Posts Categorized: Verse — Rage

Rap Battle: Patrick Tonner vs. Goddess Pomona

There once was a goddess Pomona
who was so hot she gave me a …
Screw it, let me step away from this limerick.
I’m gonna make this very painful and it won’t be quick.
Hi, my name is Tonner and I’m a PC but please see
that while I’m PC, I’m also a Mac
and a Mac on attack can hit like a Mack Truck
or the Union Pacific if I keep you on track —
You say you’re a goddess?  That’s absurd
’cause when I asked around,
ain’t nobody I know has heard of you.  Not one clue.
You’re Roman?  What, the Greeks outsource you too?
Nevermind that now —
would you be a sweet Senorita
and use some of that fruit and make me a margarita?

Patrick, you’re drunk.  Go home.
That’s what they should have put on your tombstone.
You’re a mortal, I’m a goddess.  I’m not worried ’cause I’ve got this.
I’ll beat you from your house on 5th to the Phillips Mansion
and shove my marble foot up your Tonner Canyon.
So you see, I’m not about to raise the alarms
for the guy on the front of a box of Lucky Charms.
You’re a lawyer, teacher, poet, realtor —
You’re not a renaissance man, you need a guidance counselor
to help you decide what you want to be when you grow up
or at least come at me with better rhymes than what you’ve thrown up.
Man, you were on both sides of prohibition, show some contrition.
Better yet, you need intercession ’cause you’ve just been dissected —
This here’s vivisection.  You don’t mess with a goddess, I’m tired of debates —
to reboot this PC, I’ve got Solomon Gates.

That retort was a disaster.  You say you’re marble but you crumble like plaster.
Speaking of Gates, did you ever pay the poor bastard?
He can’t hurt me ’cause like Jackie Chan, I’m the Drunken Master.
I can go from whimsical to satirical, from metaphorical to literal
and when I speak all metaphysical your blank stare is clearly quizzical.
The society, hysterical — my laughter, maniacal — but before we hit critical
with evidence empirical, with these words rhythmic and lyrical
I better slow this down ’cause battle rapping Goddesses is unnatural.
You’re going to kick my ass when it’s all done?
With which foot, the big one or the small one?
You’re not a flawless copy, you’ve got a glaring blunder.
Who the hell is Cipriani, the Italian Stevie Wonder?
You brought a cornucopia to a rap battle.  I brought thunder
and you’ll be deafened when an entire city is compelled to applaud
when I take down their goddess with an elephant god.

I’m not scared of you and I’m not scared of Dumbo either.
I’ve been more intimidated by a Walmart greeter.
Diss my feet, you better check your pulse
You’ll get a boot to the head from both Biggie AND Smalls
And I’ll kick your McNuggets, take my time, no need to hurry
you’re the only guy I know who puts bourbon in a McFlurry.
Are you paying attention?  Are you even conscious?
Last time I saw a beating this bad, it was sentenced by Pontious.
I want it to be known and perfectly understood
that before you got here, you got yourself kicked out of the priesthood
and I’m sure we all want to know what went on in your head
did you leave for your principles or are you like Michael and Jared?
Allegedly.  That’s not character assassination, I’m just asking
if this is the kind of stuff you like to call multi-tasking
’cause there is nowhere to hide, we’ve just watched your unmasking.

Rap Battle: Ricardo Vejar vs. Ygnacio Palomares

Ricardo Vejar:
Yo soy Don Ricardo de Clan Vejar
Anyone try to battle, te va a pagar.
Nacho, think you’re all hard when you’re stepping forth
what, now you’re like Tacho Into the Beautiful North
but ain’t nothin wrong with your rainbow connection
you just gotta quit with this land grab obsession
I’ve got a verbal gun to your head just waiting for the beat to stop
so I can pull the damn trigger and watch Iggy Pop.

Ygnacio Palomares:
Cállate Ricky, you got some splainin to do
Tischler showed me your tab, that’s a big IOU
I’ll take you up to the hills, you broke-ass Vejar
you’ll disappear from The View like your name was Joy Behar
Let’s see, there’s Santa, the Chupacabra, and the tooth fairy
Your legacy’s just like them, man, purely imaginary.
My house is historical.  My name is on a cemetery.
Your rhymes are simply comical and sick like dysentery.

Ricardo Vejar:
How are you gonna scare me with your clumsy words,
your name literally translates to a house for birds.
Your verse is perverse and I don’t fear your wrath
You’re name’s on a school where the kids suck at math.
You’ve got yourself a cemetery, that’s worth walking tall?
Let’s see how famous you are when they turn your tomb into a strip mall
We don’t have much time so let me put this to bed
We were the Dons of San Jose, you’re just the Don of the Dead

Ygnacio Palomares:
D.R.V. you so gangsta, I almost feel bad though
’cause when they ask where you from, you have to say San Diego
and seriously, man, how are you even in this battle
you’ve lost your home, your land, and all of your cattle.
Like that one guy in Upland, you’re like “where’s the beef?
We were friends a long time, now you’re comic relief.
It took me a while but I just got why you called me Nacho
here’s a couple of bucks, go get some at Del Taco.

Faraday Cage

Faraday cage
keeps me from posting
on a far away page
keeps me suppressing
all this ire and rage
I spend my time just keeping track
of all the wars that I’d wage
soon as they let me out of this
Faraday cage


The mood just got sour
and someone’s ’bout to
feel the wrath of my power
quick, someone tell Matt Lauer
get the cameras here
they’ve got less than a half hour
’cause someone just offered me
a copy of “The Watchtower”
I was dumbfounded, witless
How the hell could she know
that I was Hova’s witness?
Jay-Z’s words like a right cross
from the science of sweetness —
So I lifted my voice
with a psalm of praise
and instead of a quote,
here’s a
remixed paraphrase:
If you’re having faith problems
I feel bad for you, son.
I’ve got 99 problems
but your God ain’t one.

Out Of Nice

I usually keep track of inventory,
stocking up on the essentials
such as sugar and caffeine
and much needed pantry items
like rest, patience, and nice.

Well, an abrasive gentleman before me
missed a num lock cue and concluded
that the keyboard was busted.
Deep within my soul, I searched —
Do you have any Nice?

Fresh out, my friend.
You used it all two hours ago
and you forgot to get some more.
Low on rest and patience, too —
I suggest you find a bunker.

Impossible, I thought,
but memory betrayed me,
sneaking bitterness in my grocery bag
when I had procured some Nice.
That vengeful bastard.

Can you make some Nice instead?
Brilliant, Fukui San
but the secret ingredient is trout —
I suggest you slap him with it.
Memory has been reading IRC logs again.

Hell-o! I said your keyboard is BUSTED.
Are you deaf or just retarded?
Calm blue ocean shark infested
hiding sunken ships and bodies —
scumbag pirates. Calm, peaceful ocean.

Hey! Your keyboard is busted!
And your machines are damn slow
I am wasting my time here
and you are no help —
Sticking to his talking points.

Peaceful meadow, quiet breeze
with soft sunlight on my face
and pollen triggering allergies
with sneezing and discomfort.
Face it, kiddo — out of Nice.

Sir, I suggest knowing number lock
lest you find me busting that keyboard
by typing qwerty on the back
of your thick skull. I asked my soul
and he said I was out of Nice.

Definition of indignant stupidity.
Yes, the machines are slow
Yes, you are one ugly moron
and it seems neither of us
can remedy either situation.

Instead I walked over, pressed a key
enabling numlock and quietly stepped away,
scraping on the pantry shelf for
a grain or two — the only thing to do
when your soul runs out of Nice.