DEADBRAH the PANCAKEMAN - Have Another Drink.

[dead man]

fuck



cold blankets. i've been waking up at 2:55
air conditioner wheezing. TV's illuminant lies
flicker like lantern lights.
spaghetti westerns, noodles aside
dying to convince myself there's beauty in rhyme.
we've resigned -
no, retired .. to our cubical lives
sacrificing toes in hopes the Dude will abide
it's an unusual ride. take a second to see
electromagnet mechanisms measuring dreams
metronome precise like water pressured to steam
rainforest scavenger. hammock ropes, deciduous trees
half-intellectual scenester, full-on mecha machine
asleep in the armory like autistic marines
humankind is perfect. it's impeccable being
as is all.
life is simple. take your lemon & squeeze
it takes a while for expression and potential to meet
wait for obstacles to pop. be successful. repeat.
yeah right, Let it be. let it settle, decease
guitar rifts to the rhythm, Vladimir Lennonist speech
i knew reality was destined to crease
when acceptance switched places with sense of belief
liberate through literary sketches in sheets
as charcoal pencil shavings ventilate a pensive retreat
thrown away possessions that were better to keep
trust me,
learning is an option. but it's better to teach.
air conditioner wheezing. TV's wretched deceit
cold blankets send a shiver
ice cream, sensitive teeth.
insomnia presents itself as conscious release
but boils down to another pathological leash
i've been waking up to plot a release
from punctuality. clockwork gospel,
God doesn't preach.

Have another drink. Ok. Have another drink.
And then one more. And then after that, have another drink.
Grab it from the sink, lose it in your lap when you sleep.
Ok. It's only because you can't sleep, the alcohol enchants and disarms,
and promises a deeper sleep, no more phantom alarms,
no more two thirty's. No more sluggish eyes, dancing with charms.
No more closing your eyes and envisioning breaking his arms,
no more vengeance. Or harm. Just the float that you feel.
All your sentences gone, thoughts and emotions repealed,
what was once tentative's strong, felled to black and soaking in real.
Yes, most people will yield to a night of dreams, sober.
But you're so special. So drink, and be alone until you feel older.
Eventually these endless night owl days will add,
and your overt nostalgia will make your coworkers say your sad,
but they can't know the depth. The walk of the slow of step and cautious,
the secret drunk with a mission to drown out his recesses nauseous,
who only wakes solid after he's slept unconscious,
after visions of her, curves lapped in lace,
that you can only access when you're out cold from jack that's straight,
reminiscing on the last moment you could salivate.
So you've got your ticket. A double shot glass and a bottle to empty,
and a lost future so awkward of entry.
And the morning can only wait, relentlessly holding weight,
because Folgers and an office implores.
The one thing you own is eight hours, drunk, soggy and sore.
And wondering what the fuck your nostalgia is for.



you

[dead man]

Thanks niggaz

[Split]

watchout ur comments bro


ill feed this though

[Split]

Originally Posted by Split Eight

watchout ur comments bro


ill feed this though

lol



It's unfair how good you guys are at leading into verses. The whole, mic presence, thing too. Style galore. I regularly think of the TV's Illuminant Lies line. Regularly, meaning, when I write. I think you guys clashed a little on this because PancakeBrah stayed very much in his alcoholic/ creature of habit tone of voice. Delivery was perfect, but austere. And Dead Man dug for the philosophical, detail-rich stuff tinged with emotion and nostalgia. I think Cake was distant. His writing was strong, but as a collaboration this didn't quite mesh correctly. I only say that because you guys are leagues above most collabers on here. The interconnectedess was there but it was too artificial. Sorry for being a dick lol. Collab again (include me(notsrs))

[Certain]

I don't know how I missed this one, but this was mostly fantastic. I'll go section by section on this.

cold blankets. i've been waking up at 2:55
air conditioner wheezing. TV's illuminant lies
flicker like lantern lights.
spaghetti westerns, noodles aside
dying to convince myself there's beauty in rhyme.
we've resigned -
no, retired .. to our cubical lives
sacrificing toes in hopes the Dude will abide

The opener was perfect because of its use of specifics. Doing so set the scene for the entire piece, giving us a concrete grasp of our narrator. That some wordplay was mixed in was nice, too. The rhymes were polished and unforced, even if they did lead some of the turns of phrase. And white Russians will cause diabetes.

it's an unusual ride. take a second to see
electromagnet mechanisms measuring dreams
metronome precise like water pressured to steam
rainforest scavenger. hammock ropes, deciduous trees
half-intellectual scenester, full-on mecha machine
asleep in the armory like autistic marines
humankind is perfect. it's impeccable being
as is all.

This part broke from the rest of this stanza into something more abstract, and I don't think it worked. The change of tone was somewhat jarring, but that could have been overcome if the abstractions had been kept along one thread. These felt unlinked, all potent images but none developed enough to justify the break in voice.

life is simple. take your lemon & squeeze
it takes a while for expression and potential to meet
wait for obstacles to pop. be successful. repeat.
yeah right, Let it be. let it settle, decease
guitar rifts to the rhythm, Vladimir Lennonist speech
i knew reality was destined to crease
when acceptance switched places with sense of belief
liberate through literary sketches in sheets
as charcoal pencil shavings ventilate a pensive retreat
thrown away possessions that were better to keep

These metaphors fit the tone much better because they were more grounded in the everyday world of the narrator. The Beatles reference would have worked better had "Let It Be" been a John Lennon song, but I liked the idea. The last three lines were really cool, largely because the metaphor lasted a few lines. That might be what made this section work more than the previous one.

trust me,
learning is an option. but it's better to teach.
air conditioner wheezing. TV's wretched deceit
cold blankets send a shiver
ice cream, sensitive teeth.
insomnia presents itself as conscious release
but boils down to another pathological leash
i've been waking up to plot a release
from punctuality. clockwork gospel,
God doesn't preach.

This was a very strong finish to the stanza and way to lead into the next. The wrapping technique added some completeness to the stanza, but the final lines were open-ended, leading to building. That's the goal of one of these collaborative verses. The best part was the insomnia couplet, which had real meaning behind it. It's so easy to write in terms that sound profound but lack that depth.

Have another drink. Ok. Have another drink.
And then one more. And then after that, have another drink.
Grab it from the sink, lose it in your lap when you sleep.

I bet someone won't like the first couplet. I loved it. It was a great way to reset the voice while establishing movement. But I didn't like the third line because I thought it cut into the flow of the verse and didn't really add too much. The opening couplet would have been great to transition into the next part of the stanza, too.

Ok. It's only because you can't sleep, the alcohol enchants and disarms,
and promises a deeper sleep, no more phantom alarms,
no more two thirty's. No more sluggish eyes, dancing with charms.
No more closing your eyes and envisioning breaking his arms,
no more vengeance. Or harm. Just the float that you feel.
All your sentences gone, thoughts and emotions repealed,
what was once tentative's strong, felled to black and soaking in real.
Yes, most people will yield to a night of dreams, sober.
But you're so special. So drink, and be alone until you feel older.

I'm leery of text collaborations that feature one verse on top of another verse, separate but equal, because too often the writers go their own ways. So I really appreciate the furthering of our first narrator's problem in this second stanza. The references to what I just read were direct enough to feel united without being redundant. The repetition/variation was effective and ended right as it was about to get stale. The flow on this wasn't quite perfect, but I massaged it on the second read to work despite slightly wonky syllable counts.

Eventually these endless night owl days will add,
and your overt nostalgia will make your coworkers say your sad,
but they can't know the depth. The walk of the slow of step and cautious,
the secret drunk with a mission to drown out his recesses nauseous,
who only wakes solid after he's slept unconscious,

This part wasn't on quite the same level in diction as the rest of the piece. "will make your coworkers say your sad" and "drown out his recesses nauseous" and "only wakes solid" were slightly awkward turns of phrase that could have been tightened. The content was important, though, turning the corner into depression again to remind us that escapism is just that.

after visions of her, curves lapped in lace,
that you can only access when you're out cold from jack that's straight,
reminiscing on the last moment you could salivate.
So you've got your ticket. A double shot glass and a bottle to empty,
and a lost future so awkward of entry.
And the morning can only wait, relentlessly holding weight,
because Folgers and an office implores.
The one thing you own is eight hours, drunk, soggy and sore.
And wondering what the fuck your nostalgia is for.

This was a very strong finish. The emotions came out strongest in this section of the verse, something more than melancholy acceptance and more along the lines of salt in a wound. The "Jack that's straight" phrase bothered me mostly because so many things could have been substituted (and because Jack Daniels sucks). "Tanqueray" would have worked perfectly with the rhyme. But the rest of this section is loaded with a mix of images and emotions that bring to terms the grander picture and sort of explain the "fuck" and "you" that opened and closed the verse. The theme of a girl could have been furthered a bit throughout the piece (without allowing it to take over), but that was a secondary issue. I loved the penultimate line and how it worked into the final one.

I can't decide if I want another stanza here or not. Does this story deserve a happy ending? I'm not so sure.

Also, is there any chance the second stanza was written first?

[NYCSPITZ]

dope

black switched up his style a lil bit and ripped it. Cake came hard too but I liked black more on this. I think he practiced a lot to reach his throne but the praise is well deserved and he's better than any1 on this site by a pretty dece margin when you factor in his consistency

[Wise Wiggles]

Nice fucking verse Black.
That lebowski ref was dope (you know I love shit like that)
Probably enjoyed the top half the best.

[Brain Thief]

The first verse was dope as fuck, a lot more meaning entwined in the multies. Better than most stuff I've read on here. Love the Big Labowski reference spliced in as well.

The second was pretty ill as well but I would definitely say the first stands out.

There could have been a more consistent theme throughout the drop, the two verses don't really go with one another. Separately they're both I'll as fuck, the first paints perfect picture of the world, while the second focus's on a more personal/intimate level. Sick drop