AF is for Acrilic Figa: Lung Playa’

Acrillic Figa

Just unsrewed a bottle cap
full throttle back, swigullet into stomach sack,
pouch pocket bag,

my minds gone awry,
lumps on my feet from walking,
still sleep in my eye.

if the spirit don’t move ya
then your just on the wrong channel,
if the body carn’t feel ya wipe it off
with a flannel.

These are straight rye memes
from the left hand side, more conscious thought and hence i retaught to drinking rather than smokin and yet i still avoid editing cuz > this is me you hear medipotatin through eggzassperating curry, weather my readers take me seriousley, think me uglay or funnAiy? Punnie times bring Roman Times typographic traffic backed up in my head, just had a talk with a friend of mine about the Greatful Dead, and how the dead can dance, and howz the phase shifters are Trance and how the name reflects the pain of the shamans existessence, threatened by pharma corp loggers, threatened by army corps bloggers who declare world war three on the third world see by imposing the civilized virus upon a culture without papyrus, you carn’t have a grammatical error in a(n) illiterate society. I smoke so much i start to bleed weed > start to feed mead to the worldwide brewers, who put fizz in the drinks to make em flat like a sewers running through the brewery wots up with that?

I might be the best MC because…..see below! Yo > i just put down history, now it’s my story so pick up your pen, it’s my time and the time is ZEN. removenovel of words meaning and sum ego, i mean scratch > that I’m the beast forget the rest now hear wee go; I came out to U.S in a bullet proof paper boat with a note sayin i’m arrivin in a submarine and Clunt EDwood was drivin, me inxane > sometimes my freestyles might not make mush sense sometimes my enviroment is cold and gets dark with suspense, I like the Jazzy snazzy raps n’ i lyke the sampled handy claps, the raw funky blue note shuffles, on your tongue… they taste like truffles, shuffle snuf full note horn mute, and herbie hungcock solution, the real daddies of the scene no what i mean…..seen…..The clean crisp symbol bite all up in the licks, acrillic riddim sound rockin ground rummble wood stix, a word from the trees mapple staples of word, stix are born as word is Born > as the lawnmower man ringsmums yr/ lawn, i yam yam raw i like to ring ring the ride bell, snap snap the snare, i like to kick kick the bass drum i like to kiss kiss the air, i feel the snuck snuck pa boogie, know that the Krupper runs through me > I a drummer not Joe Strummer and hey man thats just groovy > i’m not sayin i’m great or good or even the best but thats what Differentshe-ates me from the best, thats wot put airs on your chest > a measure of Treasure is the Pleasure of our man George Best > till up till money field wheat tilling talk this point i held the pint back about george and the giant bean beamishmush stalk, football mediavine and the blood Rurgborgee > Beer good and living through sports and the difference between my analogy could harness the pow’r, if swordcast it may last 20 days and one hour, flower pow’r never seen a geniwine talka like me… you think i’m jokin when i say all things were born from a tree….you see [smiles] before there was disco or Plato or Paleolithic there were creatures on this planet whose “Porpoise” swummummy unspecific, terrific Jurrasic classic…these are all terms, in some sense we were all sons of Fungus and worms, back back, way WAY back in the day > there was vegetable matter. And whats fatter is vegetable matter speaks a NEW LANGUAGE. Phat like a slanguadge hammer gramatist > like netkwisk i whisk milky galaxy matta with simple Dimple alkaloyds > RNA voices and “form/formless” responsible choices. And response ability means > Response Ability to me > So what cha say aiy? Aiesy now. Tree of life, language poetree – Don’t test me > Flower power is more than Plower fower, it’s flower. it’s flower…….it’s [listen] flowin….of My tongue from this song a message, woid is born – pick up your penns, your youth cartridges > the ink stained school shirt that got Blues from miss Partridges class, what a gas…. the teacher speaks to the child like they was a wild animal, an imbicysikle > all along it was the Adult at fault! the sad result of a virus called slanguage, placed in their lunch break sandwhitch and soldered > rolled re-moulded, hyperdaimension folly enfolded, cold fewzion, illusioned, since Tonguegustuss shemans had no fuss about dogs. Get dirty rap for days on little green cephalapods, like mod babes and rockers or Hip hop hers and Jam rockers > we gotta come together man. It’s tyme to rub on our neybores knockerz. ZzKnickerblocker Blogger glory seeds for a vinal story, final theory, dark matter querry, whast’s the spacematter…feelin queezy?, feel me breezy wind coming from all Quarters > hung drawn and quart netted to dry in a gallery from the Gutenburg gallery > flipped with a salad and an infinite salary My rhymz for FREE that’s why they Envy me at MTV cuz they never herd a me, ste cuz i ain’t got ta TV. Cudd be? You hear….. i’m out the funckin door > out in blue green-mold cheese electricked out fields > man……[grinns] if i was to bugin puttin all my raps into caps of different captain scarlet pimpinshell, eels, squeelers, trucker > jammbucq sloop john be gone > to the John a goats to langs end….that’s owe fur i have cum/gone > to bring War to an end!

Cuz i really do…..Transcend…in the end. I really do spweock poop out my rear end, and again; that’s the pain and sufferring from the shire, knowledge of Brierley ill’s bread line…. in deep pen dents! That’s INN DEEP pen [B]dents[/B]. Have no master or employer, in fact would you believe i ain’t even got a lawyer cuz it’s live in 05 and I’m still alive > thrivin on mold and unsold testimony to the TREE’s, Tease yes the Tree of Lyf. I say twice. DNA tree see deez, like ellis Dee and Jack John Cricket the river anaconda N/A > Slow down….oK [relights spliff that i forgot to tell ya i just lit] Now i’m the kinda rapper that feels like and sounds like, a crappper. That’s a John toilet > don’t spoil it soil it…let it grow into your flow > Doh ra me so sun Ra flow Doh > dope i got buckets, and these academic idiots can float when i smoke nuggets, wot you don’t dugouts? sheets from atop of corpses about the media ant “hypnokraticlinguists” and stones > let’s admit that these suckers on TV are quite good > i mean > sure they seem newer even if THEIR orse manure was a rerun from a mock up > from a banned brook still locked up in the vaultstream of Osiris, Cheoops cops hold keys, or thought they did until the keys grew petals and walked off into an underground vineyard > not far from where tinkers make love craft > anyhow i digress to impress the empress, to undraw the congress of suppression of THE BOOKS that grow on trees. [what d’you tink it grows on trees or sumthink] a dollar tossed down the sink, yin yang yen theory, superstrung out men’s clubs theory, i’m serious > when was the last Female winner of a Nobel prize in in Anthropology? and who gave birth to the world > you me and each every Proffessor of Anthropology! We her it, themus > hour > all deserve an anthroapology…. A new astrology > from this day fourth givin birth be truth of Shamanic worth > Givin birth must be [cuz i don’t know, although my woid iz bohm] that the womb, the broom, the witch the bitch, they too are natures whore, according to superstrung hung out mens clubs who clubbed each other till they were as clever as hedge hogs > spilt candle wax of ignorance on a wombmens fragrance > her presence > her intelligence > Essence of earth! mutter spiritten [arrrg don’t start me now] she rang… lord… she bought the word and i gracefully give it back through a time crackin hole in the muzzlemoon where i say i say i say like a Blue arsed baboon…. Look the Moo’N. MU. Muther. Her Milkshakes bring this cow to the yard. Cow udders of life, milky way. No way i say i say i say galaxy > nutella gutts and burgers flipped out galaxy > well all this is for womb hen, female: the Goddess, i confess and sit > my slanguage iz Egoo scripthor Acrillick Agarlick to express it. Compress and condense it Into luverly jubbly bubbly express packages > which will not be stopoped Until War has stopped against sacred sacrements > until Ghandi has assimilated hip hop culture through a fragile straw leading into his Tomb, still alive by the light chord ascending out > from HER womb. Zoom just one look and your their > electric eels live, breath, and… stalk in the air > jaguar: black, links and all cats and most dogs and, although i just dissed em my likkle friends the hedge-hogs > All spirits of nature all spirits be free. Bee free. Beee freedom. She it yes She erie erree > that’s why Eye cayme ere cuz She was born Woid’O i sid it i red it i yam mittenmuzzle nozzle. Werd iz born, i’m werid like John Zorn, if i dropped names you’d be spinning on a Prattchet disc world. A novel, grovel, true grit, brummie slang grit a bit of gristle, no pistol and no hesitation to renounce my nation, of Birth. but wait…. I don’t diss to impress. i am wooing the Empress!! you here, i come in peace like Wei Kung [B]Po[/B] i write my manifestoe with piss in the snow. like a Buddha i’m gone and don’t release on know labell > I’m a mushroom fruntinted as a lush groom to a mechanical bride’s pride > more than twelve feet whyde, and inside my wyfly toffee treats like those truffles, like those drum beats which started all this rithem sayinsooth soothin playin, gentle mental cushin pushin. [stop hatinn, stop it] peace ActiVism, assimilated through Trees and flower power, and the strength and will to change the hour with the POW’r switch OFF. Tune in, turn on drop out. Really!
This time i’m lookin for yin yang mills theory,
turntable windmills over dollar bills,
quilting bees
anarchy, [remeber me?] kunggrinaids coated in LSD swollowed and hollowed out in a phookin shout from the street, a BEAT….to…tap….your feet. Cum on do it. tap tap….tap it….Tapped. Tap tap….clap clap. twist off your nozzles and nuzzles up to fly agaric’s puzzles, puddle ducks floatin down streams that make voting seem like an extreme machine to bring the rise of the [psudo christian socialist socialism governator machines] Ray beams of hope are hangin on trees all around us, sniff the bark, walk in the park Damn the haters cuz heavens astound us, and the dogs of law hound us like we were reincarnated Ezra Pounders, and baggpuss cuz were so furry, harmless like Leary Ghandi and the Amazing Gandalf we come elf chemists of peacetimespace in yer face. Psychedelic revolution all along. Undeniable cuz it’s presented by song, and don’t get me wrong > i know i might be wrong [maybe] but classic poems and frantic rhybazone phones are born from woid, puzzle nozzles of Ezra joyce metapsychosister hear me, A rolls Royce of a voice. A Rolf Harris of a Choice: A happy wacky Aboringinal theory > more than theory a freestyle rap. So how about that > better get yer ruck sack and start packin for the revolution, y’all need the Cantos, the Wake > and a great big solution, to the virus to the language, to the third world famine of Imagination: a glove to hold bold statements above the law > Godly if you please, i’m down on my bees knees prayin yang two dictionaries, please your honour, your dignatories > bring the peace bring the word. And scientists look at me like my theories absurd. Well Word is born, word is born and i’ll birth it again, and big Up Lyrics an influence i’m finding with all this woid grinding, but i grind on cuz the sun still rizinn like Howard > troopers and poet super doopers cumin out from the cracks with poetry in their backsacks, and poetry on their wack IPods, cuz maybe their not writin their own godz, maybe not makin their own pods, mods, plodding along in a branded human bandit pundit mobile = A whole wheat whole foods kind a homedown underground feel > A sandwhich to provide as bandage. i’m from stourbridge, i’m a cabbage kid born in the Woid. Thats Woidly to my peeps livin out in the void. i’m semi annoyed that my frayed wraps ain’t flystarted boogie bass traps and dancefloor eruptions of contraptions to bring satifaction to science fiction’s living godfarther^ but…Lo….i go farther with rhyme in the name of the farther, the mother and the oily ghost, like cheese on toast, i’m humble than mo$t i don’t wanna get close. just dance and waltz wit my knobazerd to the wind > and send word from the end of the bugining that born me in woidly > it’s true! how about you? wot you do? i’m a zooloo built an Igloo out of a supersematic glue i stole from the zoo in spain, i waited till the Dolphins spoke up > There with me on my truck stickin our finngers up to the stars and sayin: LO……..we want nuthing more than to go, into outer spacetime for peace, and drink our wine and observe out time, space curved hips hops shroom boggy, it’s foggy whear i werks and it’ll send you bizerkz but luckily i went their and i’m back with said books in my sack: pouch: bag bog pucka fuka muck Lyetown bog, lowlife > pass the peas mob. durber stirrer hopper, mo, goat bass binnz my peeps back East the west midds treasure chest of chiefs of my truths. That’s poetry not knowertree is the healthiest pint, it’s bitter tu swallow but mild on the mind, when this poem gets posted in the town ceneter then roasted, charbroiled attacked and defaced [why stop..? i’ll go roll another and crack another bottle shall i?] and i just burnt me fuckin nostrils on me small pipe, errr that smell. fuckin ell. better be more careful, like triffle i’m a triffle miffed. I just burn’t my nose hairs what does that mean? i’m too hasty, too wacked out, too stoned to really work it out > well now i smell burn’t haireynolds and it reminds me that i’m an Ape > a hairy ape on a BMX cyclyne Level slowwax sunz of psychonautical vertical time poets, vortex poem down in vortexas > coming from all quarters > Bringing an end to savage slaughters of peoples by ignorant dogmatic spoilt daughters thought cakes > a triffle remember december iz the twelff munth but, they are fookin wid us headz cuz…. DEC is ten = decad, decade…[see below] You know… Sep = severn so four heavens sake why mistake it for the ninth month? to fuck wid my head? well yeah that’s it these calendrical pirates stole time day money mind tea n’ poetrees and ganneymead like star seed ships they came to earth to hijack language, words meaning anything on your sandwhich landwitch, your peace of bread, money mind peace, love honey milk greece, i don’t believe in a police state! local law, local language, freedom equality and justice for spores, trees flowers and the local nonlocal pow’rz of heavens, when the time has come and the score is eleven eleven i see a sign in front of my eyes that the timespace come to pull out a PEN and start writing again and again, until the light comes through, until woid is born unto you, three four five six steps, six hundred and sixty six push up’s and downs with your nibbz, nozzles muzzles uncovered, red! broomcupboards opened, brothers released and sisters too > from the chains of law, from reality, culture and language: a study in B.S by some other B.S I don’t dress to impress i come to make LOVE to the Empress, through her lace dress i undress my mind tapes and manifest rhymes more dangerous than the Nixon tapes, i’m a worm in the APL of the eye of ThundeaRa > a New Woid is born NEW NEW Eara ya Heara, cum on birth it with me release the gates the tapes the words the urges, [stop haytinn please i beg you] so just rap in the gap, don’t slap on the po crackers, it’s the source who’s to blame and i ain’t gettin into the _____ game, you see in America it’s true, an swivel force has been onto you > tryin to trick and nick your mind > tunnel into your body and behind > nullyfy your poetic roots, rewrite the words which were a nice pair of Constituted boots, but the fruits of wizdom must come from the now! holy cow look at how dung cultures followed cow trailz to make roads Oh so toxick, fummes, exzurst horror metal rubber beats, no no ‘it’all started black in the dey befour tyme hi on whyn and roses the possers try and imposses the Roses and the Wine but not the Shroom! not the kashrobabohm: They try and fly without the broom, and zoom > male dominator society is born ill > agriculture ill, brought agrow to bio-organism’s and a whole sustained enviroment > never mind the governments and the taxonomy of reality, that’s too much for me to Yogi bear, Yogi tea…yeah that’s for me [staires in the air, takes a deep breath,] if you wanna keep this meter i’ll beat yer! If you wanna new feature tsapleasure. I wanna keep my reverb shandy and sweet like Horace Andy, and like Picasso i want to paint Huffingtones of skyscrapers with lyrics from all the rappers who broke out from linguistic trappers and tuck cappers into their own castles > made maidens of knew funky vessels, and made a stage for the age when prophets turn a new page and say: Woid iz born!
Now let me do my thing… names fly agaric and i’m back from the dead, not over your head but presenting a bed, for us to lye on, discuss the sky on, and the ion will change Zion into the Gaian > and my rhymes are much flyer [wanted to drop that line since time] so keep your eye on, the new eara > it’s much clear Ra when you look inside yourself and find the answers to life, cutting through the bullshit with a diamond tipped knife, this is lyf y’all > i’m sayin on my knees and i’m prayin…. To the trees and the plants and the Ignorance i got by the ounce for good foods, water, weed and clean fish, i want to see everybody in the world with some food on their dish. I mean WORD this is absurd that people starvin and dyin while budget for UFO’s are goin up 700 Billion, or higher, i’m not sure, but the statistics are just more Horse manure > from the mouth of Math, the Percent(age), the wee(ate), the G.N.P and fuckin’s who rock cdj’s and measure wealth by what it pay’s, and yet > the forrest is meltinn flash > the ice caps are being cut down > war is peace, ignorance is slavery, whats wrong? did i gettit the bong way rind? oaks steel works that’s where my herit(age) sleeps with sheets and depleted beats in basements, fragments of revolutionary stationary from the dubble Helicks, my mother worked for god she made rulers and metricks. Freakin Shelix stationary > Station of very measurable and quantiflyable luverly sheeple!
And the rolling hills scottish kilt colored and ill spilt of autumn, brown brazen auburn’t sun light, summerset, Clent, malvern Classic, picking shrooms on full moons and gettin spastic on the decks > midknight runner bean anti pop house parties > mo wax > Ninja treats with fresh mushy feets > schillins and sensimillitude. I’m ramblin
and in the mood for more DJ food, jouneys by Dj’s coldcuts wuz classic i think, and also…. that time i went trippin to Birmingham ice rink, i sink > digress >> get back into the sub
Know more football or yompin i’m off to a club where the sun never sets where the East beats a drummin where the bay sayer, new lyric Birth love frisco disc spinning > ill revolutionaries live whole lyf wealth the HOP, The Hip Co-OP, Rainbow daygloo, tsall gud you know > Dead presidents of Rock and how to flyer a party, golden gates opened cracks in time, she was…..just of shore in 1967, she was a Whale called Maya, swimming off shore to ignore the bling singa celebratinn flash giggle gargle gargle spoof roof raisinging souls, i was wrong…. this songs long forgotten ramblin songs of the lost poet’s, the Indian vibes, native American Alchatraz vibes, Like Milt jackson growing rye hairs on it, it being the soul of a long lost soul from a long lost region of what soma called religion, connection a complxion of communicative patterns, to be honest cognitive science can refute anything while it happens, cuz now’s the tyme, and here’s the place. Now. Be here,
Be squire, cubehouse of Hiphop Steel five, dub six, Heaven steps, eight balls, evil nine, decad. Not bad fora a Pie throwing faggorean. i’m like…Ian Both-ham i knock eights for Dubbs, i’m like Jack nikkle’s son but skint and bent on peace. My names fly and i’m high cuzz i wear the lost golden fleece, no longer claoked but still daggered doggeared by the heavy load of social mode code, not spillin my load on any city toad, or unwrappin my entire mode where people never heard me flow’d like this. And i invented world piss > war and piss > what is this? it’s a pun on peace silly > And although i’m fly i no longer have them tarts on my hilly fly agaric cap speckled red, wit golden blue blooded mushion from Way on o’er muntington groove. And don’t forget i still got the miq and although most peeps prolly tuck a hike, i’ll talk the legs offa dunbkey if it want me > for it’s Hobby horse > Dada of course argaric flippin Momma, the drama rama tama pearl necklass > ZildZen children peaceful speakers and hand glassed hammered double sit down bases > and havin sex in stinky dark alien places. faces look pale
Like they just ate a snail for the first time, and this rhyme ain’t french, buit it iz…. cuz the gaelick quizz izz nuzzlenozzle Ezra’s puzzle: fuzzy logic magic tragic comic comic. And on and On the river flows…..and we’re the undertows….but who knows mebbe the damn river flows out my nose, maybe the clouds look like my poems goes, like this give piss a chance and admit the APL might bee a mushroom, so computers were born from before Mr.Roy…. in antiquitea, well….. even before that, before they had anything there was DNA code Binary I CHING Chang mung minging mungst young change linguit tonguesses, like 20’000 busses full of the cream of the beat poets! > all singing and dancin their tale of the trybe, their ale on the vibe, their dent in the scribble puddle, the so called word, written with mitteens of bears i heard. No, i’m kiddin. But Life is a text DNA a puzzle, i’m, krackin it so move back a bit >
Bite mega gamma slamma salamander caught on camera, light matter wots the? on the platter, shit that’s phat they got the whole rhyme on it. phat! spinning vinyl = vital discs for the revolution > so unwrap your tolken powder tapes, and reel out yer skins, i’m a bold bulled headed mutchroom rhymer with a big long white beard, Woid yes yes
That’s the name of the game, void,
word you heard, my beard spoke like a nerd, and it’s the third world war and were winning by far > but the tars still mac and the Fake still a faker, you write yourself a title like a butcher or a baker, but….you carn’t fake the skill’s of cutting sheep or cutting loaves, it’s the bread baby > for reel the mighty white currency of usury = The government censor my brand of mighty white powdered toast, woops, did i just drop the stalk that broke the cammels black, the white world war, black on white with yellow referee’s, give me a break this ain’t for fake i bleed the colour of seas! what i’m sayin is color, tone, looks or genes are just firther illusions made by categories. Categoricali i feel provern correct > Approximation of a super complex human organism with a word? what you expect? a dialect of Patriotism – Loyalty to ones own gene pool, i’m not a racist fool, i drewl this spewel here as a communicative jewel to release the Black/white power flower needed to bake a cake, were all from out the freakin Ocean and thats enough for ME! No need for any temple sacred ceremoney > i see my peeps and i see the enememe in side, and i cried, change must begin from me. Inside myself like Ghandelfi sez it reel good, the shire > the plyer Earth…the Fire….the Water….the Earth again to give [B]birth[/B] to the winds of change Ching Chun Mungus, a message in a hot sausage made from Psychoactive fungus, bangers and mash, in opposition to cash thrashin & mashin greed vultures > from all different cultures who tax, and make slaves of the poor people in their concrete caves, savin pennies for heaven’s sake, wake up wake up!!! before the death of cold gets cha > pick up your microphones and unfasten your talktapes, it’s time planet of the Apes got some new Retakes, Cornelius iz zeUs, no need to discuss, this freestyles so long i think i just missed the bus, the number nine it was from brum to the stour runs perty quick > nice ride comes every hour she did > once on the backseat oh…. wet and all sticky around Muckalows hill > man that was ill, i remeber Christophers American three and thinkin hell… why ain’t they got a live MC? well hell it was fun and up town their in brum shit was kickin round the streets, i spun vinyls dyedon flisis drum and bass and slammin lyracists lyk smooth and the blues, man i seen a likkle bull ring fightin, and street reclaimin and spliff ingightin, and even in Brighton, and on and on it goes, man, my story so long it grow down to your toes > but tales unwind, blow and unwound and the sound brings the knowhour > i’m Acrillic fly Agaric > octosyllabic razor blazor > tied and tried twice imposter or sometimes called……silent but Dudley. Oh and don’t forget when ramblyn mungst this ego sciptor that i strip for her, she goodness = the muther, gave birth to me in woidsly > she rang she rang, and it’s true i’m wrong to stay away and throw away my cares to the wind, but….it’s love
That i’m bringing > it’s Joy that i’m singin, and that’s why….and that’s the reasons….why……love……wireless….dreamtymespace.

3 thoughts on “AF is for Acrilic Figa: Lung Playa’

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