Freestyle Battle, bring it Faggots

[samoth]

I hate the cops
you suck on cocks
my beats rocks
scare ya outta yo socks

108 - Fuck the Po'


There are some thugs in the street that you just can't escape
Hate is what fuels them and aggression's their dominant trait
And I take issue with the way they just throw you down and twist you
Double-fist you and smack you with pistols pointed at heads like Cuban missiles
In their attempts to try and protect and serve the masses,
They always manage to physically harass us, take away our rights like a fascist,
And say it's in the name of the law when they blast us
In this day and age a young successful black man like me should be smilin'
But it's hard when you're a daily victim of racial profilin'
I won't take out my frustration like New York cops though
With forty-some odd shots, wildin' out like it's a gun show
I'll just glow with a flow that glows and blazes
Hotter than the guns of the po-po and float away on this lyrical rowboat
Forget the police, because I'm really not feelin' them,
Shit, they should arrest 108 Tongues, because we're killin' it

Man, I was home in Delaware at homecomin'
Thrillin' to be chillin' with my boys, but yo, something,
It had to occur, a situation ensued
Some bitch with a badge said I was actin' rude
Simply 'cos I walked around her and looked at her, dude
She was callin' me out like Super Size Me with fast food
Her mood was uncouth, and dude, it's uncool
'Cos this place, it used to be my high school
When did I go from student to bein' viewed
As a suspect liable for breakin' the rules?
Now, I do have some friends who serve on police rosters
And I give 'em their props, 'cos their mommas raised 'em proper
But I have major beef with how the rest of the cops are
'Cos they say that they serve justice, but they're only imposters
I see them walk around, thinkin' that they're all amazing
They're messing with the best of the blacks, hispanics, and asians...

As these law enforcement agents rage with force to stop assailants
The youth of our country suffers under constant cop surveillance
Ignorant to the prevalent oppressed experience, this shit is relevant
The precincts, yo, they'd best be hearin' this
Yo, I'm walkin' down the street with my hoodie and my headphones
These racist cops is tryin' to see a young Latino dead, homes
And justice is what the fuck they call it
How they gon' kill a Haitian immigrant for pullin' out his wallet?
Yo, I got some melanin, I'm stuck with it, yo
I got a Spanish name, so I'd best not fuck with tha po
The Five-O, when they catch sight, they're bound to frisk me
If you're brown, walkin' 'round town, that's what the risks be
Always assumin' that we pushin' some illegal drugs
My jeans sag, so they gon' label me a thug
Scared of rich kids gettin' mugged at two in the morn
While the real kids are wearin' blue uniforms
Each year, millions of minorities face prison
Simply due to certain white authorities' racism
I ain't with them; If they can call a black man a dealer,
I'ma turn around and say the NYPD is a killer
They still judge facially and profile racially
In this day and age, this is where y'all say the current state should be?
Fuck that, this violence goes on with no peace
Exercise our freedom of speech, and say, Fuck tha Police

Despite the fact that I'm white, the cops assume I incite
Acts of violence in the silence in the heat of the night
'Cause when the beat is just right, I get a little less polite,
and entertain you with my cranium or punch out your lights
Even after 9-11, with the heroes in heaven,
I don't respect an institution solving problems with weapons
Using the second amendment to justify their aggression
Clandestine oppression of life's most beautiful blessings
America the Great is becoming a police state
Where Jake can dictate your fate and your faith
the illusion of authority is fake, the majority made a mistake,
So now I can't catch a break? 'Cause the crotch of my pants hangs low
And bitches rub my crotch through my pants with their hands real slow
I smoke a little indo behind tinted windows
And wait to show the po-po what's hidden in my polo...

 

[DIVISION]

Perhaps the title of this thread used words that were too big for you to understand...

I read and that's why I made the statement.

Freestyle is sloppy and easy compared to pen and paper rap.

Since you're the mathmatician, let me break it down for ya':

Freestyle = Algebra

Rap = Calculus II

Rap - Quality = Freestyle





DIV

 

[samoth]

I read and that's why I made the statement.

Freestyle is sloppy and easy compared to pen and paper rap.

Since you're the mathmatician, let me break it down for ya':

Freestyle = Algebra

Rap = Calculus II

Rap - Quality = Freestyle
DIV

lol

Why don't you throw some sloppy freestyle out then, that's what this thread's for.

...unless you haven't taken algebra yet

 

[DIVISION]

lol

Why don't you throw some sloppy freestyle out then, that's what this thread's for.

...unless you haven't taken algebra yet

I only need Finite Math for my degree........thank god.

already threw out my freestyle, bro.

Scroll up.



DIV

 

[samoth]

I only need Finite Math for my degree........thank god.

already threw out my freestyle, bro.

Scroll up.

DIV

That was weak. You could do much better.

 

[DIVISION]

That was weak. You could do much better.

Sorry, no dice.



DIV

 

[bran987]

I believe that the definition of definition is reinvention. To not be like your parents. To not be like your friends. To be yourself. Completely.

When I was young I had no sense of myself. All I was, was a product of all the fear and humiliation I suffered. Fear of my parents. The humiliation of teachers calling me "garbage can" and telling me I'd be mowing lawns for a living. And the very real terror of my fellow students. I was threatened and beaten up for the color of my skin and my size. I was skinny and clumsy, and when others would tease me I didn't run home crying, wondering why. I knew all too well. I was there to be antagonized. In sports I was laughed at. A spaz. I was pretty good at boxing but only because the rage that filled my every waking moment made me wild and unpredictable. I fought with some strange fury. The other boys thought I was crazy.
header

I hated myself all the time. As stupid at it seems now, I wanted to talk like them, dress like them, carry myself with the ease of knowing that I wasn't going to get pounded in the hallway between classes. Years passed and I learned to keep it all inside. I only talked to a few boys in my grade. Other losers. Some of them are to this day the greatest people I have ever known. Hang out with a guy who has had his head flushed down a toilet a few times, treat him with respect, and you'll find a faithful friend forever. But even with friends, school sucked. Teachers gave me hard time. I didn't think much of them either.

Then came Mr. Pepperman, my advisor. He was a powerfully built Vietnam veteran, and he was scary. No one ever talked out of turn in his class. Once one kid did and Mr. P. lifted him off the ground and pinned him to the blackboard. Mr. P. could see that I was in bad shape, and one Friday in October he asked me if I had ever worked out with weights. I told him no. He told me that I was going to take some of the money that I had saved and buy a hundred-pound set of weights at Sears. As I left his office, I started to think of things I would say to him on Monday when he asked about the weights that I was not going to buy. Still, it made me feel special. My father never really got that close to caring. On Saturday I bought the weights, but I couldn't even drag them to my mom's car. An attendant laughed at me as he put them on a dolly.

Monday came and I was called into Mr. P.'s office after school. He said that he was going to show me how to work out. He was going to put me on a program and start hitting me in the solar plexus in the hallway when I wasn't looking. When I could take the punch we would know that we were getting somewhere. At no time was I to look at myself in the mirror or tell anyone at school what I was doing. In the gym he showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more attention than I ever did in any of my classes. I didn't want to blow it. I went home that night and started right in.

Weeks passed, and every once in a while Mr. P. would give me a shot and drop me in the hallway, sending my books flying. The other students didn't know what to think. More weeks passed, and I was steadily adding new weights to the bar. I could sense the power inside my body growing. I could feel it.

Right before Christmas break I was walking to class, and from out of nowhere Mr. Pepperman appeared and gave me a shot in the chest. I laughed and kept going. He said I could look at myself now. I got home and ran to the bathroom and pulled off my shirt. I saw a body, not just the shell that housed my stomach and my heart. My biceps bulged. My chest had definition. I felt strong. It was the first time I can remember having a sense of myself. I had done something and no one could ever take it away. You couldn't say shit to me.

It took me years to fully appreciate the value of the lessons I have learned from the Iron. I used to think that it was my adversary, that I was trying to lift that which does not want to be lifted. I was wrong. When the Iron doesn't want to come off the mat, it's the kindest thing it can do for you. If it flew up and went through the ceiling, it wouldn't teach you anything. That's the way the Iron talks to you. It tells you that the material you work with is that which you will come to resemble. That which you work against will always work against you.

It wasn't until my late twenties that I learned that by working out I had given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing good comes without work and a certain amount of pain. When I finish a set that leaves me shaking, I know more about myself. When something gets bad, I know it can't be as bad as that workout.

I used to fight the pain, but recently this became clear to me: pain is not my enemy; it is my call to greatness. But when dealing with the Iron, one must be careful to interpret the pain correctly. Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego. I once spent a few weeks lifting weight that my body wasn't ready for and spent a few months not picking up anything heavier than a fork. Try to lift what you're not prepared to and the Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and self-control.

I have never met a truly strong person who didn't have self-respect. I think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself off as self-respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on someone's shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity. Strength reveals itself through character. It is the difference between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr.Pepperman.

Muscle mass does not always equal strength. Strength is kindness and sensitivity. Strength is understanding that your power is both physical and emotional. That it comes from the body and the mind. And the heart.

Yukio Mishima said that he could not entertain the idea of romance if he was not strong. Romance is such a strong and overwhelming passion, a weakened body cannot sustain it for long. I have some of my most romantic thoughts when I am with the Iron. Once I was in love with a woman. I thought about her the most when the pain from a workout was racing through my body.

Everything in me wanted her. So much so that sex was only a fraction of my total desire. It was the single most intense love I have ever felt, but she lived far away and I didn't see her very often. Working out was a healthy way of dealing with the loneliness. To this day, when I work out I usually listen to ballads.

I prefer to work out alone. It enables me to concentrate on the lessons that the Iron has for me. Learning about what you're made of is always time well spent, and I have found no better teacher. The Iron had taught me how to live. Life is capable of driving you out of your mind. The way it all comes down these days, it's some kind of miracle if you're not insane. People have become separated from their bodies. They are no longer whole.

I see them move from their offices to their cars and on to their suburban homes. They stress out constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly. And they behave badly. Their egos run wild; they become motivated by that which will eventually give them a massive stroke. They need the Iron Mind.

Through the years, I have combined meditation, action, and the Iron into a single strength. I believe that when the body is strong, the mind thinks strong thoughts. Time spent away from the Iron makes my mind degenerate. I wallow in a thick depression. My body shuts down my mind.

The Iron is the best antidepressant I have ever found. There is no better way to fight weakness than with strength. Once the mind and body have been awakened to their true potential, it's impossible to turn back.

The Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you're a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.

did you write that?

 

[SoKlueles]

i would do anything for love
but i wont do that

 

[bran987]

i would do anything for love
but i wont do that

I ate that for lunch today

 

[DIVISION]

I ate that for lunch today

You mean she ate "that" for lunch......

Don't you Bran.....



DIV