Cell Phone Rap Records I

I didn't feel like writing the rhymes in my head onto paper, so I just used my cell phone and
saved text messages as drafts. There were 7 drafts, each encapsulating my surroundings and thoughts
at that moment. All the drafts I wrote today (Wednesday, November 17, 2010) added up to at least 42
pages of text messages. These drafts will hopefully be adapted into polished songs.

Draft One: “I Never Made Dinner For The President”:

I never made dinner for the President,

Mini hibachi on the balcony of my tenement.
I never made dinner for the President,
Cordon Bleu, out-of-court settlement.

I never made dinner for the President,

They managed to make an insult outta “eloquent.”
I never made dinner for the President,
I'm gonna be the next Oval Office resident.

Hash browns for drownin' Clowns,

I stomp on shaky ground, makin' the seismics worse,
Reverse the locks on the back door of a hearse,
On the freeway, making headway,

Overnight drive to Cali and come home the next day.

In this state, what other MCs are ya seeing?
I ace mad tests while they failin' at peeing.
Draft Two: “Red Eyed”:

Red Eyed, like last night, I nearly died.

Lies, just seven hours sleep and then the sun rise.
Why it gotta hate? Why ain't it real?
Waking up is easier with introduction of pill.
I barely feel, after all these halcyon days,
Tablespoon of salt to induce dietary ways.
Jim Henson maze, idolatry over Bowie,
Instead, daydreaming bout push ups and still remain doughy.
At least til next season, Lord, can I get a reason?

Why you made most of us in the image of a peasant,

And convinced the teens of the nation to emulate a pheasant?
Pickin' thru their plummage, preening for the next right mate,
But, they don't get they married too soon
Til they got Tarzan on their dinner plates.

Collectable Collectables, with standardized weight,

All your favorite characters, collect all eight!
McDonald's is up in the Smithsonian? I'm bemoaning 'em.
Stoning 'em, Puyallup Fair scone-ing 'em. Probably boning 'em.
Sharking a loan on 'em, telephoning 'em... Demanding justification,
The truth you'll never hear on a right wing radio station.

I'm gonna be patient, though nothing's coming my way,

As long as my mind's vacant, I'll have a pleasant stay.
Draft Three: “Humanity is a Bitch”:

Humanity is a Bitch, do we even need a sequel?

When Jesus Christ returns to Earth, he's gonna be cappin' people!
The Son of God rolling down Rodeo, spraying lead.
We already had our second chance, now he wants us dead!
The bodies pile high, cause, you know he got that God Mode...
Flip on Infinite Ammo, lock and unload.

Across the centuries, I've been making enemies.

How dare you be condemning me,
just a consequent of your anonymity.
Faceless fucker, why don't ya go read a book?
Otherwise, every five minutes give your Facebook a look.

Shit's always changing on my front page, and,

The whole World Wide Web is a stage, and
I'm just disgusted, by the whole damn routine,
The Net forces dependency on nearly every teen.

So, if Jesus were to Columbine, we'd all see the signs,

Like an accident in slow motion, we would all stand there in shock.
Being mowed down by our Savior as he cast the first rock.
Stomping His sandals through the Land of Pleasant Living,
All knowing, seldom forgiving.

I'm not even claiming to be a God-fearing man,

I slap the shit out his other cheek with an open hand.
You gotta understand, I still got morality.
You crusade through the Middle East and forget about the fatalities.
That sounds callous? Gee.
Stop watching TV and rejoin Reality.
Draft Four: “Politics”:

Politics is fucked, Obama's down on his luck.

Republicans robbin' the nation blind, haulin' loots,
Their idea of a party: old motherfuckers in suits.
They pollute, by virtue of their voice.
The magic behind politics is the illusion of choice.
Cause both parties are about the same.
The corporations run this nation,
If you're looking for Hope and Change, America,

Don't change the station. Just be patient.

Or just riot, so I'm not the only one who diss them.
What we got in America, they used to call the Feudal System.
And now, we got the Penal System,
Drug Addicts are animals, not victims.
So, pack 'em up, stack 'em up, put 'em in bunks.
Make 'em live the lives of monks,

Excepting the celibacy, all up in the shower.

State-sponsored sodomy, fuck the power!
Prison is like College for Crooks, just improves their skills.
Unlike College though, we pay the bills.
And we give truffle and steak for murderer's last meals.
Draft Five: “Caught in the Grip of the City (Madness)”:

I'm caught in the grip of the City, Madness.

These crying overcast skies indicate sadness,
Suicide city, Emerald City,
Somewhere over the rainbow, but it ain't, though.
When the rain stops, we're surrounded,
I'm astounded, profounded,
Nature cause the cult to be confounded.

Only soul sans umbrella, yelling hella.

Call the weather ugly, I say it's Bella.
Draft Six: “The County of King”:

In the state of WA, in the county of King,

We collect only the finest, champion rings.
We never earn them, won't return them,
Might get riled up and burn them.
We're in the business of breaking molds,
We don't accept no counterfeit, suffer no shit,

There's no one like me, you can't duplicate this!

Clones gon' be born without equipment to procreate this.
I eliminate all that seems dated, prorated,
Minimum monthly payments, mandatory minimum sentences,
Another form of life behind chain link fences.

I sober up shitfaced MCs, tasteless MCs, basehead MCs.

It's amazing to me to see such wasted MCs, one-hit quit MCs,
Blabbing bullshit MCs, such as the least of these,
Global controls, must be imposed,
Stop these MCs from defrosting their cool pose.

It's cool, no, really, it's cool.

I'm not complaining, your ignorance is just entertaining.
Your vehicle's hydroplaning, you lived here all your life,
And you can't drive when it's raining?
So, now your stupidity is making me late,
Freeway backed up for miles cause of your dominant trait.

I already had enough on my plate, now you're fucking up my schedule.

Tardy, McCarthy, but Four point Oh in Old Skool.
My luminosity outshines Betelgeuse.
I'm the Rock n Roll Dr. Seuss.
MCs momma noting an excuse,
I cast bolts like Zeus.

I was here at the beginning, and I'll be here at the end,

But I wasn't really at either, I'm just following a trend.
Time and space bend, so this shit's actually a grande circle.
Any point on the perimeter is origin and exit,
I've moved on from writing out rhymes, now I just text it.
Draft Seven: “Let It Linger”:

Quite precocious kids droppin' astronomic bids,

Rackin' up on Plinko? I don't think so,
Just merely here to appear as if they did, yo.
Middle finger, only actors go on Jerry Springer,
If you think this shit is fixed, you GOTTA LET IT LINGER.