ali.guitarkid7

There are some rap artists with lyrics that just blow me away, take The Flobots for example:

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Ask.fm: The Swag Years

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corza334

You're walking through the forest where they feed the trees broken glass.
John Lennon and the Rolling Stones crooning in plastic bags.

Spit shine your black luck now, baby.

You turn on the radio, the speakers spit tangled talk.
Everything is war and who's ****ed their way to the top.

But they'll eat black clouds we all eat black clouds.

You're working on a cruise now serving caviar to the cruel.
Oh, They repossessed your heart; you're making payments on your face, too.

Spit shine your black clouds now, baby.

And what if your religion turns out to be a cruel
joke, and you're ****ed beyond all hope?

Gonna spit shine your black clouds now, baby.

First you stayed in bed all day and walked around all night.
Then you threw your phone away and slept beneath the freeway underpass.
Your mother slit her throat after your father's heart attack.
And you've got two little sisters still in school.

What'cha gonna do?
What'cha gonna do?

Just sit and watch the ships loading their freight and pale pelicans feeding their young and grasp at the barbarically charming sun.
Out on the weekend talked your way out of a first date.
Said your uncle was famous, by then it was too late.

Spit shine your black luck now, baby.

Fall asleep to the tv--the cops are talking tough to the cameras in the backseat, to the audience at home.

But they'll eat black clouds we all eat black clouds.

Once you knew a girl with skin like a sapphire sun.
Took you back to her apartment, told you everything you did wrong.

Spit shine your black luck.
Spit shine your black luck.

Spit shine your black luck.
Spit shine your black luck.

Spit shine your black luck.
Spit shine your black luck.

The sky's so desolate like flesh on a skull-shaped balloon.
You sit in bed writing love letters to yourself.

No black ink on the black paper, baby.

Stare at the ceiling, fall into dreamless sleep.
Day climbs your chimney, taps you on the shoulder blade, "Spit shine your black clouds now, baby."

All your best friends grew up to be successful actresses.
All your bitter enemies died of liver failure in Kent, Washington trailers.
All your brothers made babies until their brains turned brown.
The world's lounging longways on an unbridled black cloud.

The world's lounging longways on an unbridled black cloud.

The world's lounging longways on an unbridled black cloud.

- Spit shine your black clouds - The Blood Brothers.

Love the imagery portrayed in Blood Brothers work...

Cobrevolution

i mean, nas and em are in my eyes untouchable. and then there's joe budden (JERS REPRESENT WOOWOO), who has always been incredible for me. blu, too.

to take a statement that flea made and twist it, he said, something along the lines of, "i don't think you can be a good rock musician unless you recognize and get in touch with punk rock because it was such a revolutionary genre and was so important."
i'd say, i don't think, as a writer of say poetry, that you can really excel unless you've listened to some hip hop and rap artists, because the rhymes and wordplay and emphases are such integral components. i wasn't really able to rhyme multiples until i started paying attention to em, and then a whole new world opened up to me.

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AngryGoldfish

I'm a bit late, but this is very true. I feel like I've learned a lot from listening to rappers like both Slug from Atmosphere, who is more raw and self-deprecating, and Common who is more sweet and tender.

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Brigadier of the 7-String Legion ▪ 2nd Best Mod ▪ Wtlt ▪ Best Large Board 2012
Gas ▪ Rig ▪ Words

Mr.Pink101

Don't know if anyone here could help, but it's worth a shot.

I'm looking for the author of this :

"In the end
You were my favorite color
Nestled along my iris in between the early morning sky
In April and the flesh of a slightly overripe grapefruit
I mixed you into my sweat and
Presented myself for critique to the northern wind
Hoping to have become a masterpiece
By virtue of loving you

And in the end
You were squinting at me like people stare at the Mona Lisa
Searching to the brilliance"

I cant find it anywhere on the net, nobody i've asked has any idea yet either. Help?

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Music is an art form that celebrates potential. So long as you're looking for it, you'll always find it.

Fredmac12

The Raconteurs - Carolina Drama

I'm not sure if there's a point to this story
But I'm going to tell it again
So many other people try to tell the tale
Not one of them knows the end

It was a junk-house in South Carolina
Held a boy the age of ten
Along with his older brother Billy
And a mother and her boyfriend
Who was a triple loser with some blue tattoos
That were given to him when he was young
And a drunk temper that was easy to lose
And thank god he didn't own a gun

Well, Billy woke up in the back of his truck
Took a minute to open his eyes
He took a peep into the back of the house
And found himself a big surprise
He didn't see his brother but there was his mother
With her red-headed head in her hands
While the boyfriend had his gloves wrapped around an old priest
Trying to choke the man

Ah Ah Ahhh...

Billy looked up from the window to the truck
Threw up, and had to struggle to stand
He saw that red-necked bastard with a hammer
Turn the priest into a shell of a man
The priest was putting up the fight of his life
But he was old and he was bound to lose
The boyfriend hit as hard as he could
And knocked the priest right down to his shoes

Well, now Billy knew but never actually met
The preacher lying there in the room
He heard himself say, "That must be my daddy"
Then he knew what he was gonna do
Billy got up enough courage, took it up
And grabbed the first blunt thing he could find
It was a cold, glass bottle of milk
That got delivered every morning at nine

Ah Ah Ahhh...

Billy broke in and saw the blood on the floor, and
He turned around and put the lock on the door
He looked dead into the boyfriend's eye
His mother was a ghost, too upset to cry, then
He took a step toward the man on the ground
From his mouth trickled out a little audible sound
He heard the boyfriend shout, "Get out!"
And Billy said, "Not till I know what this is all about"
"Well, this preacher here was attacking your mama"
But Billy knew just who was starting the drama
So Billy took dead aim at his face
And smashed the bottle on the man who left his dad in disgrace, and
The white milk dripped down with the blood, and the
Boyfriend fell down dead for good
Right next to the preacher who was gasping for air
And Billy shouted, "Daddy, why'd you have to come back here?"
His mama reached behind the sugar and honey, and
Pulled out an envelope filled with money
"Your daddy gave us this," she collapsed in tears
"He's been paying all the bills for years"
"Mama, let's put this body underneath the trees
and put Daddy in the truck and head to Tennessee"
Just then, his little brother came in
Holding the milk man's hat and a bottle of gin singing,

La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la, la la la...
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la, la la la...
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah

Well now you heard another side to the story
But you wanna know how it ends?
If you must know, the truth about the tale
Go and ask the milkman

designerpajamas

Sara Bareilles. You can't sing with the passion she does unless you've really poured your soul into your lyrics....

Between the Lines

Time to tell me the truth
To burden your mouth for what you say
No pieces of paper in the way
Cause I can't continue pretending to choose
These opposite sides on which we fall
The loving you laters if at all
No right minds could wrong be this many times

My memory is cruel
I'm queen of attention to details
Defending intentions if he fails
Until now, he told me her name
It sounded familiar in a way
I could have sworn I'd heard him say it ten thousand times
If only I had been listening...

Leave unsaid unspoken
Eyes wide shut unopened
You and me
Always between the lines
Between the lines

I thought I, thought I was ready to bleed
That we'd move from the shadows on the wall
And stand in the center of it all
Too late, two choices to stay or to leave
Mine was so easy to uncover
He'd already left with the other
So I learned to listen through silence

Leave unsaid unspoken
Eyes wide shut unopened
You and me
You and me always be

I tell myself all the words he surely meant to say
I'll talk until the conversation doesn't stay on
Wait for me I'm almost ready
When he meant let go

Leave unsaid unspoken
Eyes wide shut unopened
You and me
Always be
You and me
Always between the lines

mojomike

It's by a girl named Anna Peters
http://topographe.tumblr.com/post/2...131/art-history

...keep working on them Googling skills

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Home is where my guitar is.

Lyrics:
Letter to Laura
Untitled
Only Uphill From Here

my attempt at free-verse:
So There It Is

Arthur Curry

In 1791, riled by a recent review that criticised a supposed abundance of "obscure language" and "imperfect grammar" in his poetry, celebrated Scottish poet Robert Burns channelled his anger and wrote the following magnificent letter to the critic responsible.

Ellisland, 1791.

Dear Sir:

Thou eunuch of language; thou Englishman, who never was south the Tweed; thou servile echo of fashionable barbarisms; thou quack, vending the nostrums of empirical elocution; thou marriage-maker between vowels and consonants, on the Gretna-green of caprice; thou cobler, botching the flimsy socks of bombast oratory; thou blacksmith, hammering the rivets of absurdity; thou butcher, embruing thy hands in the bowels of orthography; thou arch-heretic in pronunciation; thou pitch-pipe of affected emphasis; thou carpenter, mortising the awkward joints of jarring sentences; thou squeaking dissonance of cadence; thou pimp of gender; thou Lyon Herald to silly etymology; thou antipode of grammar; thou executioner of construction; thou brood of the speech-distracting builders of the Tower of Babel; thou lingual confusion worse confounded; thou scape-gallows from the land of syntax; thou scavenger of mood and tense; thou murderous accoucheur of infant learning; thou ignis fatuus, misleading the steps of benighted ignorance; thou pickle-herring in the puppet-show of nonsense; thou faithful recorder of barbarous idiom; thou persecutor of syllabication; thou baleful meteor, foretelling and facilitating the rapid approach of Nox and Erebus.

R.B.


http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/0...f-language.html

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there are more ways of experiencing the heavens and the earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy

#1 synth

experiment over?

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