Category: Poetic Renegade

This is me, Vigilant Leighrick.

Wrinkled Rappers

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You’re a rapper
You think you’re gifted

I’m a legend, and I get lifted

Cows believe my bullshit
But a shark knows a whale ain’t a fish.

Suspect suspicion,
Exposed like an open can of “Whoop Ass”
Oh No! – My Lib is Mad
Ludacris.

The pity.
City on my shoulders.

I don’t lace tracks,
I spit roller coasters.

Look who’s talking now!
No John Travolta.

Easy Peasy,
It isn’t easy to please me.
I’ll give it to you, but no freebies

Listen — Pay attention

Strange clouds,
Hidden in the fragrance of trees

Fire! Fire!

I’m a lover not a fighter,
I hate the Heat.
I Love Summer
Knight me,
I’ll slay the king.

With one shot
No bullets.
Just words.

By any means necessary….

Shower me with blessings when I sneeze!!

-Leighrick

Perpetrators

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These perpetrators trying to live on elevators.
They get stuck on the easy route
They should have of just taken the stairs.
There’s levels to this shit,
You couldn’t reach the top,
even if you are standing on the highest pedestal, with a chair on top, and both hands in the air.
I could careless, but when you breath it pollutes my air.
Watering it down the game, until all that‘s left it total shame.
Who is there to blame?
Who are you?
I’d rather call you by your real name.
Lame.
Thinking you’re blowing up Hip-Hop,
but you just Pop.
I won’t stop – until you feel the need to.
I don’t pay you much attention, but my smirk is cordial.
Snickering at your lollipop lyrics, it’s like taking candy from a baby.
I snatch the volume down to make sure nobody hears it.
Your mumbling and fumbling over your words.
The first time you spit, it stayed on your shirt, couldn’t hardly make it to the curb.
Now you’re chillin with some sick peep, but they aren’t the iLLest. The conglomerates coming through.
Hello,
I am Vigilant Leighrick..

Semi Auto Biography

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AS

I boomed the box that music yelled out of; I gave birth {Chaot!c}, and like Geppeto did Pinocchio molded her into me, Leighrick. This means that we are Chaos. {Chaot!c} climbed out my mouth, she phoned home to the mic, and Leighrick born enraged killed this pad with my pen. She pulled the words out my soul very grotesquely. They examined the lines, they called it a holy mess. They labeled this crime scene a catastrophe. Through the mirror they gave me a cold stare, as {Chaot!c} began to write on the walls.

The Four Walls Read:

Wall 1:

“They only hunt me because my swank is extinct. Last of a dying breed. Endangered Species. You almost caught me.”

–Leighrick

Every where they went, they left trails of authenticity. Originality is now a crime, follow the rest. These felons are wanted for handwriting life sentences. It seems they became restless, the pen was the choice of weapon, and the paper became the victim…

They Turned.

Wall 2: The Story of Life!

“The chemicals spilled mixed with the mic, and experienced technical difficulties with our vocal chords. Your imagination has short circuited.“

-{Chaot!c}

Spelled out in the spilled ink was Leighrick. A Nuclear Devastation. {Chaot!c} became jealous and stalked her. She seeped into her soul and she absorbed it like a sponge…

By the time they got to read what the 4th wall, they had vanished. More to the left was a hole is the wall curved to fit the shape of her multiple personalities, yet it was the shape of a music note.

Wall 3 had read: “Freedom Rings, Peaces!“.

Staring at signatures, they sat there with the most sour grimace, and repeated

Wall 4:”Sanity is Fiction and Dreams are Reality“

– Candace

Sincerely,

{Chaot!c}, Leighrick, & Candace…

How Many Mics?

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Too many mics and not enough MCs

These rappers are still babies to this game all they spit is gaga..shit driving me crazy

How many carrots will it take you see, guess them diamonds really blindin and the cats got more than they tongue,

cause those grills got they mouth on freeze…and these lames still swagg biting.

Still Evil wearing true religion, constantly being fake like any implant on Nicki.

My words boom like echos in a tunnel you can’t help but hear my message more than once

I Do Right And Kill Everything I can’t help that my Young Moneys growing up.

Fuck Pink Dollaz I’m trynna turn the whole world back green and blue.

I write fire so flame is after my stage name like Wocka,

And record labels still handing out deals like candy..Willy Wonka

But this paper is my factory, and these beats are my workers, no machinery I don’t fuck with auto-tune,

just stay tuned into what I’m providing you to read, knowledge is automatic

Be ready to get real

Like the I in Will I can’t help but maintain being ill.

Because I’m sick of this so called music, and allergic to their wanna be attempts at lyrics

These rappers are all my children, they’re so full or drama my words making em young n restless

These lames are driving me Ludacris, I had to stand up for what I believe in.

Got them thinking I’m crazy, this exactly why I need a doctor producing a beat behind this.

All these artist so dry now, I’m parched.

I need some juice man, where OJ?

And since all they worried about are groupies

These rappers needs some fits man, where the Gucci at?

I wanna bring up the underground not that Illuminati, I’m not a mason just amazing.

I ball, these New Boyz can’t play my position,

Ima Cool Kid bruh, the Pacific’s not they’re Division.

I know writing like this can be a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare ..

You can get real and join the circle or you can just stay a square.

Either way get real…cause every line is a step closer to my dreams.

-Leighrick

Genre Specific

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I look left, everyone says I wasn’t right.

I look right, and it seems like there’s nothing left.

I look ahead, the clocks telling me I’m running behind time.

Instead — I looked up this time, and that’s when the light shinned down on me.

Often I want to drop to my knees, and bow my head, but gravity won’t let me know defeat.

I’m graveling

I’m scrabbling.

If this is my brain on drugs.

Killah California is the place to be.

Serve em up something street.

Take ’em underground

In awe holding your breath,

Racing your thoughts to your heart–

All while your body is trying to adjust to resurfacing.

They would never believe.

That these groups of misfits, outkasts, and nerds turned out to be so superb.

That we’re the ones igniting the flames in the core of the earth.

I wonder sometimes, are they really surprised?

Could the ice from the 2 chains really be that bright?

Those fans mustn’t really be too bright.

Wouldn’t have enough light if the sun son’d you, and

I amplified enlightenment through a projector and a mic.

I wish the government would kidnap Waka Flocka, and take him

to sesame street to spend the night.

Gucci down to my juice mane,

That’s that shit I don’t write.

Tho I don’t condone violence

The guns in the beat and my lyrics might.

Old Nigga, Young Money

Skinny Jeans, Thug Life!

Riding through the city bumping Nicki,

I hate my life!

Excuse me.

I was seeking Romans Vengeance.

I must’ve lost it somewhere with the other barbies and bubbles, while I was doing dishes.

To make it simple,

This is what my wish is.

Please make another genre for these characters, so

Hip-Hop can stop being disrespected.

 

Sincerely,

The Gifted Neglected,

 -Leighrick