LIVE WIRES

Tyler Durden said:
West Coast, East Coast - from the 'Sco to Flo' - I Cassanova; I don't police those. Hard head, hard knuckles and hard in the sheets, though? I put my money where my grill is - King Kong beasts most. I take attention like my life is a street show. Dude, see more, I get hella gnarly - Dude, I beat bros. Cats sings songs; Cuzzo, I free throw. I pound the street, Roman-Greco style, like I was Greek, Ho'... and, I got a wife - I taught her how to deep-throat. I got game like a hydra, with pressure like a fire hydrant on a street-hose. I look great in a bloody apron and a butcher knife, like life was a meat-show. Am I nice to meet? NO - 'cause the black ram makes you laugh at your self, lowers his horns and bleats close. You bleed close... and I lick it up, like a vampire at a freak show.

Other said:
Blood tells the gruesome tale of many an adversary fail, Like a runaway locomotive, I can't break for the weak or the frail. Not telling you twice before I put you on ice, you either roll the dice or take my advice. I raise a fist and they swiftly scurry away like frightened little mice.

ANT the RANT Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
live-wires connected, electric, spark a fresh one for the session, orchestrated vocals, like maestros, ritually hated, but elated in faces of those rivals, been two dope kids since a bros arrival, my circle’s free-stylers, with highly quotable flows, when my words collide against inner temples, minds get blown, from style shown, my mind’s landscape, a vast kingdom laid to waste, because the thoughts I make, decimate, the shit I say, deadly snakes, venomously vexing victoms, in my wake, my word-play illustrate the way to make hisssstoray... Alexanderia’s namesake, so you know I’m great. Shoutout to my compadre a long ways away in another state, but the mind remains the same. Can never tarnish a polished BK.

Crazed2APoint ENIGMA WRAPPED IN FOOLISHNESS said:
my mind sets blazes, shock, awe and amazes weave words together and trap ya in a maze within mazes crazed is jus, a murderer with insatiable blood lust the bloodied canvas causes disgust but i can't get enough, thus... i keep killing foes 100 plus, only thing that can stop me is a self imposed exodus ashes to ashes, find an angel to bust, set the wings on fire, ground em up and smoke the dust powerful individual full of beliefs in sick rituals try to kill you on a tv show just to get the residuals i can see the pitfalls ahead of me, dealing with my life philosophy so i get over the pitfall by throwing you down and spring boarding offa your body imma commodity i'm also an oddity, most people are comedy false prophets can never prosper in the midst of my sincerity realness is me, somethin most never even try to be i'm the epitome of a crazy slum poet spitting magically made ya balls disappear the moment you tried battling me you try to belittle an mc, my craft perfected so who are you to me? you can be as big as earth, but you're just my nut hair, cus the universe is me.

ANT the RANT Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
poetic wordsmith, when I work this, passionate with a purpose, hawk split, eagle eye in this cockpit, spot a fake, aim to drop it, locked-in, mark the target, realized with a keen eye, I keep my, habitat far from tarnish, politics, and combative tactics, glad a kid has his, head attached and mentality to match with, a collaborative collective, of raw kids, that spit like this, like a habit, bring it right back, attack where the battle’s at, the baddest mouth piece of the mountain peaks, seek peace, but release the beast, to feast, upon the weak, over drum beats, my tongue speak, words harder than concrete, heart grows cold, like a coward’s feet, I take the plunge and lunge to sink in my teeth deep, into a creep, make a sucker suffer, cos he tastes so sweet, I take as I please, before he takes from me, examples to be made, when I display what it takes to be an emcee, the words I say is, calculated, moves I make is, orchestrated, the fools that waited, hesitated, so came in this place, and devastated, shit’s so great, because that’s the way I made it. my BK ways, illustrated, swagger’s legit, so I stay unfaded.

BeBa DoLL said:
the deepest love, the deepest dick, i hope you know that this is it. i love you so much, i look over and see you and see your depth, you have no clue the aroma of sex.

Crazed2APoint ENIGMA WRAPPED IN FOOLISHNESS said:

unfaded, unfazed, the way the world has me these days been to hell and back, my stories could leave ya head in a daze razor blade slice ya wrist vertically when i spit purposefully here's an analogy, i'm heaven, you're hell, so you're way beneath me i see and hear blasphemy, comin from every centimeter of your anatomy how can you speak proudly spitting somebody Else's story? i'll leave you as a part of history, first person to ever be brought to the level of being the human definition of a hysterectomy cus you can't produce anything that could actually come out masterfully your own dick even rejects you cus of how you hold the m-i-c i'll simply put it like this, even the 3 blind mice can see and those who can see but cannot hear sign to me the blind mice, and the deaf peeps all agree unanimously that when peeps start spitting against me and BKP, that it ends embarrassingly check the news, we're the cause of the spike in suicide attempts from peeps who thought they could spit sick and they were exempt from suffering the same fate as the ones before them peeps thought you were about to spit, you just coughed up some phlegm my future is bright as heaven, the bulb over your head is dim got an eviction notice for you, says it was sent from life note says ''we want yours back cus you're not using it right, here's a knife'' don't write a will, you don't even have pride or integrity in sight you're good for nodda and that's always been your life's plight i pull no punches, i get gutter and gritty when it's time to fight but this was a weird awkward joke like going against napoleon dynamite you suffer from grandmacoochieitis which means you're jus not tight wish i coulda caught ya when you was developing in ya moms tummy stick a needle in the womb and pray to god i hit the vocal cords of this dummy weird thing to pray to god for, but while i'm here make this lady a whore so i can use the insult ''oh yeah? well i fucked your mom'' to settle any score

ANT the RANT Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
I give wack rappers with attitude some serious blues, when I get rude, and let loose the verbal abuse, nothing hurts worse than words that be true, and dude you’re straight pooh, I’m doodoo-proof, before you even started, you chose to loose, all the way amplified, this nerd goes up to twenty-two, I go, show and prove, and I know you dude, you’re just absurd and obtuse, and I understand you’re nervous man- so dude- it’s coo. you serve the purpose of a fool, to amuse, fucking newbs, I get it cookin, you just frozen food, I recite every night like the nightly news, live and direct, and my game shows like jeapordy or family feud, cos nephew I bring it to you, in the form of a loose tooth, and a few bruises too, when I hit’chu with the deuce, survey says, feel my the tread of my size 12 shoe, step in ring against the king of kung-fu, is a dumb move, I beat a fool, til his face is unglued, back and blue, permanent tattoos, punch in your eyes, like a raccoon, then it’s time to undermine, your wack crew, before I’m through, turn around to get right back to beating you, til you scream for a truce, but I refuse, the beatings don’t stop until morale improves, you fucking losers lose, who would choose pit Peter Pan against the mighty Zeus? Come on dudes, tell the next guy, we’re out of neckties, so here’s a fucking noose, and put it to good use.

Archetype MarQ said:
Necktie, nooses, suicide's the easy route. Stand up like men so archetype can put ya head out. Cut loose, words fly, I'm the guillotine. Bk axeman, decapitating whack emcees... but at least you ll serve a purpose, to refine our craft... above your feeble attempts to rap. Do the math. you'sa busta daring to verse with veterans. Trained soldiers with lyrical mastery of weapons. The armory's infinite, limited by only our imagination. I could drop atomics or swang knuckles in elation. Snipe from the roof or spray rounds on ya location. Riddle ya torso with rhymeslugs big as tallboys. deuce deuce, 40oz, 2liters to destroy.

Tyler Durden said:
You're like two children fightin' over a Tonka toy. I'm one mind, Almighty, built like a Jeep with fifty cals to deploy. I'm built to climb, built to rhyme and built to rejoice. Crushin' obstacles is my joy - I'm a Roadbuster, boy; Celtic soldier, fuckin' the script up like Rob Roy... like Bobby Sands. I'm kinda cocky with my hands... basically, I'm the mothafuckin' MAN. The laughter of my children, means peace in my land - that means I have a plan. The Ard Ri does what he wants - you locusts do what you can. I'mma polar bear; perfect without a tan. O'Shaughnessy is my clan. I'm a walking encyclopedia - you can call me Rand. That means I possess tactics that you could NEVER understand. I'm so on High, I don't even need to land. I laugh at you and cut your peace off, when you extend you're hand. That's how it is. That's how it has to be. We march to drums, the bodhrans bein' beatin' by our band... to eradicate your blasphemy. That's what happens when you clash with G's, the Alphas and Omegas - the BKP's. The tactics are aggressive as fuck, like killer bees; like a beast on steroids, choppin' down trees. I'm 'bout to eat... pass the hot sauce, please - my trigger finger needs some grease.

Archetype MarQ said:
Lube my verbal action to unleash, 300 rounds a second with ease. Gatling flows, spittin flame, now retreat. BK-P squad killers, indeed. Special forces, black o.poets, fatigued. Urban camo in the cypher's alley of beats.

Crazed2APoint ENIGMA WRAPPED IN FOOLISHNESS said:
passionate when i write, intricate with the words i recite give the blind sight with my vivid wordplay that i give day & night wrong or right, i never paid attention to either side if loving me is wrong, than your girl goin to hell like suicide most of the things that i say have a sarcastic charm to em ya never know if i'm serious until you're already a victim evict em, they don't deserve to breathe the same air that i spit in if my spit hits your face while i'm rhymin, you should praise it like it's a blessin harsh lessons, given out thru these rhyme sessions, killa profession sinner lifestyle like lying about shit in confession, that is if god is even listenin i suspend myself right outside the reality that you exist in i'm steady trying to live life, you're content with jus existin i'm a poet that spits from the heart blurring my lines as i go reaching for the stars? nah, i grab the universe and pull it down real low hook you to Orion's belt and call you a jock rida put the universe back right after i use the sun to set your soul on fiya rhyme style bends ya mindframe until your head is in your own ass ungodly flow, it get's super ugly and causes ya to tuck ya tail real fast you can't affect me, not even death threat me, i will never lose in a mad dash even my death is a challenge to me, race other spirits to the light cus i hate comin in last so if that's my mind state, what do you honestly think u can do to me? dumb....ass

ANT the RANT Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
Precision Instrument, within the prism of an intellectual implement, stream of consciousness, lyricism with clear confidence, I jettison the confines of “what is in” with reckless abandonment, and wreck any mic, device over the rhythm of a digital accompaniment, a complex system of bleeps and clicks, bass and some synths, and a slight hiss of static, derived from an analog recording apparatus, or perhaps, it’s the ambiance picking up the environment in which I sit, as I recite this, thoughts become expression, abstract expressionist, but aggressive when I write this, the keyboard ignites, in a pale blue light, in my office at night, when I type this, and these words don’t miss, the kid is definitely consistent, genuinely legitimate, contextually significant, wisdom from the wordsmith, who constructs his wordy sentences, for a perfect fit, that make more than simple sense, bilingual linguistics, to twist your senses up a bit, you simpletons, lack the dimensions, and the attention, to comprehend, so don’t fuck with it, you can just sit and pretend, scoff and condemn, but I’m a a king who walks amongst common men, I move forward, in unison, with my henchmen, hoping to ascend, a higher existence than just this, but if this is it, then let it be for justice, and greater good, my heartbeat’s percussion, my soul secretes substance, my eyes reveal life, my skin hides the scars within, the pain of emotion, and the cares of conscienceness, and knowing I have nothing in common with common sense. It’s time to close my eyes, in this way a new dawn begins, wake and then it’s on again. BK takes on any rivals so go call a friend.

Archetype MarQ said:
Ant spittin some vivid imagery. A Rembrandt on the mic with symmetry. We, wordsmiths, concoct ballistic telemetries, guided to your third eye, forcing epiphanies. Have you revising incites of your own reality, ashamed, admitting self-mediocrity. No gaps to be found in my philosphy...It's elementry, to me, when it comes to poetry. Creating lyrically, with energy, to erect an effigy, so clearly, elementally... my literary alchemy.

ANT the RANT Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
four-eyes, double-vision, trouble is a given, blind to the games within, or the heads of women, righteous wisdom, in a fools den, tempted by the allure of sin, from wicked lipstick grins, my mind’s framed, like that of my penmanship, from a well inked pen, and when I sit and think, I begin to comprehend, connectivity is relative to that of a friend, the ability to be one sure wears thin, facades from fakes, get to crumble’in, I hear the rumors and the mumble’in, excuses got you stumble’in, set you up to fail, but in my head it was tails, because I zoomed out, instead of looking in, had my doubts, but never took it in, ya caught me sideways like a crooked grin, exposed, like being without my skin, and I’m out again, and who knows where to begin. but this chapter’s closed, so this is the end. So read the appendix, and the footnotes, I keep my friendships close, and my enemies choke when I grip their throat. I’m a Brass Knuckle Poet, have to hustle to show it, for anyone else there’s no love, and you know this. Representative, precision engine like a Lotus, too fast for you silly hoes to notice.