| Da Burkha Diss - |
WARNING:- before reading this,make sure that u dont stop half way,u have to read it to the end...it begins off very contriversial but i can assure that the endings pretty satisfying.
Note:- this is not based on personal experience, just something that struck me during a rather boring period in skool.
Friday prayers over,they step outta their durgah's,
crowding crowded streets the ladys in Burkha's.
They come in dull colours, white,gray,black,
theyre completely not in fashion,theyre really wack.
I speak of the muslim woman in their dark clothes,
moving like dark ghosts covered from head to toes.
To try and recognize one,can really be a bitch,
they all dress the same,hard to know which ones which.
They look like Ninja's,only their eyes theyde be showing,
if u ask a wise man y?,he says "God is all knowing",
"But why prohibit this God,why oh why?,
this life is only once,y cant we act fly?
Thow does create the woman in their beauty and spleandour,
But then why not let all men see each and all their loveliness so tender?"
Maaaaaaayne!forget it i say,why bother bout a muslim girl,
there are still da mini-skirt wearing bear back chiks living in this world.
Two days later i find me a girl friend,
she wears a tank top and causes jelousy in friends,
she shows those sexy legs and she sticks to the trends,
I say Heck! its modern society we have to blend.
Shese so sexy,her beauty is so jaw dropping,
my friends look at me with awe and they wanna be copying.
They wanna be copying and now they wanna be like me,
so with pride im floating like a butterfly and buzzing like a bee.
coz i got a hot chik and shese got her eyes on me,
i dont mind admitting ive turned Mr.Proudy.
But anyways a week later,im standing and staring,
at this really sexy girl,miniskirt wearing,
i did'nt see her face,as she was back-baring,
So sexy man,i seriously cant stop staring.
Im standing at this shop having juice made of grape,
while a coupla dudes advance on the sexy girl and try to commit rape,
oh my God! my heart starts to race and pace,
as the girl turns to flee and i see her face.
Now im like all crytical,and im totally hypocritica....
as im like "Thats my damn girl dawg,wats she freakin wearing?!!!that bloody disgrace",
Why could'nt she wear something,that would'nt draw all these hungry men right at her face".
I fight the guys and save my girl from that unfriendly bound,
but im still totally ashamed and completely astound...
so despeserately frustrated i take a last look around.
The cops are rounding up these very sick men,
i glance down at my watch,and it says "ONE TEN".
Friday prayers over,the muslim lady's step outta their Dargah's,
i smile and read Gods signs...and yell,"F**k a mini-skirt,get me a Burkha!".
Labels: Burkha, muslim women, The Burkha diss |
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| Frankly my dear .. |
Everything's shitty
No conscience, so never been guilty.
Me no comedian,
So don’t expect this shit to be witty.
Madam, why you acting like a Despo Lady?
My name is Punk Fuker
Am a motherfucker.
*Hello Fucker*
Got weird issues,
Dunno how to dodge it.
I look like a Ferrari in a crash,
Am medicated alcoholic,
Look behind, am kicking your ass.
I come out swagging,
Scare your freak out,
Then I start shagging with your boobies,
Lost track of moment,
YIKES! Where Scooby?
So if you see me in the streets,
Tryin to rap and make some beats,
People then start to lose their nuts and tits,
Frankly my dear,
I don’t give a damn!
You start feeling creepy,
Cause am strolling behind your back,
You piss in your pants and get weepy
Saying am on excess Crack,
Frankly my dear,
I don’t give a damn!
So tell your girlfriends,
Am hot as their new surgery botox rack,
Also tell that my brain is bashed and whacked,
Frankly my dear,
I don’t give a damn!
If you see me in the streets all buttoned up,
Pass a million dollar bill to a moronic jerk,
Man homie,
Frankly my dear,
I don’t give a damn!
Am nice when am stoned,
I make you feel week in your bones.
Damn ..
My silicon boob just got turned on.
Smoke, get high,
Shagg 9 to 5,
Dope for no reason,
Get laid all season.
Sleep in the refrigerator freezing,
So I can live to see the future again.
Truth and shit is all I give,
One big foul word and you get my preview,
I can make gay pauper to lead you.
Got 4 minutes to save the girl,
Get me a revolver and I’ll get that over.
FUCK THAT !
Get me a nuclear missile,
From one of my wills,
End of the story
By blastin her ass off her.
PUNK FUKER,
Vivek More was sued,
Ignored and made to lick his own used tissues.
Bastard, Rapist, Demented, Ch*t,
“A Cheap Prostitute wont even fuck you”
Loser, Desparate, F.Ugly, Bandit,
I got my love hopes up,
The girls are silly fuck.
Still am Addict,
Shucks.
Half Timberlake-Half wannabe Eminem.
Droppin cocaine since past few weeks,
Right in your thrashcans,
No wonder,
Police come daily for a visit,
And put you behind your ass.
Haahaa!
[chorus]
..
[|Ҳ|] |
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| Day in hell equilvalent to Day in Emo Kid |
“Where do we go nobody knows?
I've gotta say I'm on my way down
God give me style and give me grace
God put a smile upon my face” YAWWWN! Hm. Coldplay, I said. My mp3 cum alaram cum reminder cum GPS cum cellphone crooned early morning. Damn that phone got everything. But I never get to call people from it. Note to self-Need balance. “Its gonna be an awesome day!!” I said to myself. I know how to lie to myself. After my bath, I found the hidden secret … Am late (again). “SHIT !! MOM !! WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES ??!!?” “HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW?” She is a different mom. Not the commercial ones. Search for the perfect clothes again. 1. Stylish 2. Not worn thrice a week. 3. Flashy 4. Not too Flashy. 5. Matches with undies if the jeans go down or the tee goes up. 6. Don’t smell. Got them. No breakfast again?! Shucks. “Mom me going” “Laukar Ye.” “HAHAHAHAHA JOKE !” Stupid bus. Where is it? 
That one is crowded. But with the girls. Hmm. “Ek station dena bhaiya” “ Sutte nahi aahe?” “SUTTA allowed hai bus mein?” “Ootar Khaali.” TINK TINK Where is the humour?
Stupid train. Why is it always crowded? 
“Yeh local KISI-BHI stahnako par nahi rookegi” That’s mine. Move your butt mister! Geez. Took forever this time. Why do ladies come in Gents? And even if they do .. why cant we go in their compartments? Cuz, the gents is not gents. Its "GENERAL COMPARTMENT" .
Hope I reach college in time. Hey, that’s my friend. “Hey, wassup with you?” “ALL SHIT” “That’s good to hear.” “Where are you going?” “Umm. College?” “Oh .. yeah yeah. OK. Meet you near paan-patti” SIGH! Lecture One- “Itshh thee Genitalz aurguuns that isszz .. BLAH BLAH ..” Ugh. Lecture Second- Bunk. Lecture ALL others- Bunked them all. There is my group. “Hey guys”
“ WHER THE F*CK HAVE YOU BEEN?
“ Nice to meet you too. Thanks for asking” Stupid friends. “BLAH..BLAH..BLAH..BLAH..GIRLS..BLAH..SEX..BLAH..LOVE..BLAH..Isnt he soo cute?..BLAAAAAH !
“Ok guys. Garnier Fructis (Take care,APNE KHYAL RAKHNA)”
“You too dude”
“Tuckur”
Stupid Train. Stupid Bus. Back home. “Mumma, Whats for dinner?”
“Pepproni Pizza, McVeggie and Coke”
“WOWW! I love you mom”
“TINK TINK”
“HUH?”
Tink Tink. Oh. Still in bus. Sleeping. Stop went behind. Finally home. “Mumma, Whats for dinner?”
“Nothing. Wait for some time” Home Sweet Home. At late midnight. Ipod consoles me. 
“Am there for you owner. Why did you pay so much for me then huh?” He says, “iplay for you.” “When you try your best, but you don't succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse
And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.” Snore.zzzzz. Labels: boring life, emo life, lame, Mediocre day |
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| *Things that hurt you,Won’t let you go.* |
Have you ever had that feeling?
When you wake up,
Your head touches the ceiling.
Legs are frozen.
Cold and froze.
When there’s no point in waking,
The days go without meaning,
As we hope.
The Sun comes close,
To put out cold.
When there’s no morning coffee,
Calls come from the office.
Where will you go?
Betta lie home.
Things that hurt you,
Won’t let you go.
Have you ever had that feeling?
When you meet your exes,
You start feigning.
Heart is cold.
Cold and froze.
The meeting goes in silence,
As you remember all the violence.
And the past.
How long will it last?
When there’s no reap for the farmers,
No Paris for the Glamour.
Missing part.
Betta stay apart.
Things that hurt you,
Won’t let you go.
I don’t feel lively anymore.
Just a stone of a fashion store.
Motionless star.
Useless at par.
Things that hurt you,
Won’t let you go.
Take yourself on a date,
On an English hill.
Sit and think all alone.
Pull out what you feel.
Cuz,
Things that hurt you,
Won’t let you go.
..
[|Ҳ|]
-- SKTBOARD.P
Labels: Ex Love, Hurt, Lost Love, Love |
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| Sapna Bhavani - For Kathryn |
This story has been told before. By many people. And read before. By many people.
Harvel Holloway was a young man when he married Martha. He loved motorcycles, drugs, guns, and hookers (not necessarily in that order). She loved him.
They lived in the south suburb of Chicago with the rest of the white trash community and spent most of their time trashing black and Mexican folks. Kathryn Holloway was conceived shortly after.
Kathryn was born with big blue eyes and the perfect fringe framing her forehead. Her smooth white skin stretched over her tall body like a fresh canvas. She was beautiful. Harvel fell in love with her instantly.
She grew up into a fine teen. Frail and bothered. Her fringe remained her identity. Harvel stopped riding motorcycles and starting riding his daughter (this might sound crude, but it was the truth). Martha drank all day and beat her daughter for being the ‘other woman.’
Kathryn spent most of her free time getting raped or battered. I think she preferred battered.
When Kathryn turned 16 she decided to leave the incestuous nest and find her own. She moved to the city and met a young girl from India with a fringe similar to hers. “You make me like brown people,” said Kathryn hiding behind her fringe. The brownie blushed.
Kathryn introduced the brown gal to the only world she knew. The world of opium and ecstasy. The world of Charlie mixed in with Jack. And a-bit-o heroin as the cherry on top. The brownie was hooked and cooked. They spent most of their free time injecting and ingesting and inhaling and singing Kurt Cobain’s “where did you sleep last night.”
Kathryn spoke only when under the influence. She described the ‘hide and seek’ games she played with Harvel. She told her of the ‘doctor doctor’ games that seemed to be his favourite. The brownie stayed tuned.
They had boyfriends but they didn’t last long. Until one day, the brownie found one that wanted to stay.
Kathryn was bothered.
Brownie and her boy were very happy together. He introduced her to the land of sunshine and poetry. She learnt to exhale for a change.
Kathryn went home for a bit. She needed attention. Harvel and Kathryn injected together. Each other.
He continued raping her. She continued ingesting.
That day Kathryn stole Harvel’s gun and stood up the local liquor store for drug money. She was caught.
She hid under her shivering fringe when the cops handcuffed her. She was thrown in maximum-security prison with the badass women. The good thing was that she was unafraid of being raped.
She spent most of her time writing letters to brownie describing her prison tattoo ideas. Brownie visited her once. She picked up the beaten orange phone and spoke to Kathryn through the glass wall. They sang just like old times. “My girl, my girl, where will you go? My girl, my girl don’t lie to me, tell me where did you sleep last night…” The badass women watched. That night Kathryn was gang raped and beaten with baseball bats. She could not move for 4 months. Brownie never went back to see her.
Kathryn went on parole after 2 years of prison life. She ran to the only life she knew. Harvel welcomed her with loving arms.
Brownie was at home that night when her phone rang.
“Harvel is dead. He shot himself in the head ten minutes ago. I….I…I…need you.”
Brownie found Kathryn and Martha sitting on the floor howling. This was the first time they were seen so close to each other. Harvel’s body had been taken but his brain lay splattered across the room. His blood still dripping from the bed to the carpet weaving a story of ruin.
This was the last time Brownie saw Kathryn.
Harvel escaped.
Martha moved in with Harvel’s best friend a week later.
Kathryn went back to prison for breaking parole.
Brownie became a hairdresser and gave all the women a fringe to hide behind.
-Sapna Bhavani
Labels: Sapna Bhavani- For Kathryn |
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posted by Ruckus at 
