zombies
Were making history with our open hearts, what we do we do in the dark
Euros, Pesos, it doesn't matter what-
Flying down deserted avenues we only see in blue, we get what we want 'cus we know what we have to do
Like budding flowers we sweat money in the showers, if I could die twice, I'd die in the same hour
Go to my funeral twice, supply the flowers,
and as blood drips down my sleeves, you'll believe- but only zombies believe blood running down your sleeves
Naked guns discloses, zombies always murder but they don't bleed on there own clothes
Smell smoke, somethings cooking, all you wanted was to taste the cooking, but the peeping tom caught you looking
By the time your bloods running it's to late, all you wanted was to slip it on the first date
Next week, hangover aint gone, you get the text 'I'm late'
in drunken dark lit bathrooms, anything's great
Anything goes- ask given teenager on any given sunday, going 90 on curvy roads in mom's Hyundai
And they all say "Dont forget that dirty shit, dirty shouldered, beautiful bitch
You'll get what you deserved kid; Bored as fuck, this is how you live
The dopeman lives to die- Guess what? We may be bored as fuck, but we WILL get high
Maybe when were 15, maybe when were 35, we are zombies because we all die
[chorus:
were just fucking zombies, fucking raw meat cus
the prettiest people do the ugliest things
and the poorest people sport the richest bling-
Zombies with blood running down red sleeves;
What do in the dark, we do what we want
They raid our lockers, we don't give a fuck-
they're just giving us a welcome vacation
time to do the shit that we making ]
Fuck, we'll all just live for the weed, say we don't give a shit about anything we can't see physicly
this is what liberation leads too, it leads to me, it leads to he who reigns supreme!
Zombies who listen in the sense of sight- talk to god before you write, because you know you ain't got no rights;
please father, forgive us, we swore that we were right, Please father, we though we had some motherfucking rights,
But everything is so much darker in the dead of night, now we take the paper, and god we write:
[chorus:
were just zombies, fucking raw meat 'cus
the prettiest people do the ugliest things
and the poorest people sport the richest bling-
Zombies with blood running down red sleeves;
What do in the dark, we do what we want
They raid our lockers, we don't give a fuck-
they're just giving us a very welcome vacation
time to do the history we making ]
We're violent, cold hearted, athletic and apathetic
whats new in school, you don't get it; we got issues but we don't sweat it
get it? whats to get? we just wanna be left alone- alone in the sense of being pros
alone in the sense of- fuck, i don't know!
no more cons, we just wanna be big fish in big ponds
we want money, we want drugs, we want to be straight laced thugs
we don't care about the rest of our lives- no way kid, just saddle up and ride
and the say, safe sex is great sex, well guess what, so is syntax, because syntax makes sense;
word order is like a new world order;
and if zombies lead this new world order, guess what, shits about to get a lot fucking colder
They've been warning you since we upset the natural order; so guess what, they said when we were 5
you'd die if you had sex before you were 35, so I guess we can all just revert back to Zombieland
with the greasy smiles and snow white tans; but what happened to candy land?
It seems so far away man like it was laced with acid and corrupted by some black hand-
god takes us by the hand, looks at us and says 'holy shit, I created man?"
"What the fuck was I on man?"
OHGAWD
It doesn't strike me like you're shooting for popular hip-hop, but more the imaginative ICP style of hip-hop. I commend you for your attempt. I can see potential with this rap, especially if the backdrop were a cheeky flash animation, but as it stands, the lyrics need a lot help.
The problem I see, is that you didn't commit to either approach. It appears you want to remain creative, while also having a pop/gangster feel to it, which doesn't work. I really do feel you would do well to pull back on sounding a specific way, and focus more on content. What are you trying to portray, what is the end goal for the music, what kind of beat will accompany the words, will the tempo be quick or slow, and how will that affect the delivery. Once you have all this prepared, then you'll be ready to edit the rap, or outright re-write it.
At 6/13/10 05:44 PM, whitebabbit wrote: zombies
You may just be posting to a forum, but grammar is highly important. Seeing the title start with a lowercase nearly dissuaded me from reading further.
Were making history with our open hearts, what we do we do in the dark
Euros, Pesos, it doesn't matter what-
The start already sounds too gangster. By gangster, I'm referring to the type of hip-hop centered on sex, money, and materialism.
Flying down deserted avenues we only see in blue, we get what we want 'cus we know what we have to do
This line is very random. "see in blue" needs to be made explicit. As it stands, it seems to only be included to rhyme with "do".
Like budding flowers we sweat money in the showers, if I could die twice, I'd die in the same hour
The first half makes no sense. The latter half is a really good metaphor for someone who is reckless and has no disregard for life, which is great for the zombie milieu. If the first half of the line was stronger, it'd make a really good couplet.
Go to my funeral twice, supply the flowers,
and as blood drips down my sleeves, you'll believe- but only zombies believe blood running down your sleeves
Naked guns discloses, zombies always murder but they don't bleed on there own clothes
Starts off good from the previous line, but then gets confused. In the sense that the imagery is there, but the clarity isn't. I can see what you're trying to say, but the way is said is not good. Also, the last is really out there. Sounds almost as if you're making a joke.
Smell smoke, somethings cooking, all you wanted was to taste the cooking, but the peeping tom caught you looking
Again, not much sense. Peeping tom does the looking, so why would they get caught by the peeping tom.
By the time your bloods running it's to late, all you wanted was to slip it on the first date
Next week, hangover aint gone, you get the text 'I'm late'
in drunken dark lit bathrooms, anything's great
Anything goes- ask given teenager on any given sunday, going 90 on curvy roads in mom's Hyundai
While still sloppy, this is the closest you get to telling a story, which you should embrace more throughout the rap. I would suggest studying Eminem's technique for inspiration on telling story through rap. One of the best examples is "My Darling" where Slim is arguing with the devil and tries to kill him.
And they all say "Dont forget that dirty shit, dirty shouldered, beautiful bitch
You'll get what you deserved kid; Bored as fuck, this is how you live
The dopeman lives to die- Guess what? We may be bored as fuck, but we WILL get high
Maybe when were 15, maybe when were 35, we are zombies because we all die
Again, not much sense here. Too much gangster influence. I find you're trying to hard to sound... well, hard. Getting high is a non-sequitur that only emphasis the fact that the rap is so far gone from being about Zombies.
[chorus:
were just fucking zombies, fucking raw meat cus
the prettiest people do the ugliest things
and the poorest people sport the richest bling-
Zombies with blood running down red sleeves;
What do in the dark, we do what we want
They raid our lockers, we don't give a fuck-
they're just giving us a welcome vacation
time to do the shit that we making ]
To extend on the previous comment, by the time the chorus hits I'm so far out of the zombie mentality, that it's odd the chorus is so focused on it. And even when focused on Zombies, there are still the random lines such as "the poorest people sport the richest bling." If you're going for a social commentary, you need to set it up better than that. Note, however, the previous line runs with the zombie thing as I picture a highly attractive female zombie biting out someone's aorta in a shower of blood.
Fuck, we'll all just live for the weed, say we don't give a shit about anything we can't see physicly
this is what liberation leads too, it leads to me, it leads to he who reigns supreme!
Again, too much Biggie Smalls.
Zombies who listen in the sense of sight- talk to god before you write, because you know you ain't got no rights;
please father, forgive us, we swore that we were right, Please father, we though we had some motherfucking rights,
But everything is so much darker in the dead of night, now we take the paper, and god we write:
Probably the best excerpt from the whole thing. Still needs work, but some of the form works, such as the repetition.
We're violent, cold hearted, athletic and apathetic
whats new in school, you don't get it; we got issues but we don't sweat it
get it? whats to get? we just wanna be left alone- alone in the sense of being pros
What!? Are you referring to professional loneliness?
alone in the sense of- fuck, i don't know!
Damn right you don't...
no more cons, we just wanna be big fish in big ponds
we want money, we want drugs, we want to be straight laced thugs
we don't care about the rest of our lives- no way kid, just saddle up and ride
and the say, safe sex is great sex, well guess what, so is syntax, because syntax makes sense;
word order is like a new world order;
This is really probably the worse part of the poem. It's so hypocritical and obnoxious. The first part advocates living without rules and sounds like a cheap gangster rap lyric, while the second supports the sense behind rules and the need to follow them. And how you get a new world order from syntax is beyond me. (Remember that form follows function, as well. If you broach the subject of syntax, you'll want to make sure yours is correct.)
and if zombies lead this new world order, guess what, shits about to get a lot fucking colder
They've been warning you since we upset the natural order; so guess what, they said when we were 5
you'd die if you had sex before you were 35, so I guess we can all just revert back to Zombieland
with the greasy smiles and snow white tans; but what happened to candy land?
It seems so far away man like it was laced with acid and corrupted by some black hand-
god takes us by the hand, looks at us and says 'holy shit, I created man?"
"What the fuck was I on man?"
Very weak and obscure ending to the rap. A story supposedly about zombies ends on a sidebar centered on God's creation of man.
On the second read through, it doesn't seem like you're talking about literal zombies. There are parts where you're too literal if you're trying to push a metaphor, so you'll want to work on that. I've critiqued this under the assumption it was supposed to be about zombies. If not, this still needs a lot of work to bring out whatever latent quality lies within your idea. Good luck.
Thank you for your review, but I really think you're looking to far into it, or perhaps I have been taking the wrong approach to these raps, because I have been writing mainly to show off the fact that I can rhyme, not trying to mimic others or fall into a catagory, or even to tell a story- I guess my style is more about the overall feel of the rap, which in this case was 'Zombies' as in students. Maybe I should study up, but I'm not going to comptetly rework this peice to make it make sense when I didn't really want it to make sense in the first place.
OHGAWD
At 6/13/10 11:04 PM, whitebabbit wrote: Thank you for your review, but I really think you're looking to far into it, or perhaps I have been taking the wrong approach to these raps, because I have been writing mainly to show off the fact that I can rhyme, not trying to mimic others or fall into a catagory, or even to tell a story-
No, I think i'm looking the appropriate distance. And yes, your approach it very much flawed if all you're interested in is rhyming. It's good that you're trying to be original, but make a point. If you don't put effort writing, no one will put effort reading/listening. This is the biggest issue with hip hop these days. Originally, the genre was meant as lyrical expression aside from singing. It has since largely digressed into whatever sounds good, or sells, or makes the most controversy. Steadily, a large divergence is emerging in the hip hop genre between popular hip hop, and true hip hop. If you listen to true hip hop, you'll notice that the intention with the artists' rap is to present an idea, a belief, or an anecdote. A good example, again, would be Eminem. His songs can be very politically or socially themed; speaking out against President Bush, or the conformity of die-hard fans to replicate their idea of Slim Shady/Eminem.
If you want to rap, or write poetry, you're only ever going to get anywhere (whether it be within the music industry, or personally) by taking yourself, and your work, seriously.
I guess my style is more about the overall feel of the rap, which in this case was 'Zombies' as in students. Maybe I should study up, but I'm not going to comptetly rework this peice to make it make sense when I didn't really want it to make sense in the first place.
Rhyming is not a style, it's a tool. And I'm sorry but if you're not willing to rework the piece, what was the point of posting it here in the first place? This is a place for growth and maturation. If you don't want your work to make sense, then what's the point of creating it? Write a journal or blog if all you want to do is write down inane thoughts. Even work that doesn't "make sense" still has a sense to it, which is why readers will read it.
Please keep in mind, there are plenty other writers out there whose work is disregarded because there's just not enough reviewing being done. If all you want to do is get praise for your work, then, please, your NG blog would be a more appropriate location for this.
I'm sorry, your review makes much more sense now, I guess I'm just a little cocky when it comes to things as such: I tend to get over defensive and then afterwards regret it- I guess the hardest thing for me is seeing my own flaws. So yeah, I'll work on it and try to make it better, I guess I just don't really know how to fix it without changing what I had in mind from the beginning- to me everything kind of fits where it should.
OHGAWD
At 6/13/10 11:53 PM, whitebabbit wrote: I'm sorry, your review makes much more sense now, I guess I'm just a little cocky when it comes to things as such: I tend to get over defensive and then afterwards regret it- I guess the hardest thing for me is seeing my own flaws. So yeah, I'll work on it and try to make it better, I guess I just don't really know how to fix it without changing what I had in mind from the beginning- to me everything kind of fits where it should.
You act as if I said it would be easy, lol. I know exactly where you're coming from. The editing process can sometimes be harder than the writing process. If you feel something fits, but you're told it doesn't, how are you expected to change that? After all, if there were a better way, wouldn't you have done that to begin with?
My advice to you is to work on your basics. From there, rethink your approach. You need to gain a new perspective before you can discern what kinds of changes would best suite your style.
Another potential issue, and this is the issue I've had with rap and poetry, is that you both try to hard, and you detach yourself from the project before you're even started. If you want to write songs, think about your approach. Why are you doing it? Who is your audience? What is your message? If you can't answer these questions, then you're only creating fluff.
As for being cocky, it's only a matter of maturity. I think every writer starts off cocky, crashes, hates everything they do, then finds themselves again and gains confidence. Just keep at it.
Since I don't think it's really nessairy to start a new topic, I'm just going to post some of my poetry in here as well.
heartbeat saga
heartbeat saga
« Thread Started on Jun 9, 2010, 8:23pm »
part 1;
dancefloor/lets get it on
hey babe, you look nice
lets hit it up and get it on tonight
do you think the dj can get it up?
can i get you a drink, can I get just one f---?
(and now the beating hearts
are drowned in a sea of red wine
and ecstacy
and the beating heart
will wake up
in a gutter)
we
are gutter dancing
forever
part 2;
us tramps
were all just denial, i wish that would change
i know the street corner you go to get laid; its the same
its always the same.
east boulevard.
i had a rough day, so did you
I woke up in a bathroom corner with a nosebleed
the grime settling in my eyelids
and i wiped the blood on the bathroom mirror;
and spelt out my name in crimson cursive
it seems like my life wont amount to anything more then a
perpetual fuck you.
when will the black habits catch up to you?
they caught up with me.
where did you run too?
you dragged me into this.
the graveyard
the cheap bottles of wine
the search lights
the sirens
the
'run faster'
as we tripped over each other
but somehow made it-
it's all a blur.
But your in denial. So am I.
We think we got this under control;
that were going to wake up one morning
in the drivers seat.
and not ripping out our hair in terror
as some vampire swerves in and out of eastbound traffic
barreling through sunlight
because he's afraid to die like us.
us tramps don't know how to live, or how to die.
part 3
breakdown ( you can leave me alone)
you (you you you who i once loved fuck this is)
can leave me alone (so f-ucked up i)
your blackness has spread (i'm going to i dont even)
leave me alone. (fuck i dont)
(know)
you can leave me to the vampires (there calling)
i'll drive the stake myself, because (god)
my bloods on your hands (i need you but you)
(caused this, you caused this)
you can leave me alone (please)
were falling like empires (fuck-)
of ashes(what do I do now)
(falling like)
falling like airplanes
and
(s---, i'm going in
sane)
part 3.5
god knows i am weak
god knows i am week
god knows i am weak
god knows i can't sea
god knows i cant see
oh f---
f--- oh
were all
going down
Part four:
the suicide
the earth will tremble beneath me
as the tears mix with my blood
when the clerk gave me my room key
did he know no one would ever leave?
just get out, i never wanted you to see me
i never wanted you to see me bleed
you were the catalist that sparked this suicide.
ashes to ashes we all fall down
some of us on hotel floors
some of us on battle grounds
some of us go to the lord
blood runs north
blood runs north
blood runs north....
Part five: wishes for the dead (eulogy)
godspeed and please look in my eyes
'cus we can escape these yellow cigarette lights
that illuminate this shitty cursed town
and bring back the memories of time spent running around
in each others dreams
and my kissing underneath the willow trees
in the park, where we were always alone
and in the playground where we swung and we moaned
have a peaceful journey
the waters are rough but the future is serene
but the look on you
proves everything that i've been trying to prove
and it sheds new light
that i'll rest easy tonight
and tomorow, i can see
rest easy and godspeed, hold on, godspeed
were hiding from public opinion,
searching for our souls in a hostile dominion
ruled by a wicked magistrate
who gives us death glares and spits in our face
and we huddle together
to search and find
a better life
a better tomorrow and forever
rest, now and and godspeed
tomorrow's coming and it's time to sleep
OHGAWD
artis
'what do i have to do to get some respect around here?'
he thinks as he pulls the sheet from the canvas
and the crowd surrounding him, sipping wine like fake aristocrats smile politely
and there is some clapping
the men and women with pencils and pads of paper intently eye his work
scribbling predetermined thoughts and ideas about his emotions
and he doesn't understand
how could he fall so hard from the limelight
like a hawk shot mid flight.
how the critics could call him wrong
for feeling emotion
happiness is only flowing through his thin veins
each scab on his forearm is
the ghost of a needle
each cough
a gray lung
crying for some kind of compensation
and he sits alone, the lights out
hovering in the darkness over that which he does create
the paint flies around him; he is in a trance
the vinyl record player blasting light jazz
art is the only perceivable form of reality
the only form of reality that he knows
the only form of reality where he is not
amoung fake laughs and polite applauds and
collectors who buy his work and put it in a steel vault
he is gone
but he wants something real
something permanent
not inspired by drugs or art but by
the wonders of life;
but it's not happening
love passes through him as if he is transparent
as if he has no solid shape or volume
as if he is so slippery
no grip is firm enough to keep him in place
and he thinks
'my last ode
how far will i go'
the fury is done, the storm is over
(he thinks 'my last ode, how far will i go?')
and he turns on the light and looks at the paper
beauty. there is something else it needs.
this is my ode
how far will i go?
he pulls the knife up to his face
and glances at his reflection in the mirror
no sleep, running on heroin
he sees two sunken eyes that never learn't to function
and he raises the blade to his skinny wrists and screams
"THIS IS MY FINAL ODE, HOW FAR WILL I GO?"
he goes all the way, and sprays his blood all over the canvas
and as he collapses he brings the easel down with him
he stairs at the blood on the canvas as his eyes turn to grey
he spelled out
'goodbye.'
the artist did die
OHGAWD
Click to listen.
To hear more, just click on my name and scrolls down to audio submissions
OHGAWD
I saw an illuminated whiskey bottle standing
next to your sleeping face
a involuntary single tear dripped down your cheek while
I laid down and took my place;
someone must have dropped a match inside
to see a contained flame
they must have wanted to see something that could not escape.
Something that could easily fade into the night like a retreating
nightly cycle of moon and day-
we always retreated into the night
I'm surprised that inside whiskey bottle
was dry enough to catch a light-
you always seemed to suck everything you touched dry.
And now we sleep in separate rooms
connected by only the moon-
we lack the forces strong enough to keep us together
diplomatic broken hearts.
We are self contained like flames in a glass;
we walk in each other's hands, but on entirely separate paths.
________________________________________
_________________________
(sonnet)
I am done. Tonight I do rest alone
This creature, my heart did abandon me;
Once you were a dove who had not yet flown
Now you are a red eye that cannot see.
I used to watch your blue eyes dilate-
In the morning, the moment you would wake
This intimacy died by some tragic fate
The cold wave did crush us with it's huge weight.
The flowers died, withering not long ago
Tonight, I am done with your fearsome mark
I loved you when your heart did not snow
I bid you goodbye, god save a black heart.
I loved you once, but days do go by
I loved you, but it withered and died
_______________________________________
good luck with this one.
1.
the cradlemoon and dunes of lore;
the vilaplank and the wiffleblanks sore
the kingdom of Lank, the year of our lord and the land of the moor
i have no idea what i'm talkin' about
i'm not stoned or fried out
[here we go..]
2.
And the preacher did stand
on the altar
above the stand
he did call to god
about the perils of hell;
and the from of heaven did change
they started taking donations
the wise man
was framed
3.
Above the trees doth you!
We all watch and slowly die!
D!I!e! L!O!V!E
it means nothing!
i am tormented [RORPUM]
i am tormented [CORPUM]
WHAT DOES THIS MEAN
HAT ES IS EAN
4.
are u a-heur?
a-heur means "ARMY STRONG"
are you ready to die for us?
you a man?
you a man you mother?
man you a mother?
loose lips sink ships
i like ike
we want you! (to die)
[scibbles]
5.
the iron sore of truth
it does flow through you
it does leak into
the doorway of life
[i settled all my lawsuits
FUCK YOU DEBBIE]
6.
its not the tree of life
yeah i have, all the carvings and junk
anyway too loud!
we got exicted
in your face
so afraid
i had to leave the march of the penguins
i'm done
7.
natzis are bad
no body likes natzis
hitler is in hell
yay
8.
I have found my sunshine
and although a stench flows beneath her dress
I have robbed her of her final breath-
but that wont change our love
9. FUCK YOU MAN
11. 11 is crying
cus he can't find 10
12. my head hurts like a
insect held over a fire
and the fire
would be soothing
[PURITANS AINT GOT NOTHING ON ME]
13. Junior high gossip
13 had sex with 11 [7 is a closet natzi]
and 12 was there illigitamate son [3 is a canabal]
[dont tell 12 he's adopted] [5 is a pedophile]
14.
In the dark we sit
I fall into your tits
and we fall
to the demands of hell
lust brought me here again
15.
in the darkness lies my heart
how cruel
is the amber rule
cousin to the golden rule
but less important
16
The real gossip
15 has a cocain problem
and is dating 14 but fucking
5, 6 and 7
and 5 is a closet transvestite who goes to 14's house an strips for 3
and 2 is a preacher with a dirty mind
and 6's son is in the choir and 2
touches 6's son, and 4 is
delisional and on so much prozac he can barely talk
15 got arrested by 11 because
he killed 10 and 10 was 11's best freind
and 14 finaly snapped and started fucking
5,6,7,8 and
but 9 is a gangster with ties to the westside
and 7 is a neonatzi nx so
9 shot up 7 and 14 got scared
because 9 got real mad when he found out 7 was fucking 14
so 14 fled with 5 because 5
helped 15 kill 10
and was wanted in 45 states not including guam and puerto rico
so 11 and 9 teamed up to bring them both down
meanwhile 6 gave birth to a baby named 4/10ths, and 4/10ths father was named 4
and 4 took 4/10ths outside and threw him down a well
and, meanwhile
9 and 11 cornered 14 and 5
and 9 shot 14 but 11 killed 9 by accident in the
heat of battle
and 5 was the only one left but he was stuck under a
car that was about to explode and both his limbs had been shot out
so 5 exploded as 12 found out she was pregant with 5's child.
and everbody hates 1.
17. i am old
i am grey
i die soon
i am an old son of a bitch
RIP
OHGAWD
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