Okay, Lyrcal Assassins, it’s time for you to kill this first cipher. You gots the theme and just like we always do; add on to it and murder it.
Glad to see you here and thanks for your support
Editor In Chief
I want to welcome you aboard, Allen. I love this write, it is filled with flavor and seasoned with so much truth.
February 4, 2012 at 9:01 pm
Thank you David for having me. I am honored to be a part of your group. I love scribing and I love folks wordplay!
February 4, 2012 at 11:00 pm
WOW! Allen, this paints a picture of the realities of life in the Hood. Brilliant Job.
February 5, 2012 at 1:14 am
In Da Ghetto
By Dirty Cash
In the ghetto, you live fast and die slow
With more 23’s on the block then Michael
Where pistols and rifles are not made by Tyco
And people lived trifle, despicable and despiteful
This is the ghetto, the heart, the urban jungle
Where dreams crumble and stacks come in bundles
The wrong look or stumble can start a rumble
And innocent children tumble, so stay humble
Never mumble, here it’s the survival of the fitted
You can get knocked out no matter how you spit it
The only way out is to be locked up or get committed
And you can lose your life in just a single minute
Where mommas pray and hater prey
And a blessing and the curse is you live another day
Where young catz always have a gun tucked away
And they ready to bust back despite what momma say
Where baby girls are taught to shake they ass fast
By mothers who are drugged up, trying to make that fast cash
Bullets ricochet, and death ALWAYS gets the last laugh
And you can get taken even if you’re ready to smash back
Where the wrong colors can get you laid out or killed
If you keeps it fly, you’re gripping wood grain with a grill
Where people come up missing and blood gets spilled
See this is the ghetto, either heat it up or sit back and chill
February 4, 2012 at 11:02 pm
David that was fire my brother! Love your wordplay! Respect!
February 5, 2012 at 12:13 am
Dope stuff here David, could see it as if it were a movie. Well done!
February 5, 2012 at 1:16 am
Wow, this piece was amazing, love the flow and the ending was excellent
February 5, 2012 at 3:10 am
Thank for coming through and for the support.
February 5, 2012 at 4:23 am
YEAH THATS RIGHT…..KILLA CASH!!!
February 5, 2012 at 6:54 am
in a better world than this
(for Jourdan Anderson, the enslaved of Captain P.H. Anderson)
all the voices I hear in my head
lifted like a primary source
its more than just a generation
it is more than a found letter
it comes back to find me hidden
in this cold brick of northern
sentimentality where brothers
and sisters and people of color
around the world are still being
oppressed still being possessed
by a hierarchy and often there
is no where to run so this month
I will not celebrate black history
I will not set aside this short month
this crowded church I will not attend
a prayer breakfast or vigil
until young black men are stop
and frisk labeled ad risk mis-educated
marginalized no I will not celebrate
and I will not hesitate
all the names we venerate
there are young men on these
streets running for their lives
they hide in the backs of their mother’s
hip they are given pink slips
they are a scope and sequence
they are ropes and lynching
it is a fact there names on rolodex
and in a better world to come
in one not judge by the tongue
of Martin Luther King but it
is the little things that tighten
the rein of power it is still omni-
present tell Rev Richard Allen
we want to come to the altar
the place of sacrifice the place
we fought for tell them I am
still living in a underground
railroad its bought its stole
its mimicry its fraud
no I will not celebrate
your side show horror
your laurel wreath of twenty
eight days I still lay in a bed
of snake I am still in wait
and to the opportunity
until the soon to be
I will be on the other
side of the Ohio river
I will not celebrate
your black history layers
of criminality this is
bait and switch
I nullify and desist
I can not agree with
this calendar I am still
a stammer so tell them
I am black history
February 5, 2012 at 12:32 am
Very deep brother. Stand strong and you ARE black history. Keep writing it.
February 5, 2012 at 12:55 am
I loved your vision and I sat and read it this morning bobbing my head to it like a soundtrack. Great write.
February 5, 2012 at 11:31 am
WOW! this is a strong and deep wrilte. I admire you for your stand on this. Well done Robert.
February 5, 2012 at 1:21 am
NICE APPROACH…I DIGS
February 5, 2012 at 6:53 am
Jay-El back to correspond with the madness
Hype flex, spitting dope verbs regardless
Wait up, let me digest my own crap
Revamp, wine taster, I put my style on the map
And I’ll keep it there, never scared of foreign threats
Hush you dogs, your medals show you need vets
So where’s the dictator? I wanna flip the script
Make him take my notes down, diary of a pimp
And I ain’t abusing women cos their value’s gold-like
Fake G’s face up to me and get re-wound to a small tyke
Big babies who’ll definitely get a rattling
Numerous opponents so my attacks will be reminiscent of a gatling
Ring up the coroner before the killing spree
‘Stretcher for one? ‘Nah, man more like a colony’
February 5, 2012 at 1:17 am
‘let me digest my own crap’
That line made me smile, and the last line is just brilliant. In fact, the entire write is Dope.
February 5, 2012 at 1:58 am
Colony, these ghetto streets are calling me
And I stand smug for all to see
My mind is an odyssey, MC Hammer when I bust
Because this mudafukka is something you can’t touch
Never Memorex, I’m live and In meant to wreck
Disposing fake rappers and emcee; watch’em enter death
Ripping balls off, leaving’em hauled off
This is the mark of an assassin, the hit can’t be called off
I walk any street, no matter the hood or the time
I am my only enemy and even in the dark, I still shine
If I catch’em slippin, I’m rippin holes in they exterior
Flipping flows, spitting cold and freezing your interior
No matter if I’m driving a Range or a fucked up hooptie
Catz be looking at me like, “Who dat” and “Who he?”
It’s me, Dirty Cash aka Lucky Lefty…get me?
In a class on of my own, not even the microphone can check me
Leaving body bags zipped up and haters unidentified
But I don’t blame them for stepping up; they was meant to die
So if you see me walking these ghetto streets, look over your shoulder
If not, you’ll need a stretcher for one and your body will be much colder
February 5, 2012 at 3:55 am
OOOH, CRAZY TIGHT MAN. NEXT LEVEL AGAIN HUH
February 5, 2012 at 6:51 am
Love the last five lines Dirty Cash AKA Lucky Lefty. 🙂
February 5, 2012 at 9:34 am
HA HA, FRESH
You are Gangsta…period! Loved this brother!
February 5, 2012 at 11:33 am
Smiling face with teeth protrudin
Eyes glassed dull with steely glint
Soft voice used as a distraction
Gunz down to fool with friendships hint
One step ahead of you and wary
See right through your clever guise
Fucked up brain forever schemin
Forgettin we’re tough and street wise
Prance around with chest puffed out
Actin as king of our walk
Threaten blood spill on our hood
Your aim to frighten makes me baulk
Discord distain… dissatisfaction
Are the drugs which make you high
Hood gunz hidden from your prowlin
Your control demands we won’t comply
Wipe that false smile off your smug face
Get yourself an antidote
Your play for power dead and buried
Hood gunz blaze down… your ugly throat
February 5, 2012 at 1:32 am
Frankie, I love your versatility. Nicely written.
February 5, 2012 at 2:39 am
AW! you’re very kind David, and you are the king of versatility. 🙂
February 5, 2012 at 7:40 am
HE HE HE HE….LOOK AT MY SPIRITED QUEEN…LOL
February 5, 2012 at 6:49 am
Thanks my Knight 🙂 Glad U like.
February 5, 2012 at 7:39 am
Flossy Aussie, each time I read your work, it makes wish that I wish I could known you forever! You have a talented pen my friend! Great write!
February 5, 2012 at 11:35 am
Now that’s gangster
February 5, 2012 at 7:44 pm
I grew up not giving a damn
Remembering days when all I had to eat was spam. Had to learn quick how to suck a mean dick my next meal and at times my life depended on it. In the ghetto my softness quickly dismissed I was the Hood’s baddest bitch always down to ride, make money and get high…would erase a face off the earth faster than a druggie trying to freebase. I was quick with my hands and kept a finger on the trigger……it’s a jungle out there on my block …but bitch don’t get caught slipping or the last sound you’ll hear on earth is my mother fucking gun cock
February 5, 2012 at 6:34 am
SHORT N QWICK….CAN’T BE MAD
February 5, 2012 at 6:48 am
Hey Hamza thanks for the read. Can’t wait to get my eyes on your scribe
February 5, 2012 at 7:34 pm
Yup, Nobody should ever have to eat spam! Lovin this.
February 5, 2012 at 9:36 am
Appreciate the love
February 5, 2012 at 7:38 pm
I believe you when you spit this truth about the women’s life of ghetto raising. Some do grow up on the fucked up side this way. Excellent write sister. Ghetto Dope!
February 5, 2012 at 11:37 am
This is just scratching the surface. Thanks for your eyes
February 5, 2012 at 7:42 pm
WAKE UP 2 SIRENS
MY BITCH STILL LIE’N
TO BROKE TO GET 2 EGGS FRY’N
FEEL FORGOTTEN LIKE THE MYANS
DODGE’N DEM BOYZ WIT DA BADGES
RE-FRESH MY RE-UPS N MY STASHES
DUFFLE-BAG FILLED WIT PRODUCT N PLASTIC
1ST CLASS CROSS DA BORDER ON DES BASTARDS
MY HOODS GOT TO HAVE IT
NOW I’M LIVE’N LAVISH
NO DRAMA CUZ I’LL RAIN HAVOK
RAIN SEVERAL TYPES OF PAIN WHEN I DROP IT
OR I COULD BRING IT 2 U ISLAMIC……WHOAAA!!!
FALL BACK, THAT’S A SENSITIVE TOPIC
I FUCK BAD BITCHES OFF OF “NETFLIX” N SPEGETTI
N GIVE’M HELL-ISH BACK SHOTS LIKE A FUCK’N “EPI”
A BAD AIM iL MAKE KARMA CATCH DA WRONG GUY
AND DA HOOD WILL ONLY MORN’EM 4 A SHORT TIME
EVEN DA WINDOWS ON DA AVE LOOK LIKE SAD EYES
U FEEL THERE HEAVY GAZE ON U WHEN U WALK BY
NOT LONG TILL THE NORM RETURNS, SMOKE’N SHERM
PARENTS N TEACHERS BELIEVE THAT WE’LL NEVER LEARN
GOD BLESS MY CONNECT THE LOCAL AND FOREIGN
WATCH YO STEP, NEVER SLIP, GET MONEY OR DA COFFIN
February 5, 2012 at 6:43 am
Diggin it Hamza, the first 4 lines really stood out.
February 5, 2012 at 6:58 am
THX DAVE, I WINGED IT
February 5, 2012 at 7:01 am
U should ‘wing it’ more often, this is DOPE !
February 5, 2012 at 9:38 am
Hamaz you are the man! I don’t comment much, but I love your quill brother and you have my respect!
February 5, 2012 at 11:39 am
THATS NICE OF U, RESPECT IS RETURNED HOMMIE…GLAD U DUG IT
February 5, 2012 at 3:39 pm
Hot from beginning to end. Your pen is mighty
February 5, 2012 at 7:49 pm
HEY ALLEN, THAT WAS MAJOR YO…GLAD TO SEE WORK LIKE THAT GET PUT IN
February 5, 2012 at 6:45 am
Thank you sir. The respect is mutual, for real!
I wake up smiling and the Sun’s bright,Able to thank God for surviving another night/ See, in the hood, life is hard, and rarely fair,But you wouldn’t understand it, unless you’ve been there/ Poverty has a hold on so many folks,And gettin scrilla to feed yours, ain’t no joke,Many life’s have lost, cause folks go for broke,Stressed out like a heartattack, and catching strokes/ It’s a testament to the character of one’s DNA match,Staying ahead of the game itself, full contact/ No out of bounds or referees,Just fucked up tenements and people smokin trees/ Heroine addicts like a welfare line, Staying zoned out, because of hard times/ In the lines of tracks they wear on the arms,Aids rising at a rapid rate, is a cause for alarm/ Genocide is common, although its a mortal sin,To kill another for self survival, what other way is there to win?/ Lord can you hear me, when I’m praying down in my knees, All I want dear Lord, is a way out of the daily Hell,can you lead me to the Promised Land Please?
February 5, 2012 at 11:51 am
What I love about this site, is we have such real and talented writers. Man, I really felt that one, brother.
February 5, 2012 at 1:09 pm
Young sons of miss fortune spoke in tongue, our die-alect was guns, fe fi fo fum, we smelt the scent of fiends before they come, because their bodies are filled with red rum, and we were wine-o’s for blood money, some wine dripped out my homies, now their young tuts, adolescent mummy’s, we needed fathers to be Pharos , since we didn’t , we were bastards, us and our dads lived the same lives if you play us backwards, just start from the day they died, because death had yet to catch up to some of us.
Our entire project was epileptic, not sick, everyone at one point got raided or evicted, ghetto life procedure, all our property went through search and seizure, that’s why a lot of us get addicted to cannabis for going through so many hard times, it helped us catch amnesia, it burns the cells of bad memories in the mind.
Me and my team ran in a stampede like henchmen on horses, they rode out till souls left corpses, rise and fall of sun’s , a ghetto solstice, now I ride like the black stallion, along side of me are Pegasus sired by my lost companions, now with my poetic pitch, I’m trying to get rich, buy a Bentley so I could ride shotgun with my phantoms. No more rich or die trying, death came so it’s no longer my anthem, I had to let it go, now my motto is get rich speaking words that form in my noggin
Blinded philanthropist, become violent capitalist, get out of welfare activist, ran rampant in the biggest metropolis, nycha lobby-ist, we wasn’t flamboyant, we was trying to keep our head above water, buoyancy, so drugs became our dead end jobs for currency, we wanted diplomacy, no diploma , we dropped out of school, idiotically, wound up in the streets, and weren’t granted clemency, well not all , I’m still here, the black stallion, just riding with Pegasus ,trotting off in a different direction
Infinite the poet 2012
February 5, 2012 at 12:20 pm
My highest praise I can give a writer is, “What the fuck!”. You are such a realist writer. You always seem to see things that are missed to the common people and the way you tell it is movie like.
February 5, 2012 at 1:06 pm
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