Keyboard Rapper Vol. 7

I’m so complete, I flip things around and make the drums march to the sound of my own beat,

Never discreet, I bring heat to the mind, my thoughts are alive
as they flow out from my crown and vibrate toward the sky.
It’s science, guys! Like hot air, my rhymes rise – the literary paintings I craft
are the kinda masterpieces that canvas can’t grasp.
I’m a key-er, not a rapper, I just type in my writin’s
that take y’all’s minds on wild rides, like psilocybin – pardon me, I’m vibing.
Lyrical bread, thrown out to the masses,
like emboldened Romans from times, olden,

I’m the Emperor of this whole-thing, I roll in with the royal guard chanting my slogans
and rain these brain-baguettes on the people, just knowing
that they’ll be back next week for the word circus, and more bread,

“My coliseum bars will shine throughout time, long after I’m dead,” – The Emporer said. – RSM

Trololoneironaut / Keyboard Rapper Vol. 5

I learned lucid dreaming with hard moonlight beaming-

‘Freddie Krueger inceptions in 2019’ing.

I’ll run through your worst nightmares, shirtless-

Throwing priceless doves at you, rendering them worthless,

and just when you think that you’re safe

I jump fences like hurdles, each foot on big snapper turtles,

Using amphibious transport to travel

and torment your brain with a lyrical shower.

You speak just one tongue, but hun, call me Babbel,

I’ll word my thoughts round-right until you taste gravel-

don’t leave ya subconscious ’round me, or what have you,

I’m not one to judge, but I do have this gavel,

and until you arise I’ll be popping up behind you,

Poltergeisting hard, couldn’t sleep if you tried to. – RSM

Keyboard Rapper Vol. 4

A lot of the time I feel locked into old rhymes

Of the days when the ‘Golden Age’ of hip hop shined,

And I try to stay open; I minded my bias,

but young artists in 2018, I don’t buy it.

I try to branch out, but it gets so annoying,

every xanax rapper is so disappointing,

I already used more words this far along

than some trap artists have in their whole damn song.

I don’t really get how their fans got got,

and when I give them a chance, my brain cells rot.

I just get annoyed at the sliding scale

at which rappers are less inclined to rhyme a story, tell a tale,

Paint a picture with your words, make people wanna listen-

instead of simple REPetition-REPetition-REPetition (SKUHRRR)

Kill the noise and convey some real substance,

It gets old to hear about a whole lotta’ nothin’. -RSM