, I've seen more Bloods than sports/
I'm above tha game, Cyrez bitch, I don't need tha fame
All I need is a song. That shit'll last me days
Keep me sane, "Music calms the savage beast"
Take away my shit, and you better be ready to beef/
I'm ahead of tha streets, niggaz already gettin at me
Them niggaz soft like Downy right out tha factory
I'm tha loner type, but still I got my allies
My niggaz run up you like Germans did rabbais/
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| 8-bar cypher if anyone's interested |
[16 Nov 2005|12:19pm] |
Now I ain't takin it over, take it easy, take it slower,
Take my time to consider that I'm never gettin sober
Cuz I'm growin hard and older, skin is getting tough like cobra
I'm way past grown motherfuckers sitting watching daily Oprah
So there rhymes are rollin over, beats is bangin like porno
Flicks I shoot em in my freestyles and the range is way past borders
Never been so damn sure of gettin money years further
Jukeboxes playin my music in the middle of nowhere
just doin' it cuz I really got nothing else to do
kick off a cypher if anyone's interested
x-posted in  hiphopverses
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| veteran at best |
[11 Nov 2005|08:10pm] |
they stole the scripts where my spit emerged,
changed my ideas to belittle my words
little by little, and i let it occur.
they got dues that they don't even deserve.
stole from a genius of words. lyrically mathematical.
adding their input to my formulas grammatical.
changed the radical into a checkmark to wreck art,
to disrespect art. they needed me to get the head start.
i jumped it off, i got it going, poppin in the spot.
they still neglect to give me all the proper props.
their topic globbed with my mental imagery.
thinking it's hot because they simply mirror me.
where would i be if i got my cut or portion?
in an ambulance or on islands resortin'
to writing for the pure satisfaction to serve
all suckaz without appreciation of words.
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| some weird ass storytellin |
[21 Sep 2005|10:28am] |
fact is, shes attractive and im attracted
my tactics to get them phat hips on my phat dick
its magic, shes got the package with them sad lips
her sadness has vanished im there we gon manage
and i manage and try, but your standards arent met
another arguement, dunno where my heart went
how i sent all them shells all though your apartment
a part ends in my life as i gain a few scars
now the rest of my life is seen through new bars
i forget i knew laws, i just know that im the new star
i drew paused as truth starts to prevail through all
i see past all of the lies, swing my arm and i rise
this is bomber than all that have bombed upon i
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[20 Sep 2005|11:09pm] |
here to guestspeak, wheres the technique
you got less heat than a bed sheet
better invest in a chestpiece
for i leave you here like neck deep
coulda kept peace but by next week
ima own you like a chess piece
your reps weak, so dont test me
unless g, you want stretched, see?
the best cee of the west c
snipe more than just wesley
alright. maybe some of you know me. maybe you dont. itll be alright. i feel out of it. and im gonna stay out of it if thats the only type shit i can come up with. but for now well call it a warm up.
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| 'til time escapes... |
[20 Aug 2005|04:16pm] |
rappers on cannabis. filled with avarice.
makin maad money but the skills is average.
top grade meals. they don't know what famine is.
they only care about their face flashin on cameras.
people survivin off of pbj sandwiches.
while fake souls wanna be a rockstar amethyst.
they drop the challenges. walk on the easy road.
some starvin for pussy cuz they're hoggin the sleazy hoes.
poppin thugs just to be coppin the greazy gold.
breathin the freezy smoke to get that cold weedy flow.
rap about ice and how they hold the gats.
shiiit. i got enough heat to melt your polar caps.
i know they stole the raps outta the pages of my book of notes.
they took my quotes and tried to label me as OG Loc.
they worship holy goats with an evil love,
when they should've honored me like beezlebub.
dreams of drugs, greed, speed and bumps
got them feenin for the schemes of bleedin bloods.
you ain't believin' cuz i creep behind the gates
awaitin your arrival...
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