Grandfatha Klock, c. 1997
Yo.
My name is Grandfatha Klock and you better recognize
Cooling on the windowsill are three blueberry pies
Taking out rappers like a lyrical sniper
Even though I'm wearing an adult diaper
I own my own home--I don't need to take out a loan
I use a telegraph machine, not a cellular phone
People think hip-hop begins and ends with Tupac and Jay-Z
But I've been droppin' rhymes since issues one of Mad, Cracked, and Krazy
The bitches all love my phat Social Security checks
But I need to take Viagra when I want to have sex
My mobility is limited and my skin looks like a troll's
The first book I ever read was the Dead Sea Scrolls
I'm the world's oldest rapper, from my rhymes you've all been looting
I use my Rascal scooter when I need to do a drive-by shooting
I'm old, beeyatch!
Yeah, boyee! Grandfatha Klock in the house!
Grandfatha Klock will be performing at the Hip-Hopatorium in Grand Rapids, Michigan August 3, 4, and 5, weather permitting
6 comments:
I just want to let everyone know that Dr. Mystery has been making constant references to Grandfatha Klock and cracking himself up since he first thought of him this weekend. Every one of these references has been comedy gold.
When Grandfatha Klock busted out onto the scene, they just called it 'school'.
When the Hindenberg blew I had front row tickets,
In the Industrial Revolution, I got a mean case of rickets.
You wanna battle, old style, bitch?
Southwest vs. Southeast, P.I.E., it's on
Unlike Boca Raton
Which is off
like my cough
full of phlegm
your rhymes be dim
your skin is wrinkled as a Slim Jim
Yo, I know your ways
you're a grandma who be dotin'
on some ugly-ass grandbaby pissin'
in his diaper while I be reminiscin'
on the good ol' days
when hoes couldn't be votin'
Yeah, that's right, my rhyme schemes are complex
My rappin' muscles I will flex
Your dementia-addled mind I will vex
Your family line I will hex
I can see you 911 dialin'
for I am merely freestylin'
improvisin' so hard off my dome
it puts you in the nursing home
You've fallen and you can't get up,
Grandmutha P.I.E.
i wish to view grandfatha klock's silent-film-era moving pictures. the ones were he is clearly vexed by the new technology. i want to eyeball the gams of his flapper hoes. this is not much to ask. clap-on, grandfatha klock, clap-off.
My name is P.I.E. cuz I bake 'em so ill,
Dawgs always be floatin' to my window sill
Apple Cherry Pecan, Peach, without the pits,
I got great-great-great-great grandkids.
And since the Great Depression they've called me a goner,
but doctor's be beggin' to prescribe me the marijuana.
Not because of my vision or dat I'm on chemo,
But cuz I mad rhyme with a hit, and shot of Soco.
Just fo' walkin' on the street I get a 10% discount,
All due to one day drinkin' from a youthful fount.
He was a nice young fella by the name of Ponce,
Infecting peaceful natives for seven straight months.
We settled on the land of East Boca Raton,
The ghettos of applesauce and decalcified bones.
And now as the nurses spoon in my Shrimp Ramen
I show off my bling, from King Tutenkhamen.
Da home I roost in now provides me with routine,
But that mornin' Cream 'o' Wheat gots me flowin' real mean.
I may be an old soul, but I'm young in the heart,
The air reeks of wisdom from my after-supper farts.
I may get groggy from salt and boiled chicken,
but fetch Granny a forty yo, and I'll be kickin'.
Grandfatha Klock, you couldn't last one beer
without pissin' yo pants and turnin' all queer.
Your body's tissue paper with Alzheimer's,
you way beyond the land, bitch, of old-timers.
You can't digest pasta limper than your cock,
O Grandfatha Klock, you forgot to go tock.
You forgot to go tock, and that ticker ain't right,
yo' wrinkly ass needs ressucitatin', every night.
Surrender this battle if you fear the Grim Reaper,
or that yo' family will cremate you, cuz it's cheaper.
Well shuffleboard is startin' so's I gotta go,
But I'll leave you a few words as I end my flow...
Rest in Peace GFK, or Burn in Hell,
But you say I can't get up?--well shit, I never fell!
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