The Form

Chorus:

I'm listening to rap cd's in the middle of the storm

Where the weak ones die and the strong ones mourn

And the fire in which you burn keeps me warm

The final breath of death is the art and the form is the rap

Cd's in the middle of the storm

So far from the place I was born

But I've seen it in a porn

The Producer said he had once burned

And he learned how to fill out the form

In the middle of the storm

with the wind blowin hard and fast,

and the hurricane spin throwin shards of glass

alleycats dump litters

and guard trash

feminine skin scraped and shredded

women and men raped and beheaded

and taped as they utter their last breath blood-plastered lips mutter

"...fuck that other bastard..."

kiss their mother

and praise god with the pastor

Race to the death.

Who's faster?

the news casters crews cruised past so they could video tape

the Rapedandbruisedbastard.

Spliced/him/into/segments/used/after/adver.

Tisements and regular (fake)-confused-laughter

I heard of this disaster. But I don't know about it.

But every rapper's got a flow about it.

Chorus

the producer passed,

heard the blood bleeding,

turned

the last words so hot he had a cd

burned

with a song about the mom,

and a song about the pastor

and fifteen songs sayin "FUCK THAT OTHER BASTARD!!"

remixed and mastered, humanity clipped

tracks blunted so everybody wanted a hit

takin shit from the hood makin it taste good

when it played at the club the whole place stood on their tip-toes

wild like flip mode,

calypso snippet so tight they rip clothes at the

hip

hop

hard so the cd skips

on an isolated quote from the dead man's bleeding lips

"...BITCHNIGGAFAG-BITCHNIGGAFAG..."

(onomatopoeia of bloody fists in a bag of dollars)

rich kids hadn't cared now holler "PRODUCER"

poduced a gold six figure tag on his collar

Chorus

he made ten million dollars out of one soul

won't stop

can't stop

spinnin outa control

learnin how to win a gold

and how to flow slow

and in every single video rollin in dough

getting baked with the honeys try to use'm up,

divin into money like Scrooge Mc Duck

frantically movin up,

suckin vodka from bootstraps

standin on the back of a bull in a space suit

trapped killer whales out in the pool

sippin monkey brain out of the skull

with cinnamin sticks

teletubby suit with the head back,

grinnin and shit

yellow belly monitor

tracks blazin sinnen in six

figures relaxin days in linen laced limos

bigger addin switches swimmin in liquer, puff

ciggerette drags and disses callin everybody

"Blacks", and "Gays", and "Women"

this is rags to riches

bread crumbs to cream

from wanted ads to ads for burrito supremes

stocks, bonds, and charity teams

millionaire cleans doubt out by sharin the green but

he's openly declarin his schemes -tough, arrogant, mean

time to time tries to teach what Farrakhan means

I was starin at the baren scene there in the screen

and he yelled out "I AM THE AMERICAN DREAM"

Chorus