.Gyarikku

I try and use a variety of styles. Here's some examples from a text album I made about 4 or 5 months ago.

Some Punchlines
I’m the verbal reenactment of the life of Carl Johnson
I give sucker emcees their Death With like Charles Bronson
I aint from Compton, I aint Game, not on Change of Heart
These tricks want my cash? Look here’s some change to start
Call me conceited or cocky, on the verge of being arrogant
‘Cause I’m the type to bone my landlord for a reduce in rent
f**k her on the bed; throw her down to the carpet
Then tell her, “Aight b***h now go fix my leaky faucet”
Slick enough to pimp Farah Fawcett back in the ‘70’s
Then smoke so much kill that I look like I’m Lebanese
Your career’s got no longevity; you rely heavily on your chorus
I could drive around in a Taurus, and still go pick up Norah
Jones, as long as the b***h don’t attempt to sing
‘Cause I’ll fall asleep at the wheel, drive off the bridge and sink
Swim back to the surface, on the sidewalk jackin’ old ladies purses
Shovin’ fake emcees in the back of black hearses
Back-to-back verses, I don’t even need a hook
The bomb just stopped tickin…naw, made you look
I’m the bomb, my flow is bitchin’
Spend more time in the kitchen servin’ up base heads
Servin up more crack than the Reagan administration
I’ll serve you on Playstation; I’ll kill you at Madden, boy
Take the controller and smash your face in, what you mad at boy?
You’re not as bad as me, but don’t be mad at me
I’ll throw you off a balcony; oh it’s a tragedy
I watch CSI, learn to leave no evidence
My game’s so tight, I’ll tell the FBI “Ya’ll irrelevant”
I rep the 5 elements, I pop trunk like an elephant
You try fuckin with my cash; I’ll give your head a dent
I’m an ignant asshole that’s hotter than Tabasco
Get high off a joint and increase it with some Tobacco
Ya’ll on that peanut butter s**t, cut crust of ya sandwich
Think I’ll waste my ends on a girl? Guess again, fat b***h
I should be in gymnastics, ‘cause I keep weight on beams
Just wait you’ll see that I’m the last great emcee
No secret, I got no love for these fake actors
When I hook ‘em up with weed, they always want it fatter
That’s when I show ‘em “How To Rob” like 50 Cent and Mad Rapper
My bullets scatter, you wanna f**k b***h? I’m flattered
You can’t hold me down, stop talking ‘fore you get battered
These emcee’s skills are 2nd rate, like Progressive Insurancy
They’re so broke they don’t even know the US Currency
These haters shiver when I enter
Ya’ll want beef? That’s like Woody Allen stepping to Yul Brenner
I’m smokin’ nuggets, ya’ll are smoking on twigs, see
You say I aint hot, you must be blinder than Clayton Bigsby
I’m a Mercenary, looking for every card in the deck
f**k the writing on the wall if it aint a check

Some storytelling
Ran up to the door, right hook, s**t it’s Plexiglas
Broke my right hand, jumped off the steps with my Mexican ass
Left hook to the bedroom window, glass everywhere
Climbed in the house, child’s room, I ain’t stealin teddy bears
Grabbed a trash bag, opened the fridge, threw in some frozen foods
DVD Players, everything till there’s no more room
Found some earrings, watches, threw em in my pocket
Walked out the front door, shut it and locked it
Holdin the bag while my hands are bleeding and throbbin
Holes in my shoes, toes poking out my socks then
s**t, here come the jakes!! This bag is slowin me down
Ditched it, ran to the creek under the bridge, now I’m underground
Shoes got no tracking, slipped on some rocks
Runnin through the water, socks are soggy I’m runnin from the cops
Back up to the street, I’m cutting through some alleys
Thought I lost em…oh s**t!!! They found me
Over the fence, lungs exploding, my calves are burning
Through the yard under clotheslines, the pit bulls must’ve heard me
Snapped their chains, hot breath I can feel it on my ankles
Pulled out the buck knife, turned around and shanked them
Bite marks on my arm, s**t I might have rabies
Mouth foamin, swallowin saliva, barkin at some old lady
City aint fix the sidewalks, tripped over a crack, jeez
Knee’s busted, blood leakin through my khakis
Damn, now I hear the sirens and they’re getting closer
I could give my self up, instead I pulled out the toaster!!!

Some "concious rap"
As I sit down at my desk with a pen and some paper
I think about dreams of getting higher than a skyscraper
I think about God, will I ever meet my maker?
I think about a woman getting pregnant ‘cause her father raped her
When I stare out my window I see a dog chase a cat
I see predators, I see leaves growing back
I see a big fucking cycle; every day’s a routine
Women trying to get men to buy them the finer things
Diamond rings, all this s**t is way too predictable
I see two cards crash; wonder if it’s fixable
Not the vehicles, the man’s credit, all his s**t is ruined
I see Narcs beings spotted for not speaking slang fluent
I walk outside just for a breath of fresh air
I see men collecting cans, they can’t afford cab fare
I walk and see my homies, give em daps, not hugs
I see a squad car suspecting us of slanging drugs
I look up at the sky, all I see is rain
I just wanna die, ‘cause all I feel is pain
I feel cold, from the people and from the weather
I feel a cold Beretta tucked under my sweatshirt
I hate this world, I feel like an alien
I hate my father; I know he’ll betray me again
I hear voices in my head, telling me to stay street
I hear music in my head; it’s time to change beats
I taste alcohol on my tongue, just to cover up
I taste anger on my tongue from always fucking up
I smelled weed smoke in the air; yeah I got that good stuff
Now I smell s**t in the air, that’s what this world is made of
I run from the police, hopping fences as I pass
I run from the laws like I run from my past
I hide from the cops, I hide from my fear
I hide my emotions and my conscience, I just don’t care
I pray for my safety, I pray for my life
I pray for my enemies, they know I’ll catch them slipping tonight
I make my way back home, put away my chrome
I make myself a sandwich, I feel so alone
I take two hits to ease the pain, I hop in the shower
I take two sleeping pills; I hope I sleep for two hours
I turn on my TV, I feel even more sad
I turn my gun off safety to get the things that I don’t have
I see an unfinished paper, I forgot what it was
I take two more hits to catch another buzz
I sit back down, pick up the pen and collect my thoughts
I think, see, walk, look, feel, hear, I make Hip-Hop
And when my pen hits the paper…
…Aww s**t!!!

More braggadociousness
I get expensive clothes, I spit expensive flows
Get extensive dough and split expensive hoes
Roll spliffs of expensive dro…what, ya’ll aint know?
I sit in the expensive ‘Rolls and sip expensive Mo’
I write for G’s, not actors
Emcees and scrappers that breathe the rapture
Of these gems I manufacture
It’s magic, when I grip the mic
It’s just right, I’m that nice, verbally slice your windpipe
I bet on games, on the table I’m slammin’ a 50
But I ain’t gone over my limit like Ken Caminiti
Overdoses, broken homes, this world’s atrocious
That’s why I stay in my world living so braggadocios
More Guns than Roses, less friends, more foes’s
I’ll split their head open like the Red Sea was by Moses
He’s best, he’s worst, your opinions…know what they worth?
About as much as Canada is to the rest of the Earth
Since birth, I’ve been destined to do some big thangs
I’m like a broken vending machine, I only get, I never give change
I’m fuckin’ Halle Barry but that ain’t no dinner thang
Just ‘cause I tilt my hat don’t mean I’m in an inner city gang
I got enough game to give Wilt Cham’ lessons of females
The kid stay blessin’ tracks with superior lyrical details
Whoa…let it be known I don’t give a f**k about the rules
Come through with them shiny things, that’ll lighten up your jewels (figure that one out)
Whatever game you speak, save…you weak
In the middle of the winter, I gave you heat
Blunted Supervillian, suited and caped up
Got my knuckles taped up, ready to throw down
Knock you out, wake up with your kicks missin’ like Charlie Brown
I got a mean shoe game, keep at least two dames
Hog at least two lanes like young Sweet James
It’s MINE, the world in the palm of my hand
Understand I’m a hustler, I’d bet it all for a measly hundred grand
I learned from Clerks, titles do NOT determine actions
For what it’s worth, you f**k with my title
And your world will start collapsin’

Yep...thats my most recent stuff...not trying to brag but I could probably get signed if that was my ambition, but I've lost faith in the hip-hop industry and it's not something I wanna get myself into.