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Hypocrites

from Failsafe​-​B by Eric Beeny

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lyrics

Eric: I’m constructing a precocious skeleton, an alphabet slithering through short sentences. I hold words hostage as the pink horizon spreads too think, rubbed by night into the sky like lotion. My compulsion is impulsive, finely sculpted but in motion like a volcano erupting. You’re going the wrong way down a road which like your story is one-sided, so these carnival clowns get served with Ferris-wheel alignments. Category? You’ll find me under consignment—or better yet in confinement, cuz since this shit was published I ain’t even had time to rhyme yet. These MC’s get upset and rewind my refinement without any acknowledgement of my lyrical content—it’s nonsense. You think Moses split any pro(fi)(phe)ts?

Nate: There’s not a penalty severe enough to strike my heart with fear because I know I’m in the clear when I attack with what you hear: A vocal spear. It’s absurd, reducing you with words. Please stop the verbal turds from these fake-ass MC herds. So tuck your lyrics under arm and disperse because you can’t finish a verse without unnecessary curse. Come up with something. See, what you got’s redundant—I’ll have to interrupt it with a line that’s more disruptive, corruptive. Corrosive, the formula function’s explosive—only words on the battle field, so what’s the commotion? The potion in my breath’s humidity draws your perfect picture on the face of stupidity. Calamity brought you into what I call sanity, with my words as my weapon this is “I” versus humanity. When I rise up like burial fees, watch the count rise like serial sprees. Once you get up, wash the dirt off your knees cuz, bitch, I spread quick like a venereal disease. Me goes the mic like the toast goes the butter, like the victim goes the street and the blood goes the gutter. When I face a mirror with my dick in my hand, I tend to stop and think of how it’d be grand if a button or a switch could delete everything—then I’d blink and I’d see there’s no use in pretending. I’m blending a mixture of lyrics, offending. They come as disappointing as a book with no ending. Tend to vanish like Zap It, uncontrollably elusive, stressed up and down, self-inflicted, abusive. A walking weapon—yo, you can’t change me. I tend to spend my money but my money spends me, sends me into a spiral of confusion and greed. Tears bleed—evaporate, or water the seed? I need to end this thriller, extinguish suspense. Fuck science fiction, I contain the sixth sense. Condense your weakness down to a concentrate, gaze upon you paralyzed as I stop to contemplate the murder rate—should it rise or remain? I’ll leave it lying dormant in the back of my brain. Rise came in the flaws of your DNA—snatch an “N” drop an “O” and you’re DOA…

Eric: Most rappers are useless, don’t even write their own music. Stop making excuses. Sounds like they’re beating their kids while I’m verbally abusive. Allusive, conducive, I’m a late-night exclusive. Ya’ll primetime. It’s bad luck: Your propaganda stanzas, it’s like you spend your days walking back and forth under a ladder. Jot a Malcolm X up on your calendars or daily planners, but these days, at this age, life is too mundane. I’m homeless, asking revolutions for spare change. I got my man Nativity from the B.Y.O.R.S. Party—like planets or spines we align, supporting lives. The domino Doppler effects on wind chimes. Intact this track, in fact these rhymes? Perpetual—so go ahead, remain skeptical. Put on your spectacles and spread your country’s eagle. Our egos changing left lanes without rear views. Looking back you’ll find internal rhymes, elliptical like external satellites in orbit. Not even in your game, we step on field and make you forfeit. Get awarded. I’m hurling mics like projectile missiles at asteroids. Shit-breathed MC’s better pop another Altoid. On the mic, I’m forever dropping the heaviest shit, cuz not even the physical body’s strong enough to hold it…

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from Failsafe​-​B, released January 30, 2004

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Eric Beeny Buffalo, New York

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