In my closet is a yellowed, stapled stack of lined notebook paper upon which was written, in #2 pencil, the complete lyrics of the Fresh Young White Boys -- my rap group at Laguna Hills High.
I guess I should qualify that. We were a rap group in much the same way a bunch of twelve-year-old boys are a league of superheroes. But we did write songs. Several of them, including Cookies and Mix, My Girl Sue and The Bruce Willis Rap.
Additionally, I personally crafted the "theme" for my stage personae, D Looey Kool and, much to my annoyance, it's actually stayed in my head for the last 20 years. I occasionally forget my own telephone number, but I remember a bad rap song I wrote in 12th grade to the letter. In fact, I once busted it out during a pub crawl in Melbourne. It either got me several free rounds of beer, or it got the shit beaten out of me. I can't remember which.
Frankly, I would have enjoyed the debates yesterday had they gone a little something like this:
I'm a rap role model. I'm a tower of power.
You, Beasley Reese, go right ahead and cower.
My rhythms are fresh and your rhythms are sour.
Like Ruffles have ridges up and down their chips,
I have fresh jams coming from my lips.
You can have it your way, when at Burger King,
But now we'll have it my way, because my way is the thing.
My way's super cool, really fresh. It is Word,
But here's a tricky rhythm that you have never heard.
When I see a Beasley getting ready to dis,
I bust a little poem going something like this:
You'll feel it, don't steal it. If your rap was a banana,
I would peel it.
If your rap was a ball, I'd smash it in my mitt.
My rap's a home run. Yours? A base hit.
I'll throw a fit, throw you in a pit.
There I'll watch you sit, for a little bit.
You smell like shit, you hypocrite
Your rap you bit, but mine's legit.
The money you make? Only one digit
While I make a million dollar bank deposit.
My rap's full of wit, a perfect fit.
The rap you made isn't worth my spit.
That's all I'll say, you damn nitwit
That is all. That is it!
Word.
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Runaway Serfer
Julianne Chatelain
Elbereth
Natalie Not Pedantic
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Little Angeleno
Salon.com
Comments
I think in honor of this, I will have to blog the moment when I feel on my ass in front of my entire law school. A moment that thankfully, was eclipsed on the embarassment-meter some 20 minutes later by someone else, rendering my pratfall but a sideshow to a much larger event.....
It may take a couple days to get it written properly. But you'll see it. Consider it an homage.
(I lived in Laguna Beach for a bit when I first start having children...magical place).
Spectacular.
(thumbified with a gigglesnort)
I am, however, going to be reading a monologue later this month at a spoken word comedy thing called WordPlay here in LA. I'm pretty excited. It's just the right kind of venue for an angst-ridden goofball.