Saturday, January 24, 2009

Inside The Rhythm By DubbleX


In the drum rhythm
I hear the echoes of ancient ancestors
Deep in the Congo
beats become airborne like musical pollen transmitting sound waves
tribal festive rhythms crescendos crashing beach waves
covered in funky syncopated shades
stretching along lines
back to the birth of sunshine
as dancers gyrate to salsa calypso faith
deep in the heart and heat of the steel beat
lies a reservoir of history and culture
the rhythm calling the dehydrated to hydrate from its aquatic pools
music gushes like water from a hydrant
flashing djembe taunt string hands
curved and chiseled from wooden limbs
giving life to the musical spin
all those in ear shot hear the roots of be bop, hip hop and rock
falling from tropical sun drenched landscapes
is where this earth rhythm originates
I wish to dig my soul to the depths of dense hollow beats
to flame flickering wind swept rhythms
That link Homo habilis to Homosapien to all mankind
music that moves the deaf to the blind
feel the vibration reverberate through tribal nations
call all to this powerful pop wow
where middle eastern indigenous rhythms meet African Cuban Indian in a drum circle at fevered pitch
spirit dancing unifying the masses in peace with this musical feast
Drums sounds rise like thick black smoke
giving all listeners hope music is my dope
These drums beat for passion
these drums beat for fire
these drums beat and reek with the essence of life
they express words yet to be formed
feelings of love loss and mourn
these drumming rhythms transcend all language and twists of tongue
I hear the beats rain down on me, penetrating my soul
let these beats be played
let them be played loud and furious
bust like caps to make hands clap
to make bodies move
let us be lost and found in its groove
funky ass beats linger like memories
I cling to the rhythm
cling to the rhythm
that catches me in its net of stretched animal skinned beats
pounded out as each drummer drums his drum as one
to the death
music is our life breath our two step
let music up hold my rep
as time is kept
the drum beat that moves feet
from the crypt walk to drum talk
hard calloused hands
ricochets rushing rhythms entangled in booming bass
a drum circle let the beat keep pace
rhythms etched and fill empty space
ecstasy shows on the face
as the sweetest rhythm painful memories get erased

Friday, January 23, 2009


I’m tired of all the shit I holler
Clocking in and clocking out
everybody checking to see what I'm about
I can't afford a money drought – my apartment - I’d be kicked out
these kids so out of control ~ I got to find a way to stay on the payroll
Gotta grab hold or I’ll land in the poverty hole
So it's another day another dollar another bus ride another crowded train ride another day I wish to die a painless suicide
we got these 9 to 5's to survive but they deprive and kill the creative forces inside
paying me to work for my time which is running low don't know the final total when it's my time to go- the work day goes slow - feel like I want to explode -
I don't fit the mold
got to work till I'm old they crush my soul with their control daily
I try not to fold
try to keep hold
Kids talk back I stand in the room and stare till the room turns black so slow to react students act up they won't stay shut in my mind
I wish to brandish a gun at these young kin. They get under my skin, begin talking with wide grins, they don’t want this education
Forced into the classroom unable to absorb this situation
I wish to work for another company or organization but a desk job is just as hard
With no real vacations forced to do till the day is through
Another day another dollar my pay check is not enough to cover my debts and bills financially climbing hills con-ed sprint rent child support still in court with my ex about money flow, she wants alimony not just child support, no way to abort, my money comes up short
Money comes and goes like the wind blows runs through my hands like fine sand Everyday I try not to get canned but I would not mind getting fired or early retired Everyday I’m so tired drinking two cups of coffee one Starbucks they both suck
Can hardly stay awake
Napping on my break not more of this I can take
See I got a disability so it makes shit harder for me
Some doctors want to give me lithium or lock me in an insane asylum, not sure about outcome, trying to control my dis-ease
I just continue to do what I can do daily my heart skips a work beat

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Another Day Another Dollar

I can’t take this shit
I holler feel like I got a fucking noose around my neck
working for this pay check the whole place I’d like to wreck
they treat me with mad disrespect
my lawyer tells me I can’t quit but I say it again
so tired of this shit the wake up at 5:30 AM
every day I do it again
more things to do then I can keep up with
gotta pay child support in a never ending divorce
going on 3 years now when will it end
working to get that money that moolah
that paper that cheddar whatever it takes
I work until my mind breaks till my feet ache
Everybody waiting for me to make a big mistake
I need a break for heaven sake
I need a break not much more of this shit can I take

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Free Style Spitting Rant

Addicted to rap like a stockbroker making bank
On the NASDAQ when I hear a fat track it’s like heroin
To a junky getting finished on smack shine
The spot light on the stuff I write
It’s as hot as a laser shocks like a taser rips
like a razor sees the flames rise cause this ones a blazer
hot like a microwave examined with x-rays
sit back and wonder while I amaze my tail
still unravels like rims over gravel
this case is not closed till the bank of the gravel
I blast off my rhymes from Cape Canaveral in the Space Shuttle
me and the microphone huddle
the other mics left without rebuttal
go home with their girls and just cuddle
because when I be kicking verses nothing is subtle
My ammunition is my vocabulary
By all means necessary
It’s a metaphoric snow flurry
If music were food this would be Nutriment
Even anorexics don’t regurgitate what I create
bulimic beats give rail girls weight
Too many kids on Ritalin
It’s belittling - turning pre-teens into pharmaceutical drug fiends
you got a hammer
I got a nuclear warhead
set that sucker off and we’ll all be dead
so go ahead and shoot
It’s self-destruction
black on black crime
a government production penitentiary and cemeteries
too many young brothers names filling up obituaries
you can hear me but you don’t understand me
It’s genocide a slow homicide this epidemic is systemic
While government controls our consciousness
Let’s condemn government
all our forefathers were killers and robbers
too bad the Indians couldn’t finish off the pilgrims
it’s our chagrin
I am not commercial I’m controversial

Friday, January 16, 2009


He beats his wife thinks he owns her life
She is bruised and battered like it does not matter
their marriage nearly shattered
her skin turns colors and shades of purple and blueish
her wish that he would not be so pissed she feels dissed
he spends his time chatting on facebook meeting women
taking a long look he goes on dates takes the bait
this she hates he wants to be a player playing the field
his mother tells him be for be for real
you should yield your wife can't deal
She clutches the baby and hopes maybe he won't go astray
she wants him to leave and at the same time stay
He kicks her out half dressed she can't take the stress
folks wonder why she settles for less
he is the first and only man to press her flesh
she knows no other
some think she should return to her mother
or find another lover as on her body bruises are discovered will she recover
They argue and fight deep into the night
Some wonder how long they will last
the question has to be asked because of their rocky past
She screams and cries and wonders why her guy has a wandering eye
there is no reply so she sighs and says she loves him and will stay with him until she dies
No baby should see his mama get beaten and mistreated and many times repeated
pretty soon the cops get called as she is once again slammed into the wall
locked out in the hall she cries and bawls can't take it all
But she tells everyone that she loves him
can love grow dim or thin with too many blows to the chin
only time will tell if it breaks the love spell

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Poverty From The Inside Out

Scrambling trying to get crumbs from bums
Hopping the turnstile with style
Begging for bread on 57th street in a snow storm
trying in vain to stay warm
been on the streets for too long things go wrong
Daily scramble and gamble trying to get by trying to stay high
jobs are lost money spent is too quickly can't pay the rent
Working two low paying jobs feet hurt from standing all day at work
Credit card debit mortgage a hill of unpaid bills sit still
Scrambling pan handling no savings money craving
selling your goods in the hood on the Internet
to see how much you can get getting desperate
the cash you want to fetch
trying to come up with a theme to redeem
your get rich schemes are suspect
living from pay check to pay check feeling like a reject
playing lotto a dollar and a dream learning life is mean
living off of baked chicken and burnt rice and beans
the new year brings more fears no cause to cheer
but thankful you’re still here still hating career
know the end is near no friends or peers
Saving your many pennies look upon the wealthy with envy
Decades upon decades of scrambling get worn thin
poverty erases grin digging in trash bin feeling like a has been
Unemployment welfare finding out your family does not care
it's all too much to bear feeling lonely caught in despair
Holes in your much used shoes getting tired of singing the blues just want to get drunk and hit the booze life is a mix of choices we choose
So much scrambling and rambling
Street hustles and sore muscles corner scuffles
Coming up short banks suing and taking me to court
Trying to scout a way out
Seems like there is no way staggering through another day
Collecting the minimum wage working way past the retirement age
Money running low not that far it goes tired of wearing the same worn out clothes need a new strategy sinking with the economy always one step from a tragedy

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

A Weed Man’s Common Street Scam

I bring my scale to the street
So I don’t get beat
By gram scam cheats
Give me my OZ weight
I know how to count to 28
Don’t double zip lock my bud
Because I don’t get a buzz off plastic
I bring my scale right out on Dyckman Street
And watch it balance its self like slowly shuffling meringue feet
I don’t play that unwrap that weed and lay it flat
I don’t want no 26 or 25!
If I am spending 400 I am paying for every gram to get high
Now look me in the eye
The scale don’t lie
I see what you’re trying to try
With other cats you may get by
But I am Chill Will and with me that shit don’t fly!
Free Web Site Counter
Arts Blogs - Blog Top Sites