It's A'ight Just to Get Righteous

If rhymes aren't enough for you?
There's the time-trusted view
Outside the lines, sprout a vine,
Shout something reckless

A rough thing they never expected of you!
I check every ping as if it were new
The style of cram and snip statements with natural passion
Wild anticipation of my own reactions

Piles of ripped gaping face exclamations from my blasting
A mind touching every last hue
Find out if I'm bluffing or true!
But every time I wake and view

Climb up to bake green and blue
Take the scene that's due
Re-make the first day through
Trace an endless friend-list in my mental palace

Amend what we fought
Remember even the one-offs
Rend what was iron-wrought
What tends to be firing off?

Extended leases on life
Creases in strife
Pleases every release of my cyph
Extends my knot to fall back

So I scroll the cell to call back
Just off the top so none are forgot
Back to the eternal climb
Tracks to burn and wind

Pick up slack from lazy minds
Tricks with tacks make crazy mimes!
Caltraps faze them to fancy footwork I find!
Fucksticks! Why do I hate mimes?

They suck? And always try to jape from behind?
One-trick ponies whose entire show is designed
To flow lonely and phony?
Just jagged edge

“Creepy motherfucker! Don't get behind me silently---that ain't safe!'

Must they drag the invisible ledge gag?
Everywhere they're at.
Fuck, mimes are a bleak threat.
But they're not my weakness

They're a weak threat
I can hear their breath kept
Feel the compressed chest

Feel the tightened muscles in slack poses expressed,

The dynamic relaxed tension they invest
Fuck it, they're goof troop ninjas...
There! I said it my best!

Aftermath:

Worth a million days to feel the way of bliss
Stay in the tipsy risk
Oasis of sacred spaces

Immersed kaleidoscopic,
Re-create mistakes as tools.
Mirth in milling layers from the Akashic Pool

I was birthed to make silly plays out of fools.
Earthquake Drills in Grade School
Stop, drop and roll
Off the top, control

Is just an illusion
Console by busting a groove in
That's the love of me in its best investment
That's recovery into momentum

Far more jarred and sore
But I can spar my lore
And pump a bar, jump out my lower lumbar
Flow in coasting,

Exploding stars off the wall
Like parkour, set the bar
Higher than strato-layers
Uh, all 4!

Whenever I catch and go—slay and brawl my war!
I'm eager to cleave illin sprees
Because I'm a million leagues past the border
Of what those crotch-rot, gutter-wrought Prophets were gagging for!