“Words As Weapons,” by Professor Rex
Listen to the spoken word version on Bandcamp
My nouns are like a katana, perfectly balanced
My skillset is like lyrical nirvana, respect my talent
My pronouns are like an AR-15, nice and clean
Good enough to stop you and he and she and they and them, know what I mean
My verbs are like an uzi and you can't do me
I'll squeeze and blast, you'll freeze and crash, you’ll see
My adverbs are like an AK-47, lyrical heaven-ly
You bare-ly, accidental-ly qualify as an M-C, you aren't like me
My metaphors are an RPG, my mind a skeleton key
My songs a rhyme PhD, You? A spelling bee-losing flea
My similies are like a lyrical trebuchet
My vocab is large like the national debt, you're more like a lost pet
My conjunctions are like anthrax, you don't make stacks
And you sound whack or like a slacker after losing all battles because you're stuck in bottles
My prepositions are flamethrowers, you're below me
Before you began, you were already behind me, the opposite of plea-sing
Your entire use of language is like a scud missile
You'd be better off trying to kill me with a slide whistle
Your words ain't weapons, you should've kept 'em
Holster your lyrical pellet gun, son, you're done
My interjections are a volcano mine
Uh-oh, uh-huh, oh my, oh well, oops, ouch, ow!
My symbols are like an IED
Flags ain't just for the free, crosses and stars just ain't for me
My alliteration is like chlorine gas
I'll crush your cranium, crash you like you were stained glass, and take your ass to class
My consonance is an Abrams tank
I'm running and gunning, I'll knock your noggin, and take your rank
My assonance is a predator drone
The whole zone blows with flows like gold, you sold some shit, and you need to grow, bro
My hyperbole is like a hellfire missile
Bigger than the Beatles, badder than James Brown, brighter than the sun, son
My metonyms are like the metal storm
My sweat'll get me to a rap Cooperstown, you'll get a pink slip and feel super down
My onomatopeia is is like an atom bomb
Boom, boom, boom, pow, pow, wow, wow
Your entire use of language is like a scud missile
You'd be better off trying to kill me with a slide whistle
Your words ain't weapons, you should've kept 'em
Holster your lyrical pellet gun, son, you're done