There are a lot of people who really abused sampling and gave it a bad name, by just taking people's entire hit songs and rapping over them. It gave publishers license to get a little greedy.
Related quotes
Book Of The Duchesse
THE PROEM
I have gret wonder, be this lighte,
How that I live, for day ne nighte
I may nat slepe wel nigh noght,
I have so many an ydel thoght
Purely for defaute of slepe
That, by my trouthe, I take no kepe
Of no-thing, how hit cometh or goth,
Ne me nis no-thing leef nor loth.
Al is y-liche good to me --
Ioye or sorowe, wherso hyt be --
For I have feling in no-thinge,
But, as it were, a mased thing,
Alway in point to falle a-doun;
For sorwful imaginacioun
Is alway hoolly in my minde.
And wel ye wite, agaynes kynde
Hit were to liven in this wyse;
For nature wolde nat suffyse
To noon erthely creature
Not longe tyme to endure
Withoute slepe, and been in sorwe;
And I ne may, ne night ne morwe,
Slepe; and thus melancolye
And dreed I have for to dye,
Defaute of slepe and hevinesse
Hath sleyn my spirit of quiknesse,
That I have lost al lustihede.
Suche fantasies ben in myn hede
So I not what is best to do.
But men myght axe me, why soo
I may not slepe, and what me is?
But natheles, who aske this
Leseth his asking trewely.
My-selven can not telle why
The sooth; but trewely, as I gesse,
I holde hit be a siknesse
That I have suffred this eight yere,
And yet my bote is never the nere;
For ther is phisicien but oon,
That may me hele; but that is doon.
Passe we over until eft;
That wil not be, moot nede be left;
Our first matere is good to kepe.
So whan I saw I might not slepe,
Til now late, this other night,
Upon my bedde I sat upright
And bad oon reche me a book,
A romaunce, and he hit me took
[...] Read more
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Cleanness
Clannesse who so kyndly cowþe comende
& rekken vp alle þe resounz þat ho by ri3t askez,
Fayre formez my3t he fynde in for[þ]ering his speche
& in þe contrare kark & combraunce huge.
For wonder wroth is þe Wy3þat wro3t alle þinges
Wyth þe freke þat in fylþe fol3es Hym after,
As renkez of relygioun þat reden & syngen
& aprochen to hys presens & prestez arn called;
Thay teen vnto his temmple & temen to hym seluen,
Reken with reuerence þay rychen His auter;
Þay hondel þer his aune body & vsen hit boþe.
If þay in clannes be clos þay cleche gret mede;
Bot if þay conterfete crafte & cortaysye wont,
As be honest vtwyth & inwith alle fylþez,
Þen ar þay synful hemself & sulped altogeder
Boþe God & His gere, & hym to greme cachen.
He is so clene in His courte, þe Kyng þat al weldez,
& honeste in His housholde & hagherlych serued
With angelez enourled in alle þat is clene,
Boþ withine & withouten in wedez ful bry3t;
Nif he nere scoymus & skyg & non scaþe louied,
Hit were a meruayl to much, hit mo3t not falle.
Kryst kydde hit Hymself in a carp onez,
Þeras He heuened a3t happez & hy3t hem her medez.
Me mynez on one amonge oþer, as Maþew recordez,
Þat þus clanness vnclosez a ful cler speche:
Þe haþel clene of his hert hapenez ful fayre,
For he schal loke on oure Lorde with a bone chere';
As so saytz, to þat sy3t seche schal he neuer
Þat any vnclannesse hatz on, auwhere abowte;
For He þat flemus vch fylþe fer fro His hert
May not byde þat burre þat hit His body ne3en.
Forþy hy3not to heuen in haterez totorne,
Ne in þe harlatez hod, & handez vnwaschen.
For what vrþly haþel þat hy3honour haldez
Wolde lyke if a ladde com lyþerly attyred,
When he were sette solempnely in a sete ryche,
Abof dukez on dece, with dayntys serued?
Þen þe harlot with haste helded to þe table,
With rent cokrez at þe kne & his clutte traschez,
& his tabarde totorne, & his totez oute,
Oþer ani on of alle þyse, he schulde be halden vtter,
With mony blame ful bygge, a boffet peraunter,
Hurled to þe halle dore & harde þeroute schowued,
& be forboden þat bor3e to bowe þider neuer,
On payne of enprysonment & puttyng in stokkez;
& þus schal he be schent for his schrowde feble,
Þa3neuer in talle ne in tuch he trespas more.
& if vnwelcum he were to a worþlych prynce,
3et hym is þe hy3e Kyng harder in her euen;
[...] Read more
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Steamheaters
She wants a love...
She can take into her arms.
Hold her with her charms.
And sing love songs,
To allure
And captivate!
Heating...
Without setting off the alarm!
He wants a love...
No other one has had.
When it is 'his' booty...
He likes it slow not fast!
And he's glad no one has had,
To touch his booty's ass!
If that has to happen,
He knew he would be sad!
And...
'What' they want...
Maybe a bit too soon.
They need more memory moments.
Before beginning to cast eyes on that 'fullmoon'!
As they lay naked on the basement floor...
Sighing and grinding in lovebird swoons!
'WHAT? '
Steamheaters drip...
Just 'getting it'!
They both are wet,
From the basement water!
Steamheaters kiss...
With sexiness.
He sucked her tits,
'Til her husband caught her,
With his best friend...
'getin' it! '
'Uh...
For clarification,
Will you say that again, please? '
You want it sung?
'No,
I just want it heard.
I may have misunderstood!
What I thought your blurted,
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Hit Me With A Rock
When I was a little boy
(when I was just a boy)
And my mother would call my name
(when I was just a boy)
Shed say I had to be in the house by seven
(when I was just a boy)
But Id stay out late at night
(when I was just a boy)
And when Id finally get back in
Oh, I know shed hit me, shed hit me
Shed sit me on her knees and whip me
Oh, shed hit me with a rock
Shed whip me with a rock, oh baby
Shed hit me (hit me with a rock)
Shed hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me
(hit me with a rock)
And when I was grown to be a man
(grown to be a man)
The minute the boss would call my name
(grown to be a man)
And say I had to be in the office by seven
(grown to be a man)
Im a constipated man
(grown to be a man)
And when Id finally get back in
Oh, my bossd hit me, hed hit me
Hed tie me to a chair and whip me
Oh hed hit me with a rock
Hed whip me with a rock, oh baby
Hed hit me (hit me with a rock)
Hed hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me
(hit me with a rock)
When I was grown to be president
(was the president)
The minute the congressd call my name
(was the president)
And said some papers had to be signed by thursday
(had to be signed by thursday)
Id fly away to pakistan
(was the president)
And the second that Id get back home
Oh, I know theyd hit me, theyd hit me
With leather and chains theyd whip me
Oh, theyd hit me with a rock
Theyd whip me with a rock, oh baby
Theyd hit me. (hit me with a rock)
Theyd hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me
(hit me with a rock)
Hit me, hit me, hit me
(hit me with a rock)
[...] Read more
song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
Added by Lucian Velea
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We've All Been Greedy
Those peaceful nights for some have passed.
Those feeling safe...
In sheltered communities behind closed gates.
Are awakening.
But not to Robins singing.
To peer from behind French customed made doors.
Swinging out onto the patio.
Overlooking acres upon acres upon more acres,
Of freshly cut grass.
These awareness days have come upon us fast.
Who would believe such a quick erasing,
Of a way of life....
Would come to pass.
And leave those embittered with much grief,
With streaks of torment on twisted faces.
Disgraced and now nervously pacing.
In wait.
But for what?
When the 'why' of it has arrived too late!
We've been greedy.
See what gluttony does when it can't be overcomed.
We've been greedy,
And feeding on our selfishness.
While ripping the hearts out of those to sustain it.
Doing everything to gain more and maintain it.
We've been greedy!
And..
The stinging of the realness,
Persists.
And can not be contained.
Acts of civil madness...
Spreads fast!
Thousands go out of their minds.
Many more are trapped!
Something in their minds have snapped.
Only those exposed to fantasies,
Are observed doing that.
And a waste of explanation can not bring them back!
Their self delusions have attacked.
Leaving us all affected by that 'fat'!
Yes fat!
Undisciplined rascists...
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Avowyng of Arthur
He that made us on the mulde,
And fair fourmet the folde,
Atte His will, as He wold,
The see and the sande,
Giffe hom joy that will here
Of dughti men and of dere,
Of haldurs that before us were,
That lifd in this londe.
One was Arther the Kinge,
Wythowtun any letting;
Wyth him was mony lordinge
Hardi of honde.
Wice and war ofte thay were,
Bold undur banere,
And wighte weppuns wold were,
And stifly wold stond.
This is no fantum ne no fabull;
Ye wote wele of the Rowun Tabull,
Of prest men and priveabull,
Was holdun in prise:
Chevetan of chivalry,
Kyndenesse and curtesy,
Hunting full warly,
As wayt men and wise.
To the forest thay fare
To hunte atte buk and atte bare,
To the herte and to the hare,
That bredus in the rise.
The King atte Carlele he lay;
The hunter cummys on a day -
Sayd, 'Sir, ther walkes in my way
A well grim gryse.
'He is a balefull bare -
Seche on segh I nevyr are:
He hase wroghte me mycull care
And hurte of my howundes,
Slayn hom downe slely
Wyth feghting full furcely.
Wasse ther none so hardi
Durste bide in his bandus.
On him spild I my spere
And mycull of my nothir gere.
Ther moue no dintus him dere,
Ne wurche him no wowundes.
He is masly made -
All offellus that he bade.
Ther is no bulle so brade
That in frith foundes.
[...] Read more
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter CXXXV: Greedy
I'm not hopeless
I'm not obsessed
I'm just greedy
I know I should stop
I know my limit
I'm just greedy
I don't want to lose anything
I refuse to release something
I'm just greedy
Even it drains me dry
Even it wears me down
I'm just greedy
I'm not crazy
I'm not dangerous
I'm just greedy
I'm not in manic depression
I'm under a perfect control
I'm just greedy
I depending on that look
I clinging for that hope
I'm just greedy
If compared to the evil mind
If compared to the cruel traitor
I'm just greedy
I'm possessive
I'm territory man
I'm just greedy
I will clutch tighter
I will sink deeper
I'm just greedy
I never have enough
I always demand more and more
I'm just greedy
Though you should hate me
Though I should not be forgiven
I'm just greedy
I'm not only egoist
I'm not only aggressive
[...] Read more
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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I'm Bad
bad bad bad bad bad
bad bad bad bad bad
bad bad bad bad
I was bas born
I'd be badder when I die
I'm bad when I am sober
I'm badder when I'm high
I'm when I feel good
I'm bad when I'm blue
I'm bad to myself
So I'll be bad to you
So I'll be bad to you
I should've been good
Look at the trouble I've had
I would if I could
But I'm just bad
bad bad bad bad bad
bad bad bad bad
I'm, bad and I'm alive
I'll be badder when I'm dead
I'm bad in my body
man I'm badder in the head
I'm bad in the bed
Something wrong from the start
Guilt in my mind
Evil in my heart
Evil in my heart
I don't need to be happy
I don't care if I'm sad
I don't care about nothin'
Cause I'm bad bad bad bad bad
bad bad bad bad
Don't lend me a dollar
Don't lend me a dime
Don't lend me your wife
She'll have a good time
I'm bad in my car
I'm badder when I'm home
I'm bad when I'm with you
And I'm badder all alone
I'm a low down worm
I'm a conquering worm
I'm a blood-suckin' worm
I'm a slime baitin' worm
I'll put you on the hook
And I'll watch you squirm
I could never learn
Any young turks new tricks
I could never learn
Not to kick against the pricks
[...] Read more
song performed by Violent Femmes
Added by Lucian Velea
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Greed..
Greed will make you hurngry
you'll never get enough...
it can tear a life apart
Greed is nasy stuff..
don't get greedy - don't be greedy
once you let yoursef be greedy
you can't go back again...
(i'm telling ya man...)
i know a man named Jessy
his Grandma was sitting good..
he set out to win her turst
and take everything he could..
he got greedy
he was greedy..
Jessy let himself get greedy
And He can't go back again...
Greed turns family on family
makes a friend the enemy
it can turn you on your Grandma
blinding you so you can't see..
it will turn you on your parents..
and tear your world apart..
there's no way you can change it
once you let it in your heart..
don't be greedy
don't get greedy..
once you let yoursef be greedy
you can't go back again...
once someone has been cheated
or swindeled it's a shame
greed will leave them cold and Angry
with only You to blame....
no one will ever trust you
trust gets burried in the past..
you're better of financialy'
but money it won't last..
don't get greedy don't be greedy
once you let yourself be greedy
you can't go back again...
once greed becomes a partner
and all is said and done..
when your lookin down at a grave...
can you really feel you won?
you now have more than others
you worked hard to steal it all..
others may have earned it but
your the one who made that call..
no one thought you'd do it
it never crossed their mind..
they trusted that you would be fair
[...] Read more
poem by Connetta Jean
Added by Poetry Lover
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Virginia's Story
Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.
She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.
When she was old enough she got married.
First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.
Agnes was my mother.
Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.
Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.
Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.
Anna was a maid and cook.
She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth
They were both good cooks
They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.
My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.
She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.
[...] Read more
poem by Talile Ali
Added by Poetry Lover
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License To Chill
(Jimmy Buffett)
Work, work, work
Big pile of it and the boss is a jerk.
I just want to disappear
Wishin' I was somewhere other than here.
Livin' for the weekend,
Jumpin' off the deep end,
With just enough money to buy
A license to chill
And I believe I will
Let the rat race run, roll around in the sun until
Trouble turns funny, songs get sung
A little bit of money, the night's still young
Leave me alone I've got a license,
A license to chill
(Kenny Chesney)
Girls, girls, girls
Ain't nothin' like them in the whole wide world.
So damn smart and cute,
And it's amazing what they pass off as a bathing suit.
Winners and losers
Sailors and cruisers
We're all qualified, for a license to chill
And I believe I will
Let the rat race run, roll around in the sun until
Trouble turns funny, songs get sung
A little bit of money, the night's still young
Leave me alone I've got a license,
A license to chill
(Both)
License to chill
And I believe I will
Let the rat race run, roll around in the sun until
Trouble turns funny, songs get sung
One good samba lasts all night long
Leave me alone I've got a license,
A license to chill
A license to chill
(Jimmy spoken)
Ramos go rent me a coupe deville
Hey KL, where's that barbecue grill
Head on down to Margaritaville
Have me a cheeseburger with a big pickle dill
Jesus, I sound kinda mentally ill
I guess I better go turn on Dr Phil
song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bad Bad Boy
Im a bad, bad, boy
And Im gonna steal your love
Said Im a bad, bad, boy
And Im gonna steal your love
Come take me to your house
Then Im gonna rip you off
Well I made my first kill
With the old town girl
She was the apple of her daddys eye
Well that woman looked up at me
And I said honey well be
Together till the day I die
But I lied
Im a bad, bad, boy
And Im gonna steal your love
Im a bad, bad, boy
And Im gonna steal your love
Come take me to your house
Then Im gonna rip you off
There seems to be no end
Of women who are lookin for a man
My services dont come cheap
But I help out when I can
Tell them lies that they wanna hear
Andi really lead em on
Spend all of their money
And Im long, gone
Im a bad, bad, boy
And Im gonna steal your love
Im a bad, bad, boy
And Im gonna steal your love
Come take me to your house
Then Im gonna rip you off
Ive got tastes for fast cars
I dont wanna settle down
The good life sure come s easily
With all the mugs around
The women they just come to me
I dont have to look around
I move into their homes with them
Then I move on
Im a bad, bad, boy
And Im gonna steal your love
Im a bad, bad, boy
Im gonna steal your love
Come take me to your house
Then Im gonna rip you off
Im a bad, bad, bad, bad, bad,bad, bad, bad, bad,bad,bad, bad, boy
Im bad, Im bad, Im bad, Im such a, such a bad, bad boy
Im gonna rip you off
[...] Read more
song performed by Nazareth
Added by Lucian Velea
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Patience
Pacience is a poynt, þa33e,
& quo for þro may no3t þole, þe þikker he sufferes.
&Thorn;en is better to abyde þe bur vmbestoundes
&Thorn;en ay þrow forth my þro, þa33e masse,
How Mathew melede þat his Mayster His meyny con teche.
A3t happes He hem hy3t & vcheon a mede,
Sunderlupes, for hit dissert, vpon a ser wyse:
Thay arn happen þat han in hert pouerte,
For hores is þe heuen-ryche to holde for euer;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat haunte mekenesse,
For þay schal welde þis worlde & alle her wylle haue;
Thay ar happen also þat for her harme wepes,
For þay schal comfort encroche in kythes ful mony;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat hungeres after ry3t,
For þay schal frely be refete ful of alle gode;
Thay ar happen also þat han in hert rauþe,
For mercy in alle maneres her mede schal worþe;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat arn of hert clene,
For þay her Sauyour in sete schal se with her y3en;
Thay ar happen also þat halden her pese,
For þay þe gracious Godes sunes schal godly be called;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat con her hert stere,
For hores is þe heuen-ryche, as I er sayde.
These arn þe happes alle a3t þat vus bihy3t weren,
If we þyse ladyes wolde lof in lyknyng of þewes:
Dame Pouert, Dame Pitee, Dame Penaunce þe þrydde,
Dame Mekenesse, Dame Mercy, & miry Clannesse,
& þenne Dame Pes, & Pacyence put in þerafter.
He were happen þat hade one; alle were þe better.
Bot [s]yn I am put to a poynt þat pouerte hatte,
I schal me poruay pacyence & play me with boþe,
For in þe tyxte þere þyse two arn in teme layde,
Hit arn fettled in on forme, þe forme & þe laste,
& by quest of her quoyntyse enquylen on mede.
& als, in myn vpynyoun, hit arn of on kynde:
For þeras pouert hir proferes ho nyl be put vtter,
Bot lenge wheresoeuer hir lyst, lyke oþer greme;
& þereas pouert enpresses, þa33tloker hit lyke & her lotes prayse,
&Thorn;enne wyþer wyth & be wroth & þe wers haue.
3if me be dy3t a destyne due to haue,
What dowes me þe dedayn, oþer dispit make?
Oþer 3if my lege lorde lyst on lyue me to bidde
Oþer to ryde oþer to renne to Rome in his ernde,
What grayþed me þe grychchyng bot grame more seche?
Much 3if he me ne made, maugref my chekes,
& þenne þrat moste I þole & vnþonk to mede,
&Thorn;e had bowed to his bode bongre my hyure.
Did not Jonas in Jude suche jape sumwhyle?
To sette hym to sewrte, vnsounde he hym feches.
Wyl 3e tary a lyttel tyne & tent me a whyle,
[...] Read more
poem by Anonymous Americas
Added by Poetry Lover
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Bad Girl
Bad Girl"
Sho nuff
Shawty
What it do?
Oooooooh
Pimpin', oh boy
uh
What y'all know about a supermodel
Fresh outta Elle magazine
Buy her own bottles
Look pimp juice, I need me one
Bad than a mutha
I hear you sayin'
I need a bad girl
If you're a bad girl
Playas when you see me
Act like you know me
I keep a dollar worth of dimes
You know pimpin' ain't easy
For all my chicks in the club
Who knows how to cut a rug
If you're a bad girl
Get at me bad girl
[Chorus]
Ooh work me baby
Shakin' it the way I like
I'm ready to be bad
I need a bad girl (say yeah)
Get at me bad girl
What sexy lady's comin' home with me tonight?
I'm ready to be bad
I need a bad girl (super bad baby)
Get at me bad girl
Now I've seen a lotta broads
All on one accord
Everyone looked the same but
Take a look at my dame (my dame)
Fo' sho', she take that Hpnotiq or Alize
There ain't much more I can say but (I need a)
I need a bad girl (bad girl)
If you're a bad girl
Got one thou' on the bar now
Chick need a drink on the flo' now
Look at them bad girls movin' it
Makin' faces while they doin' it
Oh, I wanna take one to the restroom
So close I'm smellin' like your perfume
If you're a bad girl
Get at me bad girl
[Chorus]
[...] Read more
song performed by Usher
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Parliament Of Fowles
Here begynyth the Parlement of Foulys
THE PROEM
The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne,
Thassay so hard, so sharp the conquering,
The dredful Ioy, that alwey slit so yerne,
Al this mene I by love, that my feling
Astonyeth with his wonderful worching
So sore y-wis, that whan I on him thinke,
Nat wot I wel wher that I wake or winke.
For al be that I knowe nat love in dede,
Ne wot how that he quyteth folk hir hyre,
Yet happeth me ful ofte in bokes rede
Of his miracles, and his cruel yre;
Ther rede I wel he wol be lord and syre,
I dar not seyn, his strokes been so sore,
But God save swich a lord! I can no more.
Of usage, what for luste what for lore,
On bokes rede I ofte, as I yow tolde.
But wherfor that I speke al this? not yore
Agon, hit happed me for to beholde
Upon a boke, was write with lettres olde;
And ther-upon, a certeyn thing to lerne,
The longe day ful faste I radde and yerne.
For out of olde feldes, as men seith,
Cometh al this newe corn fro yeer to yere;
And out of olde bokes, in good feith,
Cometh al this newe science that men lere.
But now to purpos as of this matere --
To rede forth hit gan me so delyte,
That al the day me thoughte but a lyte.
This book of which I make of mencioun,
Entitled was al thus, as I shal telle,
`Tullius of the dreme of Scipioun.';
Chapitres seven hit hadde, of hevene and helle,
And erthe, and soules that therinnr dwelle,
Of whiche, as shortly as I can hit trete,
Of his sentence I wol you seyn the grete.
First telleth hit, whan Scipion was come
In Afrik, how he mette Massinisse,
That him for Ioye in armes hath y nome.
Than telleth hit hir speche and al the blisse
That was betwix hem, til the day gan misse;
And how his auncestre, African so dere,
[...] Read more
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Bad Boy
Bad boy, bad boy
Bad boy, bad boy
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Boys will be boys, bad boy.bad boy
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Always gettin so restless, nothin but trouble
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Get me feelin breathless, nothin but trouble
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Bad, bad, bad, bad boy, you make me feel so good
Bad, bad, bad, bad boy, you make me feel so good, knew you would
The way you hold me tight you get me so excited
You do me oh , so right, my heart goes beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat
Bad, bad, bad, bad boy, you make me feel so good, I want you
Bad, bad, bad, bad boy, you make me feel so good, knew you would
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Always gettin so restless, nothin but trouble
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Get me feelin breathless, nothin but trouble
And when he drives me home
I feel safe at night
You call me on the phone
It goes ring, ring, ring, ring-a-ring, ring
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Always gettin so restless, nothin but trouble
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Get me feelin breathless, nothin but trouble
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
song performed by Gloria Estefan
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rapping isnt just rhyming and Poetry isnt just loving.
Poetry is like Rapping a game of grate rhyming and of victory. Rapping is suposed
to be mean and poetry is suposed to be lovey and sappy.
I say rapping and poetry mean what they mean.
keep rapping and rhyming dont let no body tell you how to write what u feel
Rapping is a game of give and take Poetry is a game of rhyming and english words
Rapping is not just a game and poetry is not just the name of rapping with love.
poem by Debbie Ledford
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Anelida and Arcite
Thou ferse god of armes, Mars the rede,
That in the frosty contre called Trace,
Within thy grisly temple ful of drede
Honoured art as patroun of that place;
With thy Bellona, Pallas, ful of grace,
Be present and my song contynue and guye;
At my begynnyng thus to the I crye.
For hit ful depe is sonken in my mynde,
With pitous hert in Englyssh to endyte
This olde storie, in Latyn which I fynde,
Of quene Anelida and fals Arcite,
That elde, which that al can frete and bite,
As hit hath freten mony a noble storie,
Hath nygh devoured out of oure memorie.
Be favorable eke, thou Polymya,
On Parnaso that with thy sustres glade,
By Elycon, not fer from Cirrea,
Singest with vois memorial in the shade,
Under the laurer which that may not fade,
And do that I my ship to haven wynne.
First folowe I Stace, and after him Corynne.
The Story.
Iamque domos patrias Cithice post aspera gentis
Prelia laurigero subeunte Thesea curru
Letifici plausus missusque ad sidera vulgi
When Theseus with werres longe and grete
The aspre folk of Cithe had overcome,
With laurer corouned, in his char gold-bete,
Hom to his contre-houses is he come,
For which the peple, blisful al and somme,
So cry{:e}den that to the sterres hit wente,
And him to honouren dide al her entente.
Beforn this duk, in signe of victorie,
The trompes come, and in his baner large
The ymage of Mars, and in tokenyng of glorie
Men myghte sen of tresour many a charge,
Many a bright helm, and many a spere and targe,
Many a fresh knyght, and many a blysful route,
On hors, on fote, in al the feld aboute.
Ipolita his wif, the hardy quene
Of Cithia, that he conquered hadde,
With Emelye her yonge suster shene,
[...] Read more
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Patted Fat Cats
They want deregulation done by government.
But from their mouths they shout and say,
They want the government away.
They want deregulation done by government.
But from their mouths they shout and say,
They want the government away.
What's wrong with greedy people,
Who just want to feed their greed.
And when the greeding stops,
They want to blame someone about it!
And...
What's wrong with greedy people,
Who just want to feed their greed.
And when the greeding stops,
They want to blame someone about it!
They don't want no more taxes.
But they want to live relaxed.
To live their lives on that high hog...
Like patted fat cats!
They don't want no more taxes.
But they want to live relaxed.
To live their lives on that high hog...
Like patted fat cats!
What's wrong with greedy people,
Who just want to feed their greed.
And when the greeding stops,
They want to blame someone about it!
And...
What's wrong with greedy people,
Who just want to feed their greed.
And when the greeding stops,
They want to blame someone about it!
They want deregulation done by government.
But from their mouths they shout and say,
They want the government away.
What's wrong with greedy people,
Who can not correct their evils.
What's wrong with greedy people,
Who can not correct misdeeds.
What's wrong with greedy people,
Who can not correct their evils.
What's wrong with greedy people,
Who can not correct misdeeds.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Too Bad
The troubles you've caused now on you sit.
Too bad.
Too bad.
And everyone of them you committed.
Too bad.
Too bad.
With a causing them you can't admit.
Too bad.
Too bad.
Your eyes now weep.
Too bad.
You can not sleep.
Too bad.
You want to blame somebody else
but on you people peep!
Too bad.
Too bad.
On you...
All your sadness begins!
Too bad.
Too bad.
Your eyes now weep.
Too bad.
You can not sleep.
Too bad.
You want to blame somebody else
but on you people peep!
Too bad.
Too bad.
The troubles you've caused
now on you sit.
Too bad.
Too bad.
And everyone of them
you committed.
Too bad.
Too bad.
With a causing them
you can't admit.
Too bad.
Too bad.
On you...
All your sadness begins!
Too bad.
Too bad.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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