©2017 by MC Gimpy. Proudly created with Wix.com

CLOSE MY EYES (PROD. ONETONE)

Two wheels I spin. Heels flap in the wind.
Who's dealing me in? I matter--got feelings I've pinned.
I grind on my rims, because I shattered my matter; clattered my shins.
I'm flattered my splattered skin--scarred, battered, and trimmed--
Seems badder in tatters than a smatter of plastics.
A pro with anti-matter, can't run so I'm fatter.
Tongue chatters, gunning my chapters.
No silver spoon platter. Spit molten acid.
Face it, you basically blather around alkaline rhymes sweating--you slathered.

When I had but a pair, I bluffed life on a dare.
Dug where she spared my spades, while the 'verse trusted I'd care--
that I'd disobey disarray everyday, despite my DNA pairs.
Play or get played. Today, I convey my array and this way dissipate my despair
Caused by decay. My gray underway. I underplay--just compare.
I'm overstayed. Unaware, you overstate. Fold this affair.
The power to play in your hands to say, state, declare.
You' blind and display--just a Kid, not even Play; spit's reppin' hot air.


When I close my eyes, I see things.
When I close my eyes, my mind breathes.
When I close my eyes--these things.
When I close my eyes, it means the things I see fly.


I spin so many circles, I'm rockin' hurricane forces.
I'm that category Urkle. No gettin' up! Y'all playin' corpses.
Scatter gory purple, the dead things my syllables enforcing.
Torturing wings, scorched your bling, bug-zapped all on my porches.
Torching stings. My fortune swings, like gavels in courtships.
I travel to Portsmouth, an anvil striking me hot as a wordsmith
with purpose beneath the surface to purchase my nervous, curt quips.
From a verb-tripped lip furnace, Gimp churns spit-wicked circuits.


Closed my eyes see, 
things that life breathes.


My shot's at licking spit and quick burping this shit up.
Call me, mama. Baby, sit. Listen, I'm chirpin' your getup.
Neck like llamas, maybe. Quit missin' Gimp spurtin' flow so wet-up.
Heck with the drama--this pissin' and squirtin', hurtin' to setup.


When I close my eyes, I see things.
When I close my eyes, my mind breathes.
When I close my eyes--these things.
When I close my eyes, it means the things I see fly.


Dead set on a jet-set lifestyle;
Won't bet debt on a turn-style,
yet vet checks, gold smiles, claim money to burn, wil'
Forget barbettes. I fret G-style. Beset my null set to abet my guile.
Crip walk correct, no room for these denials.
No regret steps: check my kicks for miles; kicking my trials; picking my styles, tricking my bile;
And then I'm 'a spit venom addendum 'n' get 'em to settle the pile.
And if I ain't killed it yet, then strap gats, 'cause I'm past machinations, hire
Whack assassination contracts. I'll retire.


When I close my eyes, I see things.
When I close my eyes, my mind breathes.
When I close my eyes--these things.
When I close my eyes, it means the things I see fly.

 

MC GIMPY

A Powerless Mutant

Born an x-linked genetic mutant without superpowers, Gimpy's program-X was culture of shame, insult, and subservience which honed his vocal unit into a lethal weapon. At age eleven, Gimpy was forcibly entered into a  sixteen pin stainless steel external skeletal program designed to enhance his mutation. It failed. Now an MC, Gimpy looks to the institute that created him, in hopes of freeing his mutant brothers and sisters from similar bonds.

BtylKMPCEAE5hM4.jpg
 

W. Kamau Bell Shades the Disabled

May 21, 2018

Over the weekend America was treated to an in depth look at the lives of persons with disabilities courtesy of W. Kamau Bell and CNN's United Shades o...

1/1
Please reload

 

CONTACT

Want to learn more about MC Gimpy, their music, and their tour dates? Don’t hesitate to get in touch.