GYSO Drawing Part 36 - Rap Sods

Published: 2020-07-05

Click here for the OG rap beat

(The 2020 nominee for Most Cringey GYSO Post of the Year.)

Introduction

*The hip-hop beat drops. Or whatever you call it*

Tim:
Yeah. Yeah.

Look ma, I’m saying “yeah yeah”

In a rap song arentcha proud Dad?

Spitting out that mad sad

So bad they call me a mad lad

(Atlas!)

Hold on, let me check my stat list

Hmmm…

Shit. I thought we were past this

It says I’m a level 20 cactus

But I didn’t even practice

What went right?

Tim:
But enough of the easy rhymes and cadence

Shut the gruff up this cheesy dine and day dance

Gut your stuff cuz’ their teasing kinda hate stance

Cut the rough and tough tiny wines and stray pants

(Huh?)

Who needs to make sense

When you don’t heed my essence

The way I kneed the bread since

The seeds of your preference

For the kind of thing that you hear right now

The cow will power the tower or cower

See? It’s just rhymes. Find your own salvation

Because all of this is just verbal salivation

What went wrong?

Thor:
Three and a half gallons.
Symbolic for a featured glass oven.
As seen on TV, heats your meals, your friends, your head, and you’re all set.
Global disaster.

The tree fell far from the free, from the cost of extensible greed.
Green hats left unfathomably seen as the new age coming, over and over and over.

Left to my devices, I’m a friend of my dividers.
They speak stones, and I feel cold and alone and they follow through every bone that they loan.
Intervention left overdue, but it’s a bit undercooked in the grand stew.
It cooked up below temperature, so no temperament shows through.

What’s a boy to do with five servings soup and a troublesome suite?
Spend one, get fun.
Lend two, spend food.
Three and above are ostensibly lost.
Left in the red, gobbled at the best line men linen, sparkling diamonds. Then went on watch for a Rolex Rhino.
Speak no mercy, but please while you’re doing that, hurry up, serve me.

What happens next?

Thor:
Hey my mom is calling for me, she says dinner is about to get served, I have to go guys I’m so sor

Thor’s mom:
Spittin’ sick rhymes since ’45, last left unchecked caused a riot. Three died.
Right side, no matter, no hands, no matter, hand it over to store clerk. Green shorts, khaki.
Sportwear leaves me unfurled, as though tight trends bend like the trends and the hopelessly lost.
Friends follow through, though. At a cost.

Ripped jeans, glasses.

I’m cooking you like a micro-stew brewed in the electronic oven.
Powered by a Fusion Raspberry 5000
Full cat tiger.

“It’s hard to soar with the eagles when you’re surrounded by turkeys.”
Adam Sandler, he can be my handler,
Run his ham fist, sing his last legs far for all my many Friends.

Though, I don’t have them. Frankly.

Thor:
Thanks mom,
It’s hard to write a blog when all you know is what you got.
Take Bob; jobless, depressed and ostensibly lost.
Works hard, doesn’t matter the cost.
Fret not, for the life turns as long as you follow through,
Gobble fears of the line men linen, break you back, sweat your pants, race up your mind over kittens.

It gets better.

But it’s all downhill from here.