[ QUOTE=Verse 1]This
is all true story. This happened to me around 3 weeks ago after a night
out around the Town at about 3:30 AM! I've added a little humour near
the end to lighten what wasn't the best of situations for me.
I just saw dude hit my man, he's drunk and cant fight back,
This guy said he wouldn't touch him, we aint goin' out like that,
Ima have to fight him, just to let those fuckers know,
You hit my man, my fist will slam, aint take no sucker blows,
The rage inside consumes me, this man expected me to run,
So I smash his head upon the curb especially for fun,
I climb on top, its over now, I persist with lefts and rights,
Im pulled off by the crowd and he left distressed in fright.
*30 minutes later*
Im walking home content, I stood my fucking ground,
Suddenly, my head is struck, and now im ducking down,
Hit 4 times with a shovel, he'd brought 3 friends to help some more,
Across my head a bottle smashed, I'm laying conscious on the floor,
They then proceed to kick, my face attracts their aim,
My defence is far from flawless, trying to stop these acts of pain,
They see they've done their damage and leave before they're seen,
A busted lip, a bloody nose, and my jumper needs a clean,
I climb up to my feet, pick my phone up off the ground,
I check my head where the bottle struck, no cuts or blood were found.
*After the dust had settled*
Now was it right for me to fight, knowing how it ends upon the street?
Of course it was, and all because, I jumped the cunt next week![/QUOTE]
 Verse 2 wrote:
¿Fight back or run...?
Outnumbered and surrounded... my heartbeats pounded,
To proud to call for help or else I would've allowed it,
Feet hit the ground running... I can hear the hounds coming,
Bought myself a few seconds when they thought they found something,
So I turn around stumbling to face my pursuers,
¿Should I make a stand now or escape through the sewers...?
Face it... it's useless... I'm dead... succumbing to chagrin,
If I run I'm a coward so either way I can't win,
Disheartening to think about what would my mother say,
¿Should I have died fighting or survived to fight another day...?
But my father would've prayed that his son should've stayed,
And made a stand... Wounds heal and you can always wipe the blood away,
So I withstood the pain and stood my ground but before the gloves were down,
I took a pounding as I rushed the crowd of many thugs around,
Thus... I vowed never to be a coward and show my weakness,
As I'm still a man... minus my mobile phone and stolen sneakers,
And I may have bloody features and a tooth is missing from this collision,
But listen... facing your enemies is the toughest decision,
I must have a naturally good disposition to die a martyr,
I didn't... but at least they can't say I could've tried harder... |
Verse 3 wrote:
Living a life of tranquility, wouldn't hurt a fly.
A clean-cut young man, dwelling with a curse inside.
A nervous guy, never much of a go-getter.
Sticks and stones, and nonsense, he had always known better.
Wrote letters, and words, expressed himself through poetry.
And over the years he'd never realized what he'd grown to be.
A cold and bleek, soul. Years of repressing the anger.
Looking the other way, making good impressions with strangers.
Neglecting the pain, hurt. That was dwelling behind a smile.
Rearing the back of his cheeky complection was something dark and vile.
So when he was approached by a young man,who was giving him grief.
As he slurred and cussed, sturred and fussed, he started gritting his teeth.
Switching the cheek, on this man, was not an option now.
So without missing a beat, our boy swung and knocked him out.
Popped his mouth, but then proceeded, to continue swinging.
As he pleaded, "no more!" and his nose had started bleedin'.
His ears ringin'. But still, our boy never got calm and subtle.
Until the young man was twitchin', his blood all in a puddle.
On his knuckles. What trouble he would be in after this.
He then collapsed, such violent acts, from a pacifist.
-As-Salamu Alaykum السلام علي |
Verse 4 wrote:
The Famous Calzaghe fell like Goliath, but with a punch instead of a rock
He had trained for months and yet only a minute had gone on the fight clock
Had won every fight, was this the end ? Was this the first fight he would fail
Tried to be composed but his head was stired like a James bond cocktail
See fear is instinctive, its all the other emotions that require reason
But the welsh fans were singing his name so it would feel like treason
He was a fighter, yet still a man, wanted to keep all of his limbs
They sung one Joe calzaghe, funny that he could see three Bernard hopkins
He felt like the biblical Adam, he was guilty in Vegas the city of sin
Was this the Almightys message that " you cant always win"
He looked at the crowd, Groaned, took a sharp intake of breath
He felt his soul call out " every defeat is like a mini death"
Wanted to remain perfect, get up and punch him battle on
But kept in his mind those heroes that had gone one fight too long
He struggled to his feat, motivated purley by his will to win
He thought that Love dint give up, and he fucking loved boxing
Was like a greek Myth he dint no if it was like Sisyphus with his boulders
Or was it like Atlas with cuz it seemed like the whole world was on his shoulders
Calzaghe regained his compsure, if lifes a meal dont forget to add some spice
The boxers message? if life is mearly a game dont be afraid to role the dice |
Votes
Edited by Point Blank - 21 April 2008 at 5:00pm
|
Topic: Round 2 - Battle 2 : Verses
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