I still love Hilary...

but I have a perfect rap song for b. Obama's campaign.

I think he should definately use it, because it will blow Hil out the goshdarned water if he raps this shit on the cap. or to the cap. or whatever.

now. the best part about that whole song is not merely that its kinda crappy, doesn't flow, and doesn't quite match the original song (hey, I might be street but it doesn't mean I can rap), it is how it all went down. (Obama doesn't need to know this part homes)

lemme tell you a little story:

this one time (back in the day...uhm), when I was in college, I took a comedy writing class. You see, I happen to be easily intimated, overly critical of myself, shy around large groups of people I don't know (note: whilst sober) and ebb towards extreme procrastination/laziness/apathy.

having that said, taking a comedy writing class and trying to hone my comedic skillz was not something the above described Mega would be particularly good at, unless randomly enthused (meaning: drug induced inspiration).

so I write this diddy with distracted stoned Brittish and miss un-nameable monster listening and adding criticism one night during 24 (meaning: bad call Mega). I printed it out double spaced lookin' all saucy and fly and shiz... and I go to class thinkin' she might not know rap, but she could think this shit is funny.


and then I found out we had to perform our songs for the class. (see: yay!... no)

some kid pulls out his effin' guitar and sings some Lindsay Lohan rip to James Blunt (note: HOW DID HE KNOW TO BRING HIS GUITAR?) some kids try real hard to sing and are hilarious, and i'm just not sure if its a good thing that I am the only one who picked a rap song, and also the only one to pick a song that was never on Casey Kasem's top 40 list.

I just wait. because maybe, just maybe, we'll run out of class time before I can go.

nope.

nope.

nope.

I have to go, so I announce what its based on (Juicy), and proceed, at top speed, to mumble, completely out of rhythm, and with no flow what-so-ever(see: talk) (note:my family would be so disappointed) my wonderfully crafted ditty.

words cannot simply explain the amount of suckage I encompassed. Actually words could, if I ever decided to rap any song again (note: whilst not 5 shots deep standing on a bar stool)

my feedback (note: aside from the complete lack of laughter throughout and after): "that didn't even sound like a song, it sounded like a poem."

Aside from the fact that that has nothing to do with whether it was actually funny/good... no nevermind, thats the only fact.

so, now i'm thinking, ok fine, i'll hand it in, and she'll read it and be like, "oh I was being a huge whore-mongering, uneducated twat. rap is quite like poetry, and the words are wonderfully crafted, Mega just isn't a formidable word-spitter" (note: by she, i mean my prof of course).

but alas. we aren't going to hand it in at all. she doesn't need it, she heard them alllll already.


sweet. tragic. whatthefuck.



but with no further tangents... here is/was my rap for Barack Obama.

(to the tune of Juicy by Biggie Smalls)

It was all a dream
I used to read Economist magazine
Jimmy Carter and Mandela up in the limousine
Stickin' pictures on my wall
Every Saturday black attack or just “Barry” at the mall
I left my bowl stocked 'til my mind popped
Smokin' weed and bamboo, snortin’ on primo rock
Way back, when I had the double Windsor
With the satchel to match
Remember back at school, was hard, was hard
You never thought Obama would make it this far
Now I'm in the primes right 'cause I poll tight
Time to get votes, and campaign in the swing states
I’m half black, the balance of a winner
‘Cause I still remember when I’d play bridge after dinner
I'm blowin' up like Time said I would
Call the White House, after Hillary is gone for good
And if you don't know, now you know, Demo’s

[Chorus:]

You know very well who you are
Won’t let you hold me down, reach for the stars
You have you girls, but they’re not that angry
Yeah, I’m the only one, I'll give you black man fury


[Verse Two:]

Oh Hillary, a common thief
Not even whitewater stains can be bleached
Your far from deep, ghostwriters didn’t pen my “Dreams”
I Guess spreadin’ “love” is the Clinton way
Polarizing keeps you pissy
Republicans call you bitchy
Yeah they writing letters 'cause they miss me
Now Demos play me close like butter played toast
From the swing states up to the east coast
Mansion in Oahu, D.C. for weeks
Sold out seats to hear Barack Obama speak
Livin' life without fear
Buildin’ bipartisan coalitions for years
I’ve never mentioned, plantations, at soirees
…on Martin Luther King Day
Stereotypes of a politician misunderstood
And it's still all good

Uh...and if you don't know, now you know, Demos

[Chorus:]








oh, i love biggie. and ima send this shiz to b.o. right now.