Street Fighting Man

please come back to me
let's start the funk
carry on, carry on
My brilliance shines in like the sun
she is my sunshine
a positive influence in the bestest of ways
i love her
yes you too
i love you all
jack be nimble, jack be quick
jack see nipple, suck my dick
what?

the time ticks down. it's all a cheap trick to get you to believe in their lies
i have funk in my veins

Brett Favre
you know what really grinds my gears?
penises

i'm southbound
baby jessica is alive
jessica enlivens me
i saw her yesterday
speed it up funk head
the cheese is all funk
everybody look what's going down

nobody's right if everybody's wrong

a thousand people in the street stopped traffic in a monumentous way
they brought the fight to East Hampton
In the realm of East Hampton, the creepers eat their young

guess who

Posted by Eric L at 10:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Super Mario is alive and well. We're on a mission to hell apart from the infidel. Suck it. I flex a mental muscle in hopes of attracting the fuzzy navel of a broadly based demographic. I am distracted. I am disposed. The garbage man is a disposable dumpster fiend. I will kill you. Turn off the sound. Turn off your mind. A clearer picture you will find. My periphery lies. I am a toad. Never again will I leave me. This is a bad one.
Let's leave the bunk and find the funk. Let's find the stream. Let's live after the fact. Don't look now. The master is coming faster after the master blaster on a course head-on with disaster. I have the funk coursing through my veins. The funk bleeds black and blue and leaves you without pain. Don't you worry any more. I am you.

Posted by Eric L at 7:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

In a lasting land of degradation, we climb the mountains of masturbation in search of nothing but self-gratification.

So the funk wants to play and no one is joyful. I am joyful. I want to play. I want to eat your brains you honky tonk bastard child. The wild roars with furious anger. I am my brother's keeper with a street sweeper at my side. The street sweeper can't take his eyes off the wonderful woman walking waywardly. She walks away with nothing to say but a "hello, good-bye" on the Fourth of July and a stake through her heart. The blood runs colder as January rings its awkward bell of silence. Pestilence and perturbation follow the maniacal man with a penchant for trenchant questions. Leaving on the forward path leaves my mind looking backward. I end the past with each fleeting breath. I have the funk. I am the bat master. Words wipe across the screen serenely screening my field of vision. Porous funk masters are dominated by the solid, stolid beings of less than mass intellect. I race down the stream. Each bend brings new hopes, new dreams, new visions, new thoughts, new nothingness. My funkified turn to glorious pain is wrought with disdain for the plentiful feast in the belly of the beast and a time ticking time bomb, ticking never ceased. Boo-yah.

Posted by Eric L at 11:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Never has there a storm a-brewing like in my mind's firestorm starring Howie Long and a fiery ball of death played by Sam Rockwell.
There is only one man who can save planet Earth, planet Jupiter, planet Uranus and the hidden moons of Dwight's long lost cousin who has a hankering for some Chili's where he can be waited on by a buxom young lady who is only working at Chili's in order to pay for an education in the field of agronomy with an emphasis in the hidden karate moves of the twilight's thundering temper.
The funk breathes down my neck. I hope the funk attacks you too. It'll be the most fun attack on your soul's deepest depths since it met Mr. Met on the subway two years ago, or it will be two years ago in February.
There can only be one.
I am not the one.
Amazing strands of rage and anger exude from my pores leaving ferocious zits with minds hell-bent on revenge; revenge for their fallen comrades who died in massive puss eruptions wrought on by the hands of an angry God.

Posted by Eric L at 9:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I'll give you my onliness. Give me your tomorrow. We're going to hell in a bucket, but at least I'm enjoying the ride.

Posted by Eric L at 2:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

she blew my nose then she blew my mind
I just can't seem to drink her off my mind
in life one and one don't make two, one and one make one

papa's got a brand new bag

Posted by Eric L at 7:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The clock strikes three,
and then they were free.
It was I who shot the baliff.
My inspiration is destroyed with a swift sweep of justice.
I am alone on a quest of epic proportions for

happiness

Edit.

This is the sign of the times.
With the right beat, the funk master cannot be beat.
Don't sweat the technique.

Hit me.

A final fantasy for the feminine fancy:
I journey outward while flowing inward. I learn from myself and get talked at from a mathematical prowess. A haze conquers my vision. I have a blinding vision. I am the persona. I lead the masses from behind. I am a leader. I am a forgotten leader. I follow the false leaders. The funk master is not a false leader. Jurassic 5 is not a false leader.
How many rhymes have I ripped?

Posted by Eric L at 3:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)