Lost verses


Lost verses
I put your views , bout my looks, aside
There’s no spoogy lookalike , worldwide
No similar kind nor type
Nothing to compare, the way I write or type
The way I think or rhyme
I am the eternal prototype
The barcode is in my soul
The holy ghost Inc story must be sold
We must criminalise the fact that the spoken word is so commoditised
Like blood, Gold, silver and rice
This devil is in the price
The detail, I cannot hide
As we deliberate this industrial self loathing complex
Our hope is a product on the market
Our self worth packaged in a packet 
Death is the market research
Pain the profit we earn
And in loss; birth is the attainment of market share

Bongani Spoogy Masombuka ©2013 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

 Talib Kweli and Yasin Bey AKA Mos Def- Blackstarr keep shinning. They are back with a new sinlge 'fix up'. The Colbert Report Get More: Colbert Report Full Episodes , Political Humor & Satire Blog , Video Archive
Read more
The Obsession of Sex in Hip-Hop 1 “ what are the freaks in the video for, fuck a song give me a thong, pussy galore ”- lamented rapper Black Thought about the great influence of sex in hip-hop.  “it’s loud as fuck when  you sleeping with the one that you hate”-   Rapper Tumi Molekane’s take on the instant gratification that comes with sex. You can interpret this differently and juxtapose this with the relationship that sex has with corporations. Hip Hop hates being a concubine for corporations but it also loves the money that flows from it. This love and hate relationship is even highlighted by rap moguls who have racked millions from dealing with ‘the devil’. Sex is so ubiquitous in rap music that society is even forgetting that sex has been used before to sell music, way before hip-hop was found. Thus, rap has become the black sheep of the music family. Every social-ill under the sun is attributed to the moral bankruptcy of the music. But are the detractors justifi...
Read more
They say you came from a low stock that you are not of the right breed Well, I was bred from the bakery of Masters The kind who employed the skills of Gods to serve the best meal that every human soul could relish These men of the dough were deities in their own right Then, I emerged a hot-headed bundle of scorn ready to devour my prospective eaters or suitors as I turn to call them They are my romantic conquests my bed of flowers engaged in this write-play I charm them with with glee and drinking ease My imagination's brew frothing at the edges of my mouth is the sweet taste of of what my imagination conjures Therein I bite into their neck of the woods a Vampire on a prowl This blood ink still drips Spoogy 2011
Read more