The Red Carpet

(Crocker Verse)

/ Kid said foreign countries don't fear us enough/ I shook my head like "is that really what's up?"/ Do you know our history, what we've done from the jump?/ Example slave trade or giving natives the gun/ Along with blankets fulla small pox, whiskey, & rum/ In exchange for their trust, just to pump bullets in them/ Go to any reservation that's left in the country/ And ask if they fear what we'll do for some money?/ Dig Jesus up and ask if Romans rattled his people/ If they were treated like cattle, marked, belittled, and beaten/ How the Goy's did his brother when he spouted his teachings/ Took a rock to his skull and then relentlessly beat it/ Find footage of Saddam when he was facing the noose/But a shell of what he was, like a manic recluse/ Peep Gandhi facing Britain and the courage displayed/ While most would've cowered, he put his chips on his faith/ A preacher named Brown, Harper Ferry's VA/ With his sons & freed slaves, he rang a shot in their face/ They killed his kids, and for his sins, the gallows await/ He said we're all God's children, neck snapped in the wake/ Modern day, Iraq, 2 million and counting/ No weapons founded, just contracts and accounting/ We're the children of the Greeks, the Romans, & Britain/ So say again, how foreign countries think that we're slipping?/ Foreign or domestic, there's been palpable tension/ Said foreign or domestic, been palpable tension/

(Krosswordze Verse)

/The land of the fee, the home of the slave/  Indentured servitude, no gratitude, hence the attitude that they hate/ "Who are they?"/ The Mitt Romney's and the 53 percent/ Who openly admit they want to keep it this way/ And can't relate to n****r's, s**c's, and gay's, but will debate for a way/ To put more of these n*****s away/ The amber waves of grain stock piled/ But families can't put food on their plates/So what part of this America's so great?/ That you have to lift your face pledge allegiance to a place/ In which you have no stake, and they really don't want you to stay/ "It's not that way" Then ask the native tribes who've barely even survived/ Since the Europeans arrived and the land swiped from their eyes/ Millions have died, all because of lies/ From 1830 to 1838, they forced every native and some Africans out of the eastern states/ "But Ole Hickory's so great.." at least that's what history say/ Then again, I guess that's why his face is on currency plates/

The Devil Is Dope

/Sicker than 3 kids, 2 cups, 1 priest/ At Penn State dressing small boys up like Chun Li/ The devil is dope and I’m slicker than linoleum/ As I stand atop my podium, mouth secreting opium/ Got the nod from Misses Reagan, errbody yellow cakin’/ Dare you try stop, that’s quite an undertaking/ Come now before accident happens, this actually rapping/ I kick dope bars, I actually trapping/ Tie off 'till your vein burst, and feel your vein squirt/ Then that rush hit the brain then you're hittin' paydirt/ Smash! Sick as midgets fisting chickens/ Then bathing in it's blood, voodoo, singing hymnals Christian/ Fuck bars, I write bricks, pure Bolivian finest/ Pounding on my chest like a simian primate/ White devil, white devil, best watch what you come with/ The white devil is dope but that's fucking redundant/

Holler if you need it, warp needles to pieces/ Pure as the steeple that’s atop a cathedral/ O.D. ‘till you're feeble,  their portions are meager/ I got enough stashed you’ll be geekin’ till Easter/ Lucifer askin’ God to pull tight on the tourniquet/ A cavalcade of dopamine, ask,and I’ll furnish it/ Test not, know better, no cuts in the formula/ Or bleed out, see now, I had reason for warning ya/ You’se lightweight, I know better, stick to your flex bars/ See the real, read the real,  bitch it’s carved in my flesh scars/ You’se a chump to a freak, just a bump to a Ki/ You’se alotta things kid, but not fucking with me/ BeetleJuice, BeetleJuice, say my name of wax/ I rap, there’s tracks laced atop my tracks/ You’re dope like that muffin, not enough that it matters/ I’m so fucking dope, that real dope should be flattered/

Week 33 A Little More Down Time

The fuck do you want from me?, if I got, I got it honestly/ Like they didn't write the song for me, see me an anomaly/ Friends say that I'ma make it, I'ma put us on the map/ Like the cities gonna love me, gonna put me on it's back/ Like I put it on my chest, black ink, see me rep/ Instead see the stress accumulate with every breath/ Everyone that's backed me, encouraged me a club hit/ I just shook my head, said I'll never do the dumb shit/ People say I think I"m better, where's my competition/ Someone  as consistent, pens intense and pensive lyrics/ Gives of you his spirit, expends his sins and makes you feel it/ Like I never woulda guessed it'd get redundant as the realest/ I'm sick and tired of crowing, when ain't a motherfucker listening/ And if I ever got the crown, I'd probably go and take a shit in it/ Same thing I had wanted, is now what I take to task for/ Carolina's greatest burning loosies on your back porch/