image borrow from bing
Banging With The Bitches
“Decisions are like making a choice between which
bridge to cross & which bridge to burn.”--Frank Matobo.
Sometimes it be like stranded with a flat
tire in the ditch,
clenching your fist,
realizing that your fortune
and your luck ain’t squat,
while those fat cats chase pussy on their big yacht,
while too many homies
be barking bullets with SWAT;
like cooking up bullshit road kill in a wok,
those hollow points
scream out wop-wop-wop,
no fucking drummer &
no fucking urban rock--
cuz my hood is considered a bloody blot,
where no fucking
lawns are fed with Scott
where innocent brothers be wearing
a cop-garotte, where any dog
with sass can get shot, god damn riot police be
rushing in like a blue juggernaut.
Ain’t much of a life, I know,
as rich assholes
be driving a Renault,
us bangers just rats in the garbage below
their money, guns, & lawyers--
too many funerals, too many crying mothers;
little bangers trying to be so Mod,
roll of cash in their jeans a sweet wad,
makes them forget
they be downtrod;
The fucking Man always be on top,
with us carrying all the weight of the heap,
only loyal to our best
peeps, sheeeit, we
always have to be
ready to rock,
always be willing to treat or trick,
cuz way too many beautiful faces
be dead,
before they ever see twenty,
and hell, you might say that’s morbid,
but I say
we just being more than ready
to be that bright flash of black light,
that fucking fireworks in the bare-ass night,
that ever present newspaper crime statistic,
while just being absolutely realistic,
fuck yeah, much cooler to burn out hot
and not just fade out forgot,
just another sad Ho
with 3 crack kids we never see,
riddled with disease,
haunted by smart phone Vids
of children killed in their own yard
who never fucking heard of the Bard,
who will never dance no gavotte,
whose baby blood just marks the spot
where another life was wasted
before pleasure & parenthood could be tasted.
Why can’t all you all privileged mutha-fuckers
just
dig the truth--we will quit fighting
& dying when we find a decent job,
& move the fuck out of the project shitholes
you gave us,
that could make us stop robbing
cuz we finally got what we really needed--
some solid respect for our sweet souls.
Glenn Buttkus
Posted over at dVerse Poets MTB
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21 comments:
whew... very cool beat and slant rhymes in this glenn...and very cool social commentary as well... i like the quote to start this with as well.. not always easy to make those decisions but def. we have to make them to move on
haha nice dialect throuhout....you take on the persona as well...you give us some nice commentary to think about as well...on the street you only as good as the one next to you, even then watch your back...too many beautiful faces be dead 4 sure
you really got in the heads of these guys... and I thought you were a gentleman... LOL great point-of-view
Damned fine work there, Glenn. You got right inside their heads, I think!
I always thought if I could get my mind right, I could write strong rap verse; and 7 "fucks" later, something akin to street poetics has emerged; as Bjorn said," It was fun."
harsh piece. I think you captured, though, what it must feel like to be stuck in the projects with no hope of ever getting out. Great bit of social commentary.
Great rhythm throughout.
You did get that gangsta voice throughout - but hey why cite that mothafucka white guy Young ?
Great use of street language, Glenn - at least as I imagine it. Your poem made me think of the series The Wire. It is not always easy to cross the bridgeswhen everyone around you burn them.
There is something to be said for street language. I am not in fan of foul talk, but there is a time and place. You found the time...and the place. And, surely, respect is wanted / needed for all.
hahahaha!!! I love this piece by yours. Gangstas be trippin' like whaaa and they be smokin' like wha up.
I love this poem of yours sir. :)
Wonderful combinations of slant rhyme and true rhyme and great rhythms and energy-- more than a gavotte here! Thanks for participating with so much energy and angst. K.
man -you are ready for the stage with this one! Road show!
Hmmm....lots of images the privileged would want to sweep under the rugs, and as all say, you've mastered the rap poem with slant poetry! You have it down. I couldn't help thinking about other times in history , around the world, but that would take a book - you know, the dust bowl, French and other revolutions, our Civil War..and the list goes on. A lot of good people have burnout for trying so hard to change the equation, too, but many carry on.
You really got into that mindset and speaking style very well! The bad boy image suits you, sir!
A good gangsta rap, picked up off streets that always sour and darken south of privilege -- The driven rhyme (as often direct as slant) keeps it in the hood, to both good and not-so-good effect (bling is costly but gaudy). I buy it and I don't, perhaps the same way I heed hip hop. Still, the danger and ripeness of this is fraught with wildfire smoke.
Wow! You win! If I didn't know otherwise, I'd never have believed this wasn't the work of a practised rapper - and your rhymes are enviable (as rap rhymes usually are).
dark & grim reality needs this fiery language...a great combo..:)
Wow! Go Glenn, you really nailed the dark grittiness of this. Damn well done!
Yo bro, you bang'd dat one outta da park man!
(you totally and utterly rock my friend!)
as you said...
solid...
~
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