Monday, July 11, 2005


This week we get mad into Curpeter and his troubles. we do not mess around wit' sick sortzz of helloes.

- - - - -

Under tha bridge in the park,
Curpeter hidezz
Hidezz in the huge pipe
corrugated, ten feet tall.

The rain fall, the cops be on he scent.
He figgaz' on two minutes.
Still he got he piece.
Eat it? Dump it in thee water?

Who cares. Curpeter busts out.
Mad runs upstream
dog can't smell no scent on water.
Tha creek getz widah'

Now he lookin' free.
Curpeter hoof a few mo'
He land in tha homelezz camp.
He finger he piece,
but no worry.
Wrecked dudes all shazzed
They know that look
They cook tha punk a sanwich.
They close ranks 'round tha punk
Curpeter got he cloak on.

Friday, July 01, 2005

Mad banked on that last poemzz, all!

word it up and around, O-Poop shopped mah last poemzz, tha one about Curpeter the Self-Suiciding Boy and check it! Eminem's agent optioned it for four figures w/a percentage. old agent all said it ain't em's style of writin' but was too good to pass up. O took he 60 cutz which was a cold stang but slipped me my fo-tay and threw down another c-note to dittle off some mo' crazy emotion-based youth hujammmz. It's like i'm cold gettin' paid a hundo to earn mad loot! i be makin' mobius money.

'sallright then, here be much crazy youth of today "thoughtpoems":


Curpeter, down to the east side,
2 get his self a piece.
Little J behind tha bodega got his price.
Sold him that and a bag of ice. Curpeter leaves.

Bustin' back home, on the bus. Cop trailed him.
Empties his pockets of ice
But fuzz misses tha gun.
Curpeter can end it now
While the cop is on he walkie-talkie.

Choices to make, lives at stake.
Does he take them both down?
Too late; tha bus hits a wino.
Curpeter dashes the hell away.


If you did not notice, Curpeter be all like a modern day Beowolf, all.