The Lyrical Assassins Brotherhood Poetry

In Da Ghetto

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

Allen Simmons
Editor In Chief

48 responses

  1. I want to welcome you aboard, Allen. I love this write, it is filled with flavor and seasoned with so much truth.

    David

    February 4, 2012 at 9:01 pm

    • Allen Simmons (Lyrical Grim Reaper)

      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

  2. 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

    • Allen Simmons (Lyrical Grim Reaper)

      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.

        David

        February 5, 2012 at 4:23 am

    • hamza

      YEAH THATS RIGHT…..KILLA CASH!!!

      February 5, 2012 at 6:54 am

  3. Robert Gibbons

    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.

      David

      February 5, 2012 at 12:55 am

      • Allen Simmons (Lyrical Grim Reaper)

        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

    • hamza

      NICE APPROACH…I DIGS

      February 5, 2012 at 6:53 am

  4. 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’

    Jay-El

    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

      • hamza

        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

    • hamza

      HA HA, FRESH

      February 5, 2012 at 6:51 am

    • Allen Simmons (Lyrical Grim Reaper)

      You are Gangsta…period! Loved this brother!

      February 5, 2012 at 11:33 am

  5. Hood Gunz

    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

    Frankie

    February 5, 2012 at 1:32 am

    • Frankie, I love your versatility. Nicely written.

      David

      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

    • hamza

      HE HE HE HE….LOOK AT MY SPIRITED QUEEN…LOL

      February 5, 2012 at 6:49 am

    • Allen Simmons (Lyrical Grim Reaper)

      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

    • Queenschan

      Now that’s gangster

      February 5, 2012 at 7:44 pm

  6. Queenschan

    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

    • hamza

      SHORT N QWICK….CAN’T BE MAD

      February 5, 2012 at 6:48 am

      • Queenschan

        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

      • Queenschan

        Appreciate the love

        February 5, 2012 at 7:38 pm

    • Allen Simmons (Lyrical Grim Reaper)

      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

      • Queenschan

        This is just scratching the surface. Thanks for your eyes

        February 5, 2012 at 7:42 pm

  7. hamza

    THE GHETTO

    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

    HAMZA

    February 5, 2012 at 6:43 am

    • Diggin it Hamza, the first 4 lines really stood out.

      David

      February 5, 2012 at 6:58 am

      • hamza

        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

    • Allen Simmons (Lyrical Grim Reaper)

      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

      • hamza

        THATS NICE OF U, RESPECT IS RETURNED HOMMIE…GLAD U DUG IT

        February 5, 2012 at 3:39 pm

    • Queenschan

      Hot from beginning to end. Your pen is mighty

      February 5, 2012 at 7:49 pm

  8. hamza

    HEY ALLEN, THAT WAS MAJOR YO…GLAD TO SEE WORK LIKE THAT GET PUT IN

    February 5, 2012 at 6:45 am

    • Allen Simmons (Lyrical Grim Reaper)

      Thank you sir. The respect is mutual, for real!

      February 5, 2012 at 11:39 am

  9. Allen Simmons (Lyrical Grim Reaper)

    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.

      David

      February 5, 2012 at 1:09 pm

  10. Ghetto child

    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.

      Great write.

      David

      February 5, 2012 at 1:06 pm

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