eXPERIMENtal Beat

Gold bitch everlasting peace

 

Words come down see itself and began

to come again and again. Blow me

Blow me

back against the wall begging for relief.

Come down slowly in my arms and

swallow me whole. This snake is heading

This snake is heading

for its hole in the ground.

Bring me back and get some sleep. Begin again

Another cold week my soul eating

from a bowl in the cold. Weather down in the

heather with the birds and insects crawling

down my shirt and trousers, army issue sunglasses.

Dog tag dangling, Now

Peace.

Gold bitch everlasting peace.

Gold bitch everlasting peace.

Gold bitch everlasting peace.

by Andrew Watkins

Squash

Within these walls, lies inside a story told to a young child.

Wherein this tale is a truth of a fable yarned

Inside this song hides painful realities

Beside the notes are chords of mentalities

and in the pitch are beats or normalities.

In my head In my song it’s listening in a heartbeat

it’s too fast it’s too long to shear any kind of meaning

I got myself and my codes give myself a little leaning

to the pros and the cons of this musical heartbeat

got to rest in my soul and find a little comfort

from the tearing ways and the life of discomfort

that I’m always a feeling, always a feeling.

Walk that road turn that corner open a door for another

We only know what we see and feel what we feel

We only live this life once and in happenstance

the meaning of it is lost.

the meaning is lost.

Carp your story to another line and break

from the tale you been tellin’

Where there’s always people yellin’

Telling you what to do work on the farm.

And tell this story and spin this yarn.

But I am telling you its all in your head

When you get out of your bed you can choose to go to work

then break with tradition and religion

go your own way. Go your own way.

And squash. Squash,Squash,Squash.

Squash it all in. Squash it all in.

To what you do and what you say.

To where you go and where you stay

Squash it all in.

Squash it all in.

Yeah!

 

I’ve been jamming on my keyboard this afternoon…

Shut-up Your Teenage Brain Tonight

I Like it low and Loud because that’s how I roll!

Well, get up and smell the roses, today is a brand new day.

Shut up and put on some poses lest you end up like I dunno. Something that will die in a ghetto.

It’s time for the morning to have its time ignored or not

And for the night to be the same. You are not playing the game.

Tell me how I almost made it in a timeless buttercup glow

of how I walk in the black man’s shadow. The rapper of

dubious means and character knows enough not to get eaten

and to rise to the top of his miserly kingdom (on beats and rhymes)

Show him a router and he’d grow weak at the knees and for shouting

about the birds and the bees which we all took for granted aged nine and ten.

He is Humpty Dumpty putting us back together again.

But we are not broken, lost or misguided people like you who guide those in the image of you but humans and amazing creatures too.

So put down your mace and pepper and pick up some-thing to make you better.

A pen or a sword might do without needing to ram it down your throat with hate

but to run you through that I might do, to see what comes out of you.

I bet it’s deadly serious stuff, black goo with lumps of ‘hello, how do you do?’

And you’d think that this couldn’t break a rose head on its branch but the hip is hard

and solid yet contain feathers that are honest and sometimes nature comes in hard packages but I don’t want to listen to your empty promises shouted morning noon and night. I don’t like the aggressive person I become when listening to your dum de dum, dum.

So shut up your hate and replace it with something great. Lest I become like you

another soul lost to the ghetto.

Bus Ticket To Compton

It’s ten O’clock at night

and i’m feeling like a rock (inside)

Got no munchies and i got no beer

Got no honeys coming near

Got a pile of books

Got my evil looks

Got a heart on my sleeve

and a feelin’ inside

And nobody ever crosses my lines

Got a cat on a mat in a hat, too

What are you doing being you

Come over here and I’ll show you my gear

And we can get robbin and stealin and bobbin around

A robbin and a stealin anda  bobbin

Got my sewing machine and stiches

made me a new pair of britches

made my girl her new clothes too and get this

nobody knows and nobdody shows at my door asking for more.

And while I’m up all night designing, cutting patterns on my mannequin.

and were chilling in my bankin got a bus ticket to Compton

and were rocking the new seasons ticket in your face the bobbin race Yeah!

Sewing is my new nirvana

more relaxed than marajuana

got new skills keeps my mind off the bills

and hatin’ baitin’ and a skatin’

down the road I buy old clothes

and make them into something new

And I feel like new, too.

Rock.

I’m tired every day

But I’m not whingin’

Got my pencil and a paper and poses winding

My hates are all buried under the floor

where you can’t reach them no more

So you see I only got love

to give and to receive

so anything else in your imagination

you see what you want to tell you stories

I’d like to carry on with your story now

cause this poem’s getting long and winding

Tell me what you see and I’ll tell you what’s real and whats posin’

so don’t come around here promising

Cause I heard them before first hand

from the boys in my band.

And you posin’ isn’t roses but mainly  of thorns

inside so don’t get all pretty unless your sittin’ on my dicky

when you turn into  a porn star and get down so low.

To be honest I’m not interested anymore.

Your messin’ with a Psycho

so forget don’t ever let go till your lying on the floor

and I give you permission to move, ho.