My attempt at rap, 3:34 in the morning, on the loo.

The Loo, it is low flow, like the not so gangsta flow. I don't even know. It was only because the environment -alist, -ism, -ology said so. But I wished I wasn't so low. For the sake of saying so - A hero to myself, but no words all morning, voice clear in my thoughts, but the world is still turning. People talking, faking fake fake fucking walking in the conundrum...One two, One Two Three, Nine Six Seven through Eleven, through infini-fish die -ity.
Diet pills, fake thrills, from my lips these words will spill. Bang your drum, if you've got one, 'cause sometimes I feel like I've done it all, others I haven't done enough.
If the thought is there, it seems impossible, much less probable, in the mind of the more comparable. Bringing out the best in what can't see sides, I lay there chewing my nails while others cry. Some would say Stereotypical, but the kid is far from rhythmical, what patter can -you- find? Effect of a butterfly, shh, It's fine somewhere else in infinity, infinitely, not from ever, but for ever.
I'll serenade, you, down the Serengeti, but I get paid, too. 1, 2, 3 - Can. You. See. Me. As. Well. As. I. Can. See?
The E-fect, the Ah-fect, to some, they couldn't give a fickle feck fuck about the fect fuck you're controlling.
Lie or die, Cry or try, Might or 2-ply...- I forgot what you just said, because all I can hear in my head, over and over again, stimulating what's been fed, all it is is what you just said.
Sometimes it's a mindfuck, but not so fickle.

I like it. All music needs differnt point of views, and different people from different places. Rap included. Reminds me of Spoken Word, which I love to see in a rythmic musical form.