Post by Frey Matykus on Jun 8, 2009 20:49:03 GMT -5
((OOC: recommended that you whisper the lyrics to yourself as you read them to establish the beat in your head without other music in the background.))
*huff*
*huff*
*sounds of feet running on gravel*
*huff*
*huff*
*sounds of running suddenly stop*
HMPH!
Frey Leaps from the higher roof top down to the next adjacent one. Dressed in his running clothes, he went out on his bi weekly free runs.
He's locked himself in his room for quite a while now. The government told him to attend the school, they didn't say anything about doing well or anything. He's been healing himself since the confrontation with that newfie girl. what ever her name was.
Not important.
What was important was that Frey decided to keep to himself for the rest of his sentence. People were all idiots and avoiding them made the best sense.
He rushed up some air conditioning units and leaped up to a ledge of another adjacent building.
!
*right hand grabs onto a loose object which comes off with his grasp*
Frey loses balance and balls backwards right onto the air conditioning unit 7 feet below flat on his back. Wind forced out of his lungs, he grabs at his chest till it fills up with air again.
*GASP*
wtf?????!
Looking down at his right hand, Frey notices a small leather bound book small enough to be a pocket book.
T___T???
The fuck is this???
Damn near killed my ass, that's what?!
?
what?
What is this?
Opening the little book, he saw little sketches in it.
Of people.
Doing people things.
Walking.
Holding hands.
Kissing.
Reading books.
Eating McDonald's.
Lyrics.
Buying stuff.
wait what?
Lyrics?
I start out.
Just to vibe out.
huh?
Frey kept laying back on the unit and flipped the book through again to see if there was a name on it. Gypsy King was scribbled behind the back cover with a little sentence. It was hard to read hence the reason he couldn't make it out. He flipped back to where he was.
I start out.
Just to vibe out.
to vibe out.
to vibe out
to vibe out
to vibe out
Sweet
Strugglin
I start out,
just to vibe out.
I'm hard to buy out.
I'm more gangsta than you are, but I ain't about to sell out.
My season'll come,
It has to.
Honestly, I feel like I'm ten months pregnant or somthin;
I'm past due.
Sincerely, I'm touchy these days I can't take nothin.
I'm tryin to treat my rhymes like the law,
shoot em down and break somthin.
and mostly,
I'm up and stressin
When other folks sleep.
Believe me,
I know struggle
and struggle knows me.
My life owes me,
Like another doze, I'm slowly
drifting into the arms of trouble
and trouble holds me.
and nothing else is close to me
more than pain unfortunately.
Like a self fulfilling prophecy,
I'm supposed to be.
Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
I'm Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
I should be chilling on beaches,
instead my bone freezes,
but I don't miss ducking glocks while yelling Jesus.
The realest thing to me is
since I was a fetus,
the only break I ever got
was at recces.
So legitimately,
I remain very little relieved
and at thug rappers
I remain very little intrigued.
and can you blame me,
with how we lived in the early 90's?
Throwing rocks at the crazy ladies
and when we played these
crazy games
the whole crew had crazy names
we even had a cripple, we used to call him lazy legs.
While my faith remains,
untouched and unchanged.
Still in my block you hear more shots
than a gun range.
I'm Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
I'm Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
Aight
Aight
More to the truth,
No writtin, just recording at the booth.
Forced by the loop and the guitar
but I'm still master of the groove.
I speak truth
My deep roots
remain in critical danger.
The pain in my ballad is crazy
but the sequel is stranger.
Hey man.
I'm from the hardest
hardest projects.
Dear departed,
I'm now engaged to a beautiful goddess.
Spillin what little remains
of human marines in the process.
Little by little, making your names
into a colossus.
Believe me.
I'm thankful some of my brothers are still with me.
and ain't much changed
Hamoody is still hella scrawny
and the US is still bombing poor people
, they is deadly.
and me, i got a little gig comin up
but evidently
I'm Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
I'm Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
I'm Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
I'm Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
.....
What?
The?
Fuck?
.....
Is this some sort of suicide poetry or some shit?
Fey jumped up to his feet and made his way to the edge of the building. Pacing all around it five times, he made sure to see if there was any commotion of sorts that would hint at a suicide or a jumper.
Nothing
???
He leaped back up to the air conditioning units and made it up the ledge of the adjacent building he was trying to climb up earlier.
Looking around on the roof top, it proved to be useless. The owner of the book was no where to be seen.
This so called Gypsy King must have dropped his notebook while on the rooftops. Probably some sort of poet pansy of sorts.
Frey was about to toss the book over his shoulder and off the building....Frey was about to toss the book over his shoulder and off the building....Frey is about to toss the book over his shoulder and off the building....Frey just can't...seem to .... to toss the book over his shoulder and off the building.
He brings up the book and looks at the lyrics again.
Then flipped through the sketches.
Who was this guy?
A piece of Frey wanted to find this guy and hand him his book back...not cuz he cared about retuning it to the guy but...because he wanted....he wanted to see if this guy was like him...another that hated this planet and all it's inhabitants.
To see if he wasn't alone.
Pshhh
whatever.
....
*flips back to the lyrics again*
A gig huh?
>___>
*pockets the book and continues with his run with thoughts of where to look for this gig*
Something in
*huff*
*huff*
*sounds of feet running on gravel*
*huff*
*huff*
*sounds of running suddenly stop*
HMPH!
Frey Leaps from the higher roof top down to the next adjacent one. Dressed in his running clothes, he went out on his bi weekly free runs.
He's locked himself in his room for quite a while now. The government told him to attend the school, they didn't say anything about doing well or anything. He's been healing himself since the confrontation with that newfie girl. what ever her name was.
Not important.
What was important was that Frey decided to keep to himself for the rest of his sentence. People were all idiots and avoiding them made the best sense.
He rushed up some air conditioning units and leaped up to a ledge of another adjacent building.
!
*right hand grabs onto a loose object which comes off with his grasp*
Frey loses balance and balls backwards right onto the air conditioning unit 7 feet below flat on his back. Wind forced out of his lungs, he grabs at his chest till it fills up with air again.
*GASP*
wtf?????!
Looking down at his right hand, Frey notices a small leather bound book small enough to be a pocket book.
T___T???
The fuck is this???
Damn near killed my ass, that's what?!
?
what?
What is this?
Opening the little book, he saw little sketches in it.
Of people.
Doing people things.
Walking.
Holding hands.
Kissing.
Reading books.
Eating McDonald's.
Lyrics.
Buying stuff.
wait what?
Lyrics?
I start out.
Just to vibe out.
huh?
Frey kept laying back on the unit and flipped the book through again to see if there was a name on it. Gypsy King was scribbled behind the back cover with a little sentence. It was hard to read hence the reason he couldn't make it out. He flipped back to where he was.
I start out.
Just to vibe out.
to vibe out.
to vibe out
to vibe out
to vibe out
Sweet
Strugglin
I start out,
just to vibe out.
I'm hard to buy out.
I'm more gangsta than you are, but I ain't about to sell out.
My season'll come,
It has to.
Honestly, I feel like I'm ten months pregnant or somthin;
I'm past due.
Sincerely, I'm touchy these days I can't take nothin.
I'm tryin to treat my rhymes like the law,
shoot em down and break somthin.
and mostly,
I'm up and stressin
When other folks sleep.
Believe me,
I know struggle
and struggle knows me.
My life owes me,
Like another doze, I'm slowly
drifting into the arms of trouble
and trouble holds me.
and nothing else is close to me
more than pain unfortunately.
Like a self fulfilling prophecy,
I'm supposed to be.
Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
I'm Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
I should be chilling on beaches,
instead my bone freezes,
but I don't miss ducking glocks while yelling Jesus.
The realest thing to me is
since I was a fetus,
the only break I ever got
was at recces.
So legitimately,
I remain very little relieved
and at thug rappers
I remain very little intrigued.
and can you blame me,
with how we lived in the early 90's?
Throwing rocks at the crazy ladies
and when we played these
crazy games
the whole crew had crazy names
we even had a cripple, we used to call him lazy legs.
While my faith remains,
untouched and unchanged.
Still in my block you hear more shots
than a gun range.
I'm Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
I'm Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
Aight
Aight
More to the truth,
No writtin, just recording at the booth.
Forced by the loop and the guitar
but I'm still master of the groove.
I speak truth
My deep roots
remain in critical danger.
The pain in my ballad is crazy
but the sequel is stranger.
Hey man.
I'm from the hardest
hardest projects.
Dear departed,
I'm now engaged to a beautiful goddess.
Spillin what little remains
of human marines in the process.
Little by little, making your names
into a colossus.
Believe me.
I'm thankful some of my brothers are still with me.
and ain't much changed
Hamoody is still hella scrawny
and the US is still bombing poor people
, they is deadly.
and me, i got a little gig comin up
but evidently
I'm Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
I'm Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
I'm Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
I'm Strugglin
and it's troublin.
In the circumstance I'm dwellin in
I find myself in the corner
Huddlin,
with some angry men
and I gotta settle shit again
before they gotta kill again.
.....
What?
The?
Fuck?
.....
Is this some sort of suicide poetry or some shit?
Fey jumped up to his feet and made his way to the edge of the building. Pacing all around it five times, he made sure to see if there was any commotion of sorts that would hint at a suicide or a jumper.
Nothing
???
He leaped back up to the air conditioning units and made it up the ledge of the adjacent building he was trying to climb up earlier.
Looking around on the roof top, it proved to be useless. The owner of the book was no where to be seen.
This so called Gypsy King must have dropped his notebook while on the rooftops. Probably some sort of poet pansy of sorts.
Frey was about to toss the book over his shoulder and off the building....Frey was about to toss the book over his shoulder and off the building....Frey is about to toss the book over his shoulder and off the building....Frey just can't...seem to .... to toss the book over his shoulder and off the building.
He brings up the book and looks at the lyrics again.
Then flipped through the sketches.
Who was this guy?
A piece of Frey wanted to find this guy and hand him his book back...not cuz he cared about retuning it to the guy but...because he wanted....he wanted to see if this guy was like him...another that hated this planet and all it's inhabitants.
To see if he wasn't alone.
Pshhh
whatever.
....
*flips back to the lyrics again*
A gig huh?
>___>
*pockets the book and continues with his run with thoughts of where to look for this gig*
Something in
