CHALLENGER'S RAP

• walking across the asphalt at a Wawa with a Costco sized bottle falling out of my bag
• while a hawk from across the lot was squawking, lost all my cards in a wallet I bought at a Marshalls
• that cost me a wad of my last bit of dollars, call drops and auto paused bots saying fraud has been logged and they’re locking my card off
• and a tall guy crawls out and offers to swap me his watch for a box of cigars and a copy of Saw that I saw in the lobby
• and probably dropped while i tossed all my laundry into a cart full of pasta from Aldi
• a patch that was cut with a butter knife stuffed in a cup and a bucket of gum from a trucker
• duffle of junk, backpack and black gloves and a rusted old lunch thermos, satchel of blunt wraps, a junkyard jack
• a nap sack snapped to a battered duff from a Runts pack, plastic cup stuck in the gap
• that I covered in duct tape and gum wrappers, functioning just enough to shuffle it through a busted adapter
• acting like i didn’t already dismantle your catalog casually and handled the panels you panic in
• cracked open factories packed with the shit that you scrapped for capacity, gradually grabbed at me
• babbling brashly like half of these passive emcees are actually passing for mastery
• bring a battery pack to a battle and flatten em and then collapse everything that they added as padding
• channeling Hannibal strappin cadavers to wagons, i ran through the glass with a flask and then
• snapped cause i’m practically dragging their traction by hangin their draft sheets from rafters and laughing
• the manner i handle mechanics is manic and damage enhancing, i’m passing em, cashing in
• flatten a track with immaculate balance, like granite is malleable matter, hammer and shatter with lateral jab
• your fanbase abandoning, challengers vanish, back to a battle standard, like NASA rerouted my shit
• through a Falcon and blasted it, inflame every flammable page of your playback, i stay snapping faster than cage matches
• they play back to back on a plane app, plumbing that bubbled whenever the thunder would rumble
• and customers upstairs were stumbling drunk every Sunday by lunch, struck me like a blunt force
• a couple of bucks from a cousin in trouble who fronted me double, a crust of a Subway receipt with a number to call if i buckled
• hunched in the corner of the room with a fuckton of planks and a bunch of instructions
• i crumpled in under a minute, dusty old duffle bags stuffed with a jumble of screws and a blunt little tool
• that looked like a punishment rune from a dungeon type room, and one of the legs of the unit kept rubbing against the rubber
• mat under the rug, and the trouble just doubled when none of the punch out holes in the lumber
• would function like normal mechanical junctions, they shuffled a couple of stickers around to confuse me on purpose
• i’m sure of it, plus i discovered the customer helpline is run by a dude who just mumbles while chewing a cruller
• and chuckling smugly every time i asked if the drawer should be flush or protruding a number of knuckles
• and meanwhile i’m using a butter knife covered in mustard to unscrew a stuck little bracket
• that snapped, wonderin how much it would cost to just chuck the whole structure
• and summon a removal crew to pull up in a truck and then after that i’d just refund it