John Ackerman

Bro Work On Your Rhymes

Bro Work On Your Rhymes

old school new school that's how I roll
hear the beat drop on the even tempo
check it or forget we got a way to go
let the beat drop on your incredible ego

fake people that say they can rap
working creepy rhymes giving me a heart attack
the streets are as the same as the hood
got good in bad no matter what you do

have we bitten off more then we could chew
my mind is playing tricks on me
living in this land of make believe
where people today are so very mean

eating lean cuisine trying to fit in with their fake standard
as if you haven't already heard a disturbing word
soup is on & you got the bowl for your own
say there's clowns in circus nothing to disturb us

I know I got to work on my rhymes
but I ain't perfect son
perhaps I should use the back door and run
far away from this place in certain trace

rap to stay on top of the game
busting out beats driving me insane
still got to clean your room
have to be at home before noon

signs, signs, signs everywhere there's signs
do this don't do that
but we all fall short
still I'm in the game even if there's a 9 to my head

pull then trigger then I'm dead
rap is for those who want to stay in the game
keep your head up, smile & never complain

Topic(s) of this poem: flow, love

Poem Submitted: Monday, August 14, 2017

Form: Free Verse

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