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by MC Paul Barman

I make def tunes. Take from MF Doom and Jeff Koons.
No one left for the restrooms when I got on stage.
I can rock the mic to silence by John Cage with the arty flavor.
I shoot the gift like a party favor.
Flip the script and make it do cartwheels.
Feel smart, steal hearts and start meals with chocolate.
I drop gems like I got holes in my pockets.

Why talk? Heck. Oh fuck.
I catch wreck like a towtruck, silly kid.
I'm iller than the Iliad and flow more than Shoah
While you're so corny you've got to SOHCAHTOA.
PEMDAS EFX, the number one skirmisher.
I'm in the house like furniture, pessimist.
I'll push the envelope off a precipice.
I push the envelope so hard, it says, "Excuse you."

Take two and pass.
Make you spin on your ass
Like a green paint sprinkler on white grass.
I'm rapping, son. ("You're not my Dad.")
If you think you think outside the box,
You're trapped in one.
I'm advancing the art form.
Depantsing a fart storm.
Some people don't like thinking,
I guess it's too hard for them.

My dope duds don't touch soap suds.
I keep it realer than a rotoscope does.
I keep it more Gully than Jonathan Livingston.

Brag rhymes have no lag times:
Acrostics, narratives, Fibonacci challenge poems,
Declarative palindromes, manifestos.
My five fans can attest, yo.

Coming soon? Morse code, origami, kirigami, Krikigami.
Rhymes come so easy, I issue harsher restraints.
And if I had any rhythm maybe you'd finally faint.

The way I communicate can make a frikkin' eunuch mate.
I write first person light verse in a white hearse
And I'm the ne plus ultra of B+ culture.
My goal is to make you go, "Holy frijoles!
Jesus H. Christ," where "H." stands for "Holy crap."
To boldly rap into the outer reaches.
This doubter teaches defining "God"
As aligning a divining rod with your reclining bod.
'Cause life is fickle. Hellish.
Anemic. Sickle cellish.
Dude. You'll get chopped up like pickle relish.

And when we perish, we're--what's the term, dude?
"Worm food."

Worm food. Friends' memories fade.
You're remembered by what you've made,
So I intertwine my mind and my rhymes in a braid.
I bungie jump into my grungy dump
And come up with a trust fundy dust bunny spongy clump.

I got a prarie goth towel,
A terrycloth cowl,
And when I wear it, I'm a hairy moth owl.

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