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DMX “Ruff Ryders Anthem”

Drink your milk little boys. My dismembered little toys. You’ll need all the protein you can get if you consider me fair game. Do I look like a grass grazer to you? Can you not envisage my incisors ripping into a bloody rib eye? How long do you reckon it would take for me to carve that perishing Plasticine heart of yours out of its cellophane and suck it bone dry between my thighs ’til it cracks? You better pack up as, once I commence to rack up, the bodies are all set to stack up. Of course, you could choose to call my bluff and I downright double dare you to. I’ll have that hunk of spoiled meat out of your thorax in less than no time, let me assure you. Scandalize mine and I’ll make a personalized necklace from your spinal beads. And just for the lulz, I may just fashion myself a matching ankle bracelet while I’m at it. Still reckon you can handle me? Please do be my guest. Little and often they say, so I meet them halfway when I slay. Let’s just say I seldom go hungry either way.

I’m a ruffrider you see and no stranger to twisted metal or the fun and games that come from frisking petals. Indeed, for my latest fender bender, I managed to dislocate my shoulder from its center and shouldn’t need to point out that it smarted like ten thousand skyfalls tendered. Well, that was until I cracked it straight back into joint before a crowd of awestruck onlookers, without a thought for general consensus. It’s not that I enjoy pain per se. Alright you’ve got me, it does make me a little wet to get drenched in the spray. Let’s just say, I appreciate the process. Better out than in right? And why not celebrate each spike and take the hike? After all, it won’t stick around forever. Unless we put on a brave face and swallow it down, in which case, it’ll just bleed us out internally. I take mine straight in the chin dimple. Simple. Give less than zero fuck badges for damage limitation. Do your worst blinding pain and I’ll be only too game for reciprocation.

I’m trying to find a balance though, you know. A truce. Hollow points aside, I’m all about the gin and juice, you know…

laid back
kickin’ it
trigger cocked but not trippin’ it
flippin’ to reverse
to spit some verse
to drop some

did I learn that shit in college?
Hell to the fuck no
streets had me covered yo
fucked the little princess right


i have buried
Friends man
seen their names carved into the tip
just to hear vacant chamber go

one way bullet-fuck straight to the
no dodging
no bluffing

there’s your streets right there
there’s your angst
your despair
and i
if you tell a single motherfucker you see me cry
i will strike you right down where you stand
Like a beast drag you back to the lair

tear the larynx straight out of your throat
not to gloat
but to show
how i roll
how i ride
how i’m wired
Crystalline in design

these diamonds are forever
hidden treasure
made to measure
hell for leather
and they sparkle
skip rope through the pain straight to the

Take a dip in my honey brown eyes
ever swelling yet telling no lies
button down
taste my sweetness
it’s sour
a whole uncontained plague to

nothing false to report
it’s all good
up in here i’m respected
and you see
I happen to be rather well connected

murder raps all the way
watch us drive-by and slay
see us
just like mickey and mal
howbeit, our keen light source
turns the luminaries in heaven
pale green
way beyond comprehensive
and check this
it was
Always. Within.
Beckoning redress of second skin

let us
Fire and Ice
prep shit up for the splice
then resume
while the peppermint shotgun
trippin’ snares
breaking beats
so you see
silly rabbits
you would really do well to
as this beast can’t be caged
holding far too much rage
and I got some mad props for the street

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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