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Right On

from What's Going On by Sean Riddell

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lyrics

Land right on the track where I write all my raps.
With the pen in the right arm I write on with that
a fight song, an icon, the python of wrap.
Squeezing your breathing like siphon-ing gas.
Hit you with a Cycloptic blast from my psychotic past
when I got the mic on connect.
I write on my desk or I write on my bed.
I write with no pen or the light’s on instead.

Or I write in my head,
when I’m headed away with no pen or a page
for minimum wage to fit in a cage, get him in a rage,
and get in the way of my gentleman ways.
Turned venomous snake. Words, I fit them in ways
ahead of his weight class-ic as sick
as Citizen Kane as the cinemas say.
Ripping it—wait, that’s it, that’s it!

Rap gymnastics, acrobatics, back-to-back flips.
Packed in action-packed kits.
Matter ‘fact the fact is I don’t have to practice.
That sick—packing packs of jackets.
Got a mask, you could say I’m Jim Carrey-ing.
Hear me, kid, you never know what them carrying.
And the way that them varying,
him marrying? No.

Marion Jones of the area code,
running up in ‘em in various homes.
Couldn’t carry a tone but I wrote nefarious poems
laced with hilarious jokes.
Apparently folks don’t get the metaphors.
Intercourse with the rhythm but I never get divorced.
In a sentimental instrumental benefit of pen and pencil
written visions into sets of fours.

credits

from What's Going On, released January 8, 2009

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Sean Riddell Detroit, Michigan

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