The Flow on heisttrack

Hop hip

Big ups to heisttrack.com for their feature on Freddy Flow!

Frida Kahlo (beats by Weight)

Hop hip

Frida Kahlo has a hell of a unibrow,
How she grew that I don’t know how.
But that caterpillar is fatter than my fattie.
I know yo mamma like it, but who’s yo daddy?

From bad to worse, I rehearse these verses.
Code blue, stat, call up the nurses.
Hearses idle, some dead men walking.
But I’m a Pac Man, keep a waka-waka-wakking.

Hawking my wares, wherever they buyin’.
Made a killing on the Elders of Zion.
Frypan beatdown, got killt with a skillet.
Crashed the kosher code, some goy asked will it
Be the death of you, home? Well, nobody knows,
But these Old Testament testicles can take a few blows.

Foes fall back, weebles start to wobble.
People keep talking, all I hear’s turkeys gobbling.
Some start to sobbing, speaking in tongues,
Saw Jesus in a nacho; at the top of my lungs
I keep preaching these heretical gospel.
Reaching y’all heathens with boy band apostles.

Sight for sore eyes, this vision is sordid.
Zap pests like Orkin, rhymes never aborted.
Sorted out friends from foes with a flourish.
Put rap on a seafood diet, nourished.

Sure as shooting this ain’t the most
elevated discourse ever – so why don’t you shoot me?
Never before have I heard such stupidity.
But it don’t matter, I’m all about liquidity.

Rid of me? Not yet—I last like a head cold.
If this were poker you’d be fixin’ to fold.
Hold my drink, lemme take care of this one.
One more run-and-gun youngblood’s one and done.

Fun! I’m a 4-ring circus.
Got one extra for Angela Merkus.
Lurk late, strike straight, thin gin, I sin,
Got so many rhymes don’t know where to begin

Or end—but friend, I never do,
This brain is wired with a never-ending loop.
Ingrain the sounds I’m throwing at you.
Insane the clown possibility, chew on this,

Don’t choke, best chomp thoroughly.
Don’t wolf your food or this face most assuredly
Will be the last thing you’ll ever see.
Face worth than death, fate you don’t want to be.

Yo B, I got D like Urlacher.
Get hit with this, got lots the matter.
I lick batter from lyrical beaters
Bake cakes with fakers’ Apollo Creeds

Or Pontius Pilates, I do pilates,
With thesaurus and dictionary, karate.
Verbal judo, Ju know what I’m sayin’?
Eat broccoli crudo, smoke cruciferous, slayin’

The wolves that’s bayin’ with ridiculousness,
Proud to say that I’m known as a hot mess.
Loch Ness monsters seek anonymity,
I seek the white-hot spotlight, B are you feelin’ me?

Swatch

Hop hip

 

I’ve already arrived, but I keep on moving
The sound of my own wheels turning is soothing.

Grooving my mind along to this smooth vibe.
If you’re feeling it the way I am, then gimme five.
Or gimme a Jackson or a Hamilton or a Grant.
The flow I got makes ladies lose their pan-ties
I make it rain underwear.
Angel don’t know and the Devil don’t care.
Fair enough, yeah, I’ve probably fouled out.
I come north but my brain went south.
Mouth that roared, mouse that soared.
Riding my bike I’m getting windowed and doored.
Sword swallower couldn’t stomach what I got
There ain’t no point, Sir Lance-a-Lot.
I eat Lance crackers from vending machines
It’s a Southern thing, y’all know what I mean?

Mason-Dixon, I’m fixin’ to cross it.
I reckon I’ll get my some Spanish moss, it
Grows on trees, down Florida way.
I come to Chicago, seeking a smarter way of living
Now I got four seasons worth.
Went to shoveling snow from riding surf.
Dearth of intelligence, that’s what some a y’all ‘d call it.
But life’s like a two-by-four, you got to saw it.
Some got a hatchet, some use floss.
Me I’m gnawing my way through like a buck-toothed moth
Ain’t too pretty but I gon’ get her did.
Mouth full of sawdust, you can’t rid of me so easy,
I’m an obstinate insect.
So damn smart I’m might be defective.
Say “Time flys” I get me a stopwatch
Clock ‘em in the 100 meter, believe it and watch.
Don’t believe me just watch.
Don’t believe me just watch.
I got a pink and green Swatch.
Don’t believe me just watch.

I knit swatches of words into quilts.
Throw cover throwdown, stitch and bitch with MILFs
Bills getting bigger and so is my crib.
I’m so damn old I remember women’s lib.
I’m so glib I got my own language,
Used Adam’s rib to make me a sammich.
Famished? Then get a taste of prime prosciutto.
I’m filet mignon of tube steak, you know
You can’t find better than this cut of meat.
Best believe it, I’m beyond belief.
King of the organ meat, Schenectady butcher,
Demi Moore didn’t ride on Ashton Kutcher
As hard as I push it when I get the flow goin’
If I’m a Girl Scout cookie, I’m an angry Samoan.

Wayward Blues (Beats by Jamel at Loud Rap Beats, http://loudrapbeats.com/)

Ever'thing, Hop hip, New

Dearth of intelligence, earth to Freddy.
Bring that beat back, keep it rock steady.
Deadheads delay their date with destiny
the head on this Fred beats hell out the rest of me.
Suction out fat, Section 8 housing.
The cat that ate Pittsburgh is mousing.
Rats on the run, just like Revelations,
The 3-6 beast is the end of all nations.
But I’m still stressed about punctuation,
Inner eye trained on my own creation.
Facing apocalypse, I shrug my shoulders
Those wise old elders are way way older
than I’ll ever be, why listen to their gripes?
I’ve paid more dues than Wesley Snipes paid taxes,
Got exes in Texas,
Manipulate words like Schwarzenegger flexes.
He mates with maids, I make my mark,
Set sail on a sea of words, I’m a Cutty Sark.
Hark, the feral devils rap,
My trigonometry can cure the clap.

Map out a route or a root, where you headed.
Some thighs and breasts are fixin’ to get breaded,
Or maybe Fredded, break out the special sauce.
Cross the Rubicon, a Pyrrhic win’s a loss.
Moss gathers stones, rolling in the deep,
R.I.P. Brian Jones, what dreams may creep
deep into our quotidian existence,
Divisible quotient, futility of resistance.
Keep your distance, some words pack a sting.
Invented a new verb tense, now I make it sing.
Speak in Fourth person past present pluperfect.
This alphabet’s child’s play, gonna work it,
Jerk it around like a dog on a leash,
Got a wrinkled-ass brain but these trousers stay creased.
Catch and release, never fishing for compliments
Trapped the beast slouching east, always up on to it.

Sonnet’s son and limerick’s bastard,
Poetry glows but liquor is faster.
Master of my domain, jack of all tropes,
Eat snipe for breakfast, got a pet jackalope.
Pope Paul was appalled at my pulled pork prose,
It’s falling off the bone, Lord only knows
what I’ll say next, and he ain’t tellin’.
Nobody’s buyin’ if nobody’s sellin’.
Bring me the head of John Tesh on a platter;
Say hey, Salome, what is the matter?
And yo, Kenneth, what is the frequency?
I got more rhymes than juvenile delinquents
See here, listen up, ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust, flush the fashion.
Flashback Friday Voices Carry Til Tuesday,
Carry on My Wayward blues, my wayward blues,
Can’t stop singing these wayward blues.

Accrued more losses than stones got moss,
Got six balls less than my main man Rick Ross.
Floss my teeth with a pole dancer’s g-string,
Won the contest ‘cuz I’ll eat anything.
Some bring the noise, some bring the violence
But I got 4’33” seconds of {{{[silence]}}}
John Cage cage match, got the matchmaker blues,
Practice makes perfect, I’m practicing self-abuse.
News got old, I rock an Olds 98
My Hyundai got sun-dried like a wrinkled-ass grape.
California raisin, raisin’ cain
Drunk on dandelion wine, time to run it all back again.

Saturday the 14th

Ever'thing, Hop hip, New

Suffering succotash, I’m a cereal abuser.
I’m the ex-post-facto Grape Nuts user.
Found my soul in the depths of a cereal bowl,
Dissected a Cinnabon, found ten cinnamon rolls.

Tollhouse cookie and a wookie with head lice,
Got ten trolls in my posse, better think twice,
Or maybe even thrice, three times a lady,
Divided by nine, new math don’t faze me.

Lazy third eye and a lazy boy recliner
These rhymes don’t get much more sublimer
than this, Yes, sorry to say folks;
can’t make an omelette without cracking some yolks.

The more jokes I’m cracking, the less crack I’m getting,
Facing a sexual Armageddon.
Betting on donkeys to win the Derby
Don Quixote’s got nothing on me, absurdly

Wordy, I worship at the altar of letters.
So cast off your fetters, learn from your betters.
I’ll get you lettered like varsity freshmen
Teaching rap like ripping flesh, man.

But I’m not Freddy Krueger, I’m Freddy Flow,
It’s Saturday the 14th I’m fixin’ to mow
The lawn with scissors, I’m that precise.
I took the a-roni outta rice.

I come from the stratosphere, far from earth.
Best take a breath, turning blue like a smurf.

H.R. called up H.R. PufnStuf

Ever'thing, Hop hip, New

Basket case, straight out of the casket,
Potato or song, don’t matter, I’ll mash it.
Fashion funk from a junk shop reject,
Sherlock Holmes could never detect
What I’m about to do, or whom.
Eligible ladies, y’all might feel a baby boom.

Super-sub-sonic, I’m the tonic for every ill,
No cane, no crutch, no meds, no pills.
Wilted lettuce, let us pray.
Praying mantis, show us the way.
The truth, the light, I bring back the dead.
Flowed some freddy upside of some blockheads.

Popped some blackheads with ESP
Mopped up some warzones with Martin Sheen.
Gone upriver, it’s a one-way trip.
Banana peel envy, give ‘em the slip.

Some got gypped and some got a freebie,
Instantaneous verbal delivery.
I’m Betamax in a 4-G world
Visualize world peace or peas getting whirled.

Hairs got curled, got em caught by the short hairs,
I been known to play possum with grizzly bears.
Took the stairs wearing elevator shoes,
Treadmill to nowhere, I sing the hamster blues.

Self-abuse, but I’m not addicted,
Something good up on me might get lick-ted.
“Take dictation” (that’s what she said),
I roll far over PG-13 heads.
Keep shit clean, I mean shoot, I mean stuff,
Put on a wetsuit when diving for muff.

H.R. called up H.R. PufnStuf,
Now our new CEO’s got a mouth that’s big enough.

Your Holy Crapness

Ever'thing, Hop hip, New

Glandular eruptions and a rope-a-dope stance,
I cooled down a whole lot of hot pants.
Hot pans and pots, better get you a trivet,
Trivial Pursuit, I’m hirsute, chicks dig it.

Got enough back hair to stuff a pillow,
But it’s soft like a Persian, I never rock Brillo.
Milo de Venus grew arms just to grab me.
Mona Lisa cried when she couldn’t have me.

Van Gogh cut his ear off just to get with some Freddy Flow,
Picasso was a colossal asshole but yo,
I know what it’s like to have a blue period
need a box of tampons, my sins are myriad.

Went on an Iliad with Homer Simpson,
The Sirens had donuts, I’m feeling weak son.
Lashed to the mast, we sailed home to Greece,
But it’s broke like the west side, ah honkey, please
Give it a rest, you’re chasing your tail,
these broken-ass rhymes are bound to fail.

“You’ve got mail!” You’re as backwards as AOL.
Your Lynrd got Skynrd, ooh ooh that smell.
Skunks got nothing on your pungent rhythm,
Every faux pas, you done did ‘em.
Kid ‘em if you can, but take this seriously,
You can’t fool me, no matter how deliriously
you throw words together, no method to your madness:

I hereby decree you “Your Holy Crapness.”

Deep like Dante

Ever'thing, Floetry, Hop hip, New

Girls are burning with optimism’s flame.
Gamed the system, Miss Pessimism’s got one claim to fame:
That she knew me back when.
Trees fall in the forest, I’m all about the zen.

Got a yen for y’all and a lust for life.
Took two in the morning, took a third for a wife.
Got a slow burn and a four-alarm fire.
Plead the fifth, get my drift, arouse ire.

Aspire to greater heights, where mighty mites tremble,
Can’t nip these ankles, I never dissemble.
That means “lie,” some-a y’all better look it up.
Tectonic plates about to subduct
got nothing on me, I’m deep like Dante.

Open more doors than Monty.

Getting bigger than Myrtle the Turtle, yo

Ever'thing, Hop hip

Blank pages fear me, I blow their doors off.
Heavy artillery I’m all Norman Schwarzkopf
with pencil stubs, ink pens, and crayons.
Voodoo zombie Ouija board séance,

Back from the swamp with an alligator typewriter,
Packs more wallop than Walter Cronkite or
any other newscaster or Cindy Plaster Caster.
Remastered 10-inch, shouldn’t have sassed her

Fast or slow, I’m a 45 on 33.
78 rpm on the Victrola, G.
Say you want a revolution, I spin it
Got my hip waders on, I’m all up in it.

Begin it or end it, either way works
Like Caribou coffee, I’m all about the perks.
Some get irked at this fredlicious flow,
But I’m getting bigger than Myrtle the Turtle, yo.

Stand on the backs of those come before me,
can’t really say that many adore me.
Yet little by little, the word’s getting out,
from a whisper to a scream, then a shout.

Me and Al Gore invented Internet porn

Ever'thing, Hop hip

Sight for sore eyes, optical illusion
Got four eyes but my third eye’s conclusion’s
definitive—I can see for miles and miles
Louder than a bomb but don’t check the dials.

Speakers to 11 but I go to infinity,
Spinal Tap guest star, Nigel was into me
till I stepped on Stonehenge, pissed the dwarf off,
they took back my cucumber, took my drawers off.

I was off-off Broadway so far I was on it,
Even monkeys with typewriters can write a sonnet.
Even a blind pig can find an acorn,
Me and Al Gore invented Internet porn.

Swore it off when my palms got hairy,
I was practically married to five-finger Mary.
Scary when I think of the youths I corrupted,
Al Gore’s got climate change, I’m coitus interrupted.

Ineluctable fate had dealt me a bum hand,
Made money on the backs of teenagers’ glands.
But the better angels of my conscience got to me,
flapped their wings and flew right through me.
Knew me better than I knew myself:
Now I’m pimping out ice cream to Keebler Elves.

Wealth of nations, I’m a national scandal.
Mowed the lawn in Speedo and sandals.
Can’t hold a candle to my wax or wick,
Wicked weed whacker, I got the biggest . . . crick

in my neck, can I get a massage here?
Or a bottle of codeine and a six pack of beer?
No pain, no gain, then I’m a millionaire,
Spayed 10 cats on a double dog dare
without anesthetic, got the scars to prove it.

Cat scratch fever, no balm can soothe it.
Ted Nugent’s agent wanted 10 percent,
I said Hell no, these rhymes are Heaven-sent.

Rather get bit by a fossilized trilobite

Ever'thing, Hop hip

Ferd or Fred, I’ll answer to both
but Derf don’t work, it feels like meat loaf
in my mouth, got cauliflower ear,
too much broccoli, not enough beer.

Made a career out of unclear references,
Bade farewell to verbal reticence.
Present tense passed by, I’m already future,
Invented new verbs to work your glutes, suit yourself,

If you’re not with this, sit down,
Finders keepers but I will never be found,
Losers weepers I’m a needle in a haystack,
heavy hitter like a fat man snack attack.

Whacked more weeds than Toro,
Cut more Zs than Zorro.
Tomorrow’s my yesterday, today is so last week,
Celebrate Chinese new year when Pekingese speak.

That’s my dogs, got a mob of chihuashuas,
Yo quiero Taco Bell, dog day mamas,
Got me a llama and 39 acres,
So much cookie I need a dozen bakers,

Maker’s Mark on the tip of my tongue,
The Gospel of Mark’s gonna get expunged.
Bungee jumped, screamed Oh my Lord!
Unfortunately, Mama had cut the cord.

Swim with swordfish, my rapier wit
acquitted me well till the great white shark bit.
Shit! Should’ve stayed in the shallows like Mama said,
Instead I was in deep, looking at being dead,

Right, said Fred, bled down to zero
(Brits say zed), my head was a hero sandwich
to a shark with an overbite,
Rather get bit by a fossilized trilobite.

The Sump Pump of Hop Hip

Ever'thing, Hop hip

Back to the flow, I’m never fronting,
Rock the mic like a sump pump, I’m really sumpthing.
Lumpenproletariat, go tell the bourgeoisie,
Even the one percent’s getting hip to me, G.

They’re skiing at Aspen on six inches of fresh coke
while I’m getting et by the skeeters in Okeefeenoke.
Ain’t no joke but they call me The Riddler,
I’m up on my lines like gay men on Bette Midler.

Fiddler on the make, got 4 on the floor,
Five-finger Mary, 6-6-6 on the door.
Whore of Babylon couldn’t get with this,
It’s a foregone conclusion, I babble on witless.

Sit less, stand more, I’m wired like a telco,
Strung out on Strunk and White, shave with Norelco.
“Omit needless words,” but I need ‘em all.
Prelapsarian even after the fall.

Y’all can’t google this quick as I bust it.
If I say “perspicacious” you’ll just have to trust it.
Rust belt-and-suspenders, I keep myself covered,
Sans-a-Belt leisure suit, I’m getting discovered.

I’m a terra nova and feeling del fuego,
Not Chevy No-va or sin los juevos.

Full can of Fix-a-Flat

Hop hip, New

I’m flat broke but I’m fixing to fix that,
Got me a monkey wrench and a full can of Fix-a-Flat.
Gonna do some damage, got a bad case of mange
I’m ready to share with y’all, feeling deranged.

Froth at the mouth but no frothy Santorum mix
Ix-nay butt play, squeal like a pig, bunch of hicks
tried to convince me the world is flat,
I said no, It’s a cube, dude, on the back of a giant rat.

I saw some sneaking through the alley with Sally,
Chicago mammals they big, I took me a tally.
Counted to 10 but could’ve been more,
Couldn’t get my socks off to count 10 more.

Sippy Cup Throwdown

Hop hip, New

Sippy cup throwdown, Baby MC temper tantrum
Cold lampin’ pampers, busted amps and ranted
Slanted East, slouching beast, Bethlehem P-A bound
Palm the rock like Dr. J, sound mound of rebound.

You can’t get around this rhyme or this reason
You must know that Freddy Flow’s always in season.
Teasin’ the Jheri curls of Michael Jackson wannabees
Easin’ like Sunday morning fornicating killer bees.

Hug it out, homies, manwich makes a meal
Open faced sammich and closed fist seals the deal
Keepin’ it real, got a new set of falsies
Added a Winona Ryder to all of my policies.