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 $$$        [ HOE E-Zine #925 -- 12/01/99 -- http://www.hoe.nu ]     .,$$$
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 you thought my mind wasn't open, waves of sine i'm soakin', and then
 dribbling out in flows, wisdom like Truffaut after 400 Blows, and yes,
 i'm sometimes French with my Connections, a beatrider with a lyrical
 predilection, could you beat this? not without a fucking miracle, b-boys
 stay dancing, i just keep it lyrical, ineffable; it's hard to even touch
 my material, especially when your skills are ethereal, i'm superior from
 posterior to anterior, people want to bite me like they were Hungry
 Hippos, but never have balls because i only kick off-the-tip flows--so
 fast they can't be encoded to memory, wack rappers keep the crowd
 bored[board] like emory, when i'm on stage, hiphop is what you're in for,
 i would never offer a fucking manicure, maybe knowledge and skills on a
 platter, i've assimilated data, so what's the matter? can't hang when my
 thoughts are the aptest, always taught off-the-head, like John the
 Baptist, cause while DJs fiend for records, I search through library
 books, heads like Alice and the looking glass, they've got to take a
 look, a peep; at my mental leaps and bounds, fuck it, the watch is
 stopping my sound.

 MC, thirteen plus three; so i can drive--steer the track around, take you
 for a ride, call me the mayor of lyrics, I won't take a bribe, stay a
 reformer, not a performer, because i don't perform, just express my
 mental state in rhyme-form, and destroy the wack when they cause me to
 get mad, like when they treat hip-hop as their new fad, yeah, excuse me,
 your spinal cord i had to sever, real hip-hop, we'll be here forever, and
 in the fore, never taking the back, or stabbing the back, up-front is
 where we're at, couldn't you feel that? no? you must be paralyzed, or
 blind in the eyes, to not see the beauty of what i devise, a ten minute
 epic i don't have to revise, perfect the first time, unlike Creation,
 quenching your thirst with rhyme syncopation, leaving you speechless,
 like Kevin Smith in one of his movies, see me repping and think "American
 Beauty", "shit he's ill--tearing the wack down with force of will", and
 i'll just leave you thinking that, as i end this 10 minute track...

 MC Nybar, rising to the top like cork / saying peace to the world, but
 what happened to New York? / Manhattan, Brooklyn--all 5 a hidden Earth /
 without 'em, what would hip hop be worth? / stopped sellin' lies, that
 never got bought / like he who complies, never gets taught / hip hop, has
 to be learned through life / hot drops must be earned through strife /
 difference since new york, is now you get the CREAM / before, you just
 got the props of your team /

 a few fly girls, and maybe the battle / these days, hip-hop megastores
 exist in Seattle / bought by Starbucks in a corporate acquisition / but
 who gives a fuck? they made the wrong decision / hip-hop has at least 4
 faces on the real / like janus times two, but only two have corporate
 appeal / the b-boys and graf, still showing em what's the deal /
 nurturing sick heads just when it's time to heal / besides--what can an
 mc do without b-boys rockin'? / rocksteady crew..but the clock is
 tick-tockin' / my free now has to come to an end / "big ups to NYC", let
 me append...

 my shit is incredible / when i spit it leaves indelible, impressions /
 like the mark of cain / freestyle sessions leave rappers in pain / kick
 more flavor than Ben and Jerry's / verbally riposte [repost], after i
 parry / to disarm a lyricist, and cut off the tongue / i'm a rapping
 therapist, like my name was Jung / my diagnosis: pussy MC for your your
 archtype / trying to rep when you can't move the crowd right / or spit
 bytes when you'd never open your mouth in the real / i'd battle with
 death, like i was in the Seventh Seal / or i was Bobby Seale, coming with
 the grace of a panther / keeping calm under fire, like a salamander /
 spitting twin similies simultaneously with energy / when i start rapping,
 it's never hyperbole / timing to ten minutes, then i'll be done /
 dropping hotness to heat the board like the sun / or Hiroshima, after the
 atom was split / true believers know my rap pattern is the shit...

 calling out utopiapeach!!

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------

 (do i dare to eat a PEACH?) 
 this land is dystopic, so fuck that fake leech 
 i'm mad anaerobic when i eat a peach 
 what this means is that my stream is not oxygen, it's water
 munching on peaches, you bought for your daughter
 bitch--yo, check the photo of the spread lips
 found it on the internet, from the fed's tip
 pussy grippin', her father found her rippin'
 set her to strippin' on the commercial tippin'
 so mad masturbaters can get off
 beating jimbrowski, held aloft
 what? fuck it, a peach is inanimate
 utopia is fantasy, so i can't be standin' it
 communists in 'utopia', [in] what society do they live?
 while i'm smokin' ya, remember this gift i give:
 the US constitution--face it day to day
 all these MCs that i'm abusing?; that is simply play
 because through my power of syncopation
 i could re-arrange the _united nations_
 africa, india--all in together, alliance
 put on ya bindi yah, it's cheddar, no defiance
 and if the president withstands my lyrical bribe
 i will prevail like a miracle; tribe, immaterial
 make even michael jackson figgah
 maybe the anglo saxon _ain't_ the real nigga
 yeah, but i digress; to say the least
 this is the test of eating utopia-peach
 first, she never gets props for her speach
 her only value is that of kitsch 
 she reps with sex raps, tryin' to be a demagogue 
 i ordered a spinal tap, found it was made of lard
 that is, fat, and flab, all shit not lean
 huh--i'll fucking digest her like Sawney Beane
 and then maybe regurgitate up her spine
 when i need something to spit with my other wave of sine
 cause fuck it, nybar, my style is stereoscopic
 doubling the flow even if you're dropping hot shit
 my style is ill, but also poetic 
 yo, i can eat peaches, i'm not diabetic 

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------

 -> (peep the reply: Utopiapeach)
 -> posted Sunday, November 07, 1999 3:12:40 PM 

 Dear Mr. Nybar, 

	In response to your pathetic attempts to use my name to grab
 readers you forgot one thing, that you are insluting their Queen, I do
 nnot understadn why you would write this post filled with ingornace and
 fallisies,

 First, anyone who reads my posts knows I write POETRY/SPOKEN
 WORD>>>>>>not battle flow.. SEcond , the "SEX RAP', was a one time
 thing....out of the unusal realm for me, So before you wrie a post that
 makes you look like a retard and mental moron, research your subject a
 bit more..

 Oh, and you have no good talent to stand on to begin with so, 
 why try...
 right..
 For future notice KEEP MY NAME OUT OF YOUR FLOW>>>
 this is not a challenge, it is just a waste of my day....

 UTopiapeach --Queen of the Aztecs..)

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------

 [Nybar's note on utopiapeach battle: utopiapeach is, clearly, an idiot.
 These days, this is very excusable; but not when the idiot is trying to
 rep for intellect. When I called her out for battle, I was clearly
 kidding, but she met it with the same inflexible, egocentric attitude she
 apparently has towards everything. So I'll say this: Utopiapeach hides
 under the aegis of the "poet/spoken word" title because, when judged by
 the same criteria as real MCs, her rhymes would look pathetic. Just as
 pathetic as they are. She comes up with stupid concepts which are
 guaranteed to have dickriders cooing and then writes pathetic non-rhymes
 on them--"there's a thing called a brain, and a thing called a mind, but
 I'm nearly out of time". Point: what the fuck is a "fallisie"?] 

 sole possessor, controller of a hip-hop tome / king on the mic, do you
 see the crown on my dome? / i be the epitome of mc positivity /
 heuristics, linguistics--you know you've got to get with me / mcs who
 come with wisdom are usually pedantic / not me--i build a kingdom from
 ill semantics / syntactically this mc will fuck up your working memory /
 that's the penalty for not kicking styles from the free / hit me with
 your rawest battle rhyme, i'll rattle your prefrontal cortex / i battle
 with waves called sine, causing a mental vortex / and who gives a shit if
 you throw more hex? / i'm immune to flows like i was coated in gore-tex /
 water-proof, like i was a fish with gills / living in an ocean of flows,
 taking super-MC pills / i'll say sorry to your mother, but your life i
 could not save / another pussy mc smothered by a lyrical wave

 yo, caught up in modern machine / once i saw my visage on the TV screen /
 just a shadow, this MC has no identity / neurons like AC when in the
 mirror there's an enemy / held dearer than a friend / getting nearer to
 the end, so lookin' back / i had a thirst for rap, so i had to appease it
 / now my flows are on tap, but cats are amnesic / can't remember a star
 when it becomes a sun / even sleeping on the god, KRS-ONE / i've seen
 twenty to life just for smoking cess / but there's always plenty of
 strife from the I-R-S / Ignorance Reigns Supreme, and you can be sure /
 this is a government agency, not a metaphor / but in metaform and
 reality, it's just a skin for sheddin' / because only the 'I' will burn
 in the real armageddon

 rappers got me sleeping like my pineal gland / i kick mad flavor even
 when i'm trying to be bland / i'm inescapable, like your old aunt's
 kisses / got MCs slaving, doing my fucking dishes / and the sink is full,
 from last night's feast / 20 MCs to feed me, Nybar the mic-beast / so
 wake the fuck up, do you hear me kid? / do _you_ want to be added to my
 food pyramid? / i've already gotta eat fifty rappers a day / just to keep
 up with my RDA / see, i stick to a strict dope-MC diet / while you've got
 a brain, but you don't apply it / battle me on stage, i'll suck your
 juice with a straw / freestyle from off the tip, eat you with gaping maw
 / MCs aren't people to me, word, just nutrition / i'm like tweety bird,
 with all the cats i sent to perdition / now i see why you're tired, you
 want to die in your sleep / i grant this desire, plus a funeral that's
 cheap

 [a note to the ughh kids: I'd like to say that theory is completely full
 of shit. "Read this, I'm about to commit suicide, maybe my last post"--go
 ahead and kill yourself, kid. You're not a bad MC, but the bullshit has
 got to cease. I'd also like to say that cite 3's erudite posturing is
 bullshit. "Deuteronomy quoting", yeah, whatever. "epistemology"--there's
 a distinction between dropping wisdom and being needlessly didactic--cite
 3 often sacrifices substance and flow for verbiage.]

 [fuck it, you're all wack]: there was _madness_ in a recent _opus_ that i
 read / so i'll post this response, straight off the head / hip-hop
 battles are won by who's the sickest / not over the internet, by who can
 type quickest / so check yourself, observe proper decorum / and stop
 trying to battle over an online forum / if you want to get a rep, then
 represent day and night / don't call out vets for some rhyming fight /
 especially when you can't hang, like a monkey with no arms / the way vets
 speak slang, will make you a flunky with no qualms / now, i'm not trying
 to give off the wrong radiation / if you want a flex, we can compare
 syncopation / still, i dare-say that me and you two are in the same class
 / battle with the vets and you'll get dropped on your ass

 Nybar, what is its definition? / Nybar is the man coming in the right
 position / or angle, in order to strangle / the hip-hop messageboards /
 with barb-wired mic-cords / with a new rhymin' wizard, comes a new
 mc-question / who will make the first collabo suggestion? / comin' up is
 vet, "let's have a lyrical flex" / well, i'm not tryin' to vex / so i'll
 throw hex, spark a fucking party / let loose rhymes to fuck up everybody
 / my rhymes are ill, they brook no critique / like the god, except with
 twice the technique / more sounds then a human's throat / now
 messageboards headz hoppin' into the new boat / or gravy-train, while i
 bravely-rain[reign] down on your ass / get out your notebook, this is
 your class / on with whom to share your flows / or if you wanna flex,
 lyrical blows / now, nybarius@hotmail.com is my online home / holed up
 there, like David the Gnome / livin' on carrots and wack MCs / let J.
 Edgar Hoover know "you couldn't fuck wit ma steez" / I knew y'all wanted
 to e-mail me when i saw / The responses to mah flows from when you viewed
 em all / I hit you fast like a weed headrush / ressurected by skulls that
 i dead crush / fuck that, i come with lyrical precision / that's why you
 made the collabo decision / yo, texas motherfuckers ain't like mah form /
 i rip fat shit like i was that cheers-motherfucker Norm / droppin' the
 bomb, like napalm from vietnam / choppin' Nixon down with disregard for
 the law / kill any msgboard with one meta-phaw / yo, if you battle me,
 you're nothing but a dunce / because this MC will do 4 things at once: /
 graf with mah toes, blunt-smokin' wit mah hands / also kickin' flows,
 wake up those sleepin' like a sand / man, and i'm extra water / put you
 in the wrong like a man, fuckin' his daughter / comin' smarter--more
 intelligent / what this means is your rhyme is irrelevant / it doesn't
 matter, anti / to thee, i'm the topical MC / with the NYC styles, spill
 on the net / collab with this, and you're getting respect / only 4 posts,
 and i still get respected / shit, i must have bee n ressurected / and for
 sure, i most have had mad karma / nirvana; schoolin' wack rappers is mah
 dharma / in closing, let me peace to mohammud the prophet / my man, who
 was never afraid to _rock shit_

 why front like you're hard when you're clearly not? / i'll eat you like
 pacman after catching a dot / you can't do shit, like a castrated
 coprophiliac / kicking wack flows, yo i ain't feelin' that / i rip shit
 like the CIA under investigation / give birth to sounds that cause
 girl-titty lactation / your ketamine style has the effect of lyrical
 anathesia / basically, this means that i'm just not feelin' ya / i'm
 sorry, but most of the new ish on this board is wack / i kick flavors
 that turn cats into insomniacs / who couldn't sleep even holdin' down 12
 bottles of valium / my flows are so ill, you'd never guess i'm
 freestylin' em / don't even step to my lyrical web / the spider is in,
 fly niggas'll be dead

 i'm sorry to say that in mental skills you lag / i'll re-arrange your
 neurons like i was defrag / but even running optimal you're all "bite"
 and no bark / around your best lines i see a quotation mark / go ahead
 and lock your doors, i walk through any boundary or obstacle/ i pump
 rhymes like a foundary, and i keep it topical / once i was poor, so to
 make a little money / i donated my brain to scientific study / soon my
 species and genus were much debated / no one could figure out where this
 MC originated / finally, a PET scan brought out the fact / my brain is an
 alien rap artifact / a deadly weapon, so they tried to kill me / i was
 forced to destroy the whole fucking facility / "red alert", said the
 alarm, as i evacuated / i saw the test-results and realized my life was
 elongated / specifically, this mc will live to infinity / so i mean i'm
 laughing when i say "you're killin' me" / and when it's my turn to laugh,
 then it's your turn to cry / because with one verse i could cause you to
 die / R.I.P when i put another r.apper i.n p.ain / V.I.P., and MC Nybar
 is my name

 number one keystyle / brings a smile to my face / as i reflect on mcs
 that've been left in disgrace / like supernat, when he battled craig g /
 i'll incinerate the whole indust-ry / make it incendiary, inflammatory
 just like the arsonists / if you're not a pyromaniac you'd better stay
 far from this / and if you like fire like your name was Nero / i'll chill
 it out until it's absolute zero / suckers can't rhyme when all matter
 stops / fuckers, on time i'm still droppin' real hip-hop / tactics and
 strategies, reality's machinations / you can't face me down, there's no
 face to be facin' / i'm faceless, lyrically polymorphic / rocking de la
 soul simultaneous with hard-core shit / and still, in the mental temple
 of hiphop i genuflect / your heart stops if you fail to show the same
 respect.

[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS!    HOE #925 - WRITTEN BY: NYBAR - 12/01/99 ]
