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Mr. Synesthesia's Necessary Necessity

from by Marcus Carab & Fresh Serf

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lyrics

switch to necessity, the mother of frugality
get downright miserly, wise up, the beat's too ballad-y
but still ill-fresh like a new malady
he don't win friends, nah, the meat's too salad-y
and broke his Benz, he's gonna need two salaries
then to street nude gallery to meet lewd Valerie
with a hope in his head that he's gonna squeeze two mammaries
and hold gold split-ends, then Synesthesia move calories
he breathed and grew taller, holler to his peeps, a crew of ballers
all of whom freaked and threw "my my, non, messieurs!"
the fine wine connoisseurs'll drink the brew scholars
under the table ...so I says to Mabel, I says
you unstable, label it done now
we'll unscramble this Babel Fish somehow
until then put the gun down, come now,
and I'll give y'all the rundown
the fun starts at sundown, I already got some ground
like a dollar in the couch crack when you're broke
and try to milk'er
bought a single loosie fifty cent shit smoke
and lit the filter
felt ill like a Tilt-A-Whirl
and got a lizard stuck in gizzard
wanna clip and suck it thicker
can't find the fucking scissors
sock to the kisser, miss a ho's lunch of cooties
dude, he's so hunched and moody, throwing mo' Punch than Judy
but neither too arty nor crass for a rising rhymer
don't be a smartypants, or a wisenheimer
the mean Pied Piper, like a keen-eyed sniper
viper green, clean as a whistle, make it seem simple
between dimples of a lean-cut scene slut
dreaming up free... what? she slip into a clean wimple
...and squeeze her pimples
hit a toughie with a sewing needle
knowing that her glow alone's enough to keep a hold on people
but knowing growing old and stuffy's gonna blow the sequel
drove her to the bluffy, and broke the mould as equals
wrestle with the inevitable, leave me a vegetable
a topiary man, fans'll grope with hairy hands
saying "oh he's very grand!" 'til he's broke and barely stands,
he and his dope & merry band'll put they hope in fairy land
where the eyes both glow but the wide grin's cold
told him: "sign each line and set the rhyme in bold!"
now that time won't flow 'cause the lie's been sold
like: "I don't know, but I been told!"
so don't make me say it twice, the diatribe's getting old
could you both maybe pay the price for eyes on my centrefold?
this aint a library, my ferry got a toll
the sly, scary monopole with ties on the honour roll
...yeah now he's on a roll
seven straight sevens off a chip that he stole
but he never say never to the chick on the pole
so eleven days later he's a bit in the hole
very very much like an itch in the soul
a witch and a troll under a bridge with a toll
a frigid hit of cold in the middle of the fold
and an itty-bitty smidgen of a vision so pigeonholed
so unoriginal, been there and done that
impaired and hunchbacked, in his spare sun hat
run back to mum, cats, he's developed recipe
for smothering the brothers and the mothers of necessity

credits

from Rhyme Circus Act One, released July 16, 2013

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Marcus Carab Toronto, Ontario

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