Posted by: tsideq | August 31, 2012


I’m a circumstance away from the rock working man
on the block serving grams;
pursed hand around a baggie, giving dap transactions.
But that’s another path; pan it back…and ACTION!
The setting ain’t the streets, but an office suite,
with an awfully sweet reception that offers sweets.
My first interview after college…sweet.
I’ll see pay the legal way week after honest week.
I was naive!
My sins against humanity
were hid within the mantle of business banditry.
I mean, dammit, we candidly underhanded families,
and they promoted me instead of damning me.
And then I saw a different man in me:
A crook that’s defined by what he’s getting annually.
An honest living without the fucking morals;
What if the rules are different in another portal?
Imagine life where the drugs are legal,
and what they call a crime
is people fucking over people over for the bottom line.
Executives would be ducking cops all the time,
and I would be the fall guy, because I AM the bottom line.
If we lived in that society there,
alot of Mitt Romney’s would probably fry in the chair.
I’ve got it nice, and for this I’m thankful;
but the shit is mangled
when I see it from a different angle.

Posted by: tsideq | July 16, 2012

Too Many Seeds

Too many children
Too many seeds
Too many proceeds of the sex deed
that we don’t need.
I’m not saying don’t breed,
but how many more mouths are you gon’ feed?
It might sound like misanthropy,
but a child is a life, not a damn trophy.
A wise man tol’ me
that “The land will withstand, but man won’t be.”
…And here you’re bringing more to this planet,
and it’s
too much for you to manage.
There’s another life damaged,
including his and yours; a fuckin trife sammich.
And it could’ve been avoided:
morning after pill, and (KABOOM) it’s null and voided;
or it could have been a condom in the toilet…
…instead, we have another fuckin life, cuz you spoiled it!

Posted by: tsideq | June 29, 2012


I woke up, rolled up
to my 9-5 five minutes late and got wrote up
from my boss I wanna choke up,
making CFO bucks
just to fuss about the time I show up.
I get to work at an early time,
cuz I got a date at 8 with a flirty dime
with a perverted mind.
But…shit…I missed it, cuz I had to leave work at 9!
Wednesday, Thursday:
Fuck it then!
Late both days, and two write-ups to rub it in!
They give a fuck when I’m coming in?
but since I work late,
now my flirty date got some other men!
Oh, now it’s Friday?!?
Nah, fuck that…IT’S MY DAY!!!
I come in two hours late, looking at my boss sideways,
eyes glazed,
with a slight crazed smile on my face.
And he’s quite irate…
…so I wait…
…and then it comes…
“Michael, you’re quite late.”
I smile (in fact) at this.
I grab his head, still laughing,
as I BASH it against the file cabinet.
I think I heard a crack…
“Was that your skull, Boss?
Well, let me fix it at no cost.”
I pull him across the office,
grab a stapler, and (yes)…
…with a *BLAY-KA BLAY-KA*
An hour later,
I’m in a cell, sitting 8 deep;
thinking to myself,
“What a great week.”

Posted by: tsideq | June 29, 2012


I’d be like…I’d be like…
I’d be like a sinister evangelist minister,
a scandalous Senator,
if I was underhanding my listeners.
If I declared I cared
‘bout the drums and the snares,
I’d be lying; I’m a square…
#1’s my career!
This here’s only my hobby,
though I’m probably awfully doper than those who throw their soul and body
in this mess;
I’m envious of their seriousness,
but my interest and impetus is clearly much less.
Yes, and I’ll confess:
I’m out for bread, and for that I’m set at my desk.
Rockin’ sets is where I’d rather be;
but for that to be my occupation is a paycut,
and, for now, I’m making straight bucks and raising up.
So this music, sun? I don’t do it for the funds, I do it for the fun;
I do it to be one
with the (ugh) the beebop.
In a sense, Hip Hop is my Zen.

I’m one with it
I feel the spirit of the rhythm when I bump with it
I take a breath and feel my lungs with the Zen
I bop with the Zen
I pop with the Zen
Hip Hop is my Zen within
I’m one with it
I feel the spirit of the rhythm when I bump with it
I take a breath and feel my lungs with the Zen
I bop with the Zen
I pop with the Zen
Hip Hop is my Zen-Zen-Zen-Zen

Maybe I’m quixotic with my exotic mixed logic
and mystic garbage,
when I talk as if Hip Hop is not just an object;
a product to get profit
in this mixed market of modernist artists,
where the novice is godless, and his target is just to live largest.
Pompous. Supercilious.
They’re on that stupid silly sh!t,
when there’s something more REAL you can feel in this.
When I spit it for REAL, I be feeling bliss;
this will give me more skill spilling from my lips.
And while I’m flowing, I’m calm;
when I’m in the zone, my dome is joined with the microphone I’m on.
And on it goes with no drama or comma
and for a momentless moment it’s Nirvana…
I’m like a music bodhisatva;
for you, it’s literal and lyrical;
for me, it’s spiritual.


Who’s more religious?
The preacher getting paid for it,
or he who makes time in his busy day for it?
From the moment he’s awake, oh, he’s stressed, and he’s pressed and depressed,
and can just barely wait for it.
But when he finally gets away, oh it’s…
so euphoric…his mind is like a harmonized chorus.
And in this time, my mind finds divine orbit,
when I combine rhetorics line for line with sublime forces
that’ll guide my rhyme’s focus.
My soul is free to flow; the flow of dopamine belies the rhymes dopeness.
The result’s a fine opus.
I’m far from perfect, but my art and work are what I find closest.
So let me keep my nine-to-six to grind for chips;
my time for spitting is a time for peace; time for bliss.
When my mind is free, the rhyme is crisp;
So get your ends with your pen;
my pen’s for the Zen.