Sisphyus (Greek Fire)
No sword could sever the lines that made up his clever rhymes
he would tackle any battle and put his opponents in shackles
and he did this consistently, like each and every time
never mind some of the mimes who would copy his movements
they would try on his shoes but they just couldn’t do it
they would try out his flow but it just wasn’t fluid
they would try out his style but they just weren’t suited
'cause the cases they were making always needed improvement
but back to the music and our talented lyricist
whose acclaim bought him fame and many, many richeses
his name was on the brain more than formulas on physicists
but critics said his songs all ended up like Sisyphus
“For example, ” they would say as a preamble to delay
the coming attacks on the samples they would play,
“you said:
‘I gotta lyrical skill that gets betta & betta
and betta & betta until I run out of lettas
it’s how I show felicitation
please no autographs and no solicitations
my humor’s so dry I get parched when I laugh
I need a gallon of water next to me in a glass
my rhythms can drown u, while my sounds surround you
and make you get on the floor
like the ATF, 'boom! boom! boom! open the door! ’”
“Now, that’s all very magical, Mr. Wizardry,
but tell me what’s the point of having so much imagery? ”
And as he was answering they would say ‘Uh-huh, ’
and move on to the next clip before he was done,
“As we start this next part,
I want to advise our viewers not to take it to heart, ”
The beat faded in something super absurd,
stupid and dope, our rapper mimicked the words,
“I’m a star, baby,
she mistaken me for Betelgeuse,
I rule the world, lady,
so I wonder, 'What would Caesar do? '
I ain’t some kind of genius but my momma never had a fool,
that’s why my lines transcend time zones and latitudes,
I think ‘em in Adai and I write ‘em down in Latin,
u think ‘em in a year and sit waitin on a patent,
don’t cop a silly attitude like the world is mad at you,
cuz you cracking up the pleather while I’m smoothin out the satin,
and I know u have no money so I’ll bet that you don’t have a clue,
your horse is a Ford and my horse is Italian”
He would often be asked for explanations or a comment
on who is the “you” he refers to when he’s rhymin,
to which he’d reply,
“'You' is a pronoun I use to describe,
and address everyone who tuned in to my life,
'you' is the photographer,
taking my picture with paper and pencils,
'you' is the cartographer,
drawing the meanings from the map of my mental,
'you, ' in essence, is everyone and no one,
my words were never aimed on one target like a blow gun'
at this point he would get cut off with accusations,
on how is themes were just a scheme, a blatant machination,
to make some green for his team, despite the exploitation,
of the rampant crime, hopelessness and utter desperation,
that those living in the ghettos face until their expiration,
without a navigator to aid in their exploration,
“So what if your scores of metaphors
opened doors to your new contract,
and got you lots of brand new fans and brand new contacts,
all your fancy rhymes achieve very little beyond that,
now what do you say when I ask you respond back? ”
“Well, I would have to say…”
“Sorry folks, that’s all the time that we have today.”
That’s the story of the rapper who gained tons of clout,
he rhymed, and he rhymed, and he rhymed, and he rhymed
but what did he rhyme so much about?
poem by P.R. Prosper
Added by Poetry Lover
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