MY BAD ASS RAPS

A few months ago, I auditioned for a reality TV show about white rappers.  I got a call back, but I decided not to do it. In my original audition, I modified a somewhat humorous song that I wrote for Stickerbook into a rap.  That rap was about the power of cats. 

I wrote this rap as a back-up. 


I'm blanched in confusion over counterfeit remorse,

But I gotta keep a-swinging from the neck of this high horse.

I've let my body drop deep down in so many stories

And all of them are equal if sequentially we're scoring.

 

I'm a reporter, a martyr, an open-heart specialist.

I'm a goddess, a question, an opinion, gold medalist.

From where, from how, in what machine did you fly in?

If I told you a straight answer then you'd know that I'd be lying.

 

Cause I'm a clean slate when it comes to my roots

I'd give anything to know that "I showed up in boots"

Or in slippers or in flippers or in any shoes at all,

But these feet have been floating round since I was bitty small.

 

And they say that hope floats -

I ask, "In what type of water?"

I've swum lakes and tributaries

Not exactly in that order.

 

But this is viscosity - more like jelly, hope's suspended

Or it's stuck in an iceberg paleolithicly unattended.

And I want to thaw it out, and I want to dig in, grab it

But I'm forced to observe a familiar tired hope exhibit.

 

WORD

 



You know what?  I like it.  It's a start.  It's kinda like all the poetry that I wrote in high school.   If I hadn't torn it all to shreds, I could have used it as a starting point, learned from my mistakes, and kept moving forward towards better writing. 

I'd like to be able to write songs. So, piecing together the shreds of journal paper I found in my pink plastic trash can, here is where I begin.  In front of you, the ENTIRE world.

 

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The comments expressed are the authors and do not represent the views of United Space Alliance or the National Aeronautics and Space Administration