1.29.2006
Dave, Fist of Odin
First off, I've always pictured Marivhon as looking kinda like Seal. You know? Dark, dark skin, bald, maybe a little shiny, and scars on his face. Skinny, but wiry and muscled - Bruce Lee kind of muscles, the kind that, you know, don't shout 'I'm a big guy' but just kind of mention, in passing, that maybe this is someone who you might not want to fuck with.
I'm saying that if Marivhon is not a gangster, I think he lives next door to one.
Anyway. So here's a possible scenario. Marivhon's busting out some phat moves - rolls a couple of twennies, a three, and the rest are good scores. Renwick and I work the crowd, and do the do - then pass the mic to Brogg and (hopefully?) Cinder, who also get it going on.
But the the other crews - well, some of them might have some skilz. Not mad skilz like us, more like slightly annoyed skilz, but maybe one of their brothers is on the jury. Maybe one of them's a hot chick with bootylicious shorts. Maybe one of them throws down a bunch of silver to the crowd - you know, working it in.
So maybe we're a little discouraged. Backstage, I pass the 40 to Cinder, who looks down, shaking his head. Brogg opens his mouth to speak - and then closes it, and takes a pull himself. Marivhon's stretching out - he pulled his quad doing a spin.
Then Renwick comes in, and calls us all pussies. "What the fuck - it's not like this shit's over - except, for you guys, it is. It is because you've given up. Is this the group I'm rapping with? Is this the group who killed that Vrill cockmonger? Look at Mike the Zombie - he can't really speak, but he's up there working it. Fuck. Do I need to bust the burning hands on yo' asses?"
He's looking at us all - and for a moment, Renwick thinks 'oh shit - I haven't known these guys very long - did I cross the line?' But then we all stand up, at the same moment, and I don't know about the other 4 guys in this room, but I suddenly remember that I'm Dave, Fist of Odin, and I'm not taking no motherfuckin' shit from no one.
'Back me up, guys - when I start beat boxin', get ready to rhyme it up.' Renwick, Brogg, and Cinder kind of nod - the Fist of Odin's got something cooking, they've seen this look before. Marivhon stands up, wipes his face, gets some water - he's ready. I slam back the rest of the 40, belch, and take the stage . . .
"Ahem."
The crowd goes silent - there's only one rapper here tonight in full plate mail, and though he's been kinda spotty with the rhymz, his beats have been solid; and when he wants to command the room - well, he is a man of the people, after all.
Dave, Fist of Odin clears his throat again, and starts singing:
Karma Karma Karma Karma Karma Chameleon
You come and go, you come and go oh-oh-oh
Loving would be easy if your colors were like my dreams
Red gold and green, red gold and gree ee-ee-een
The crowd is dead silent. All eyes on Dave, Fist of Odin. There's a dramatic pause, held maybe just a beat too long - the crowd's about to say something ugly, when....
Screw that shit - this ain't no cultured club
We're here to rap it up and bring the phat dub
I'm the fist of Odin and I'm makin' noiz
And I'm backed up here with a crew of my boyz
Marivhon you see, well he ain't so bright
And he's got a sucky Con but his moves be tight
That's right he breaks it down he's a funky sight
He's the freshest he's the phatest yeah he Dy-no-myt!
Now Renwick and Brogg y'all met these two
I been backing them up 'cuz yo, they my crew
They've been ryhmin and stylin 'cuz that's what they do
And you appreciate it like Kosher to the Jew
But there's someone up who's brought all his game
And I'm tellin y'all you better know he's not lame
He's the backstabber of rhymes he's got sneaky-skilled fame
We call him Cinder the Thief 'cuz yo, that's his name . . .
(With this, the crowd's moving it a little bit. They're still not quite sure, 'cuz I started with the fucking Boy George shit, but they're willing to give it a listen.)
I take a deep breath - Marivhon, maybe, does that move where he spins and ends up on his arm, under his head, with his legs folded backwards, looking casual. Brogg and Renwick are struttin around, backing me up, getting things ready for Cinder.
I start beat boxing . . .
Cinder?
I'm saying that if Marivhon is not a gangster, I think he lives next door to one.
Anyway. So here's a possible scenario. Marivhon's busting out some phat moves - rolls a couple of twennies, a three, and the rest are good scores. Renwick and I work the crowd, and do the do - then pass the mic to Brogg and (hopefully?) Cinder, who also get it going on.
But the the other crews - well, some of them might have some skilz. Not mad skilz like us, more like slightly annoyed skilz, but maybe one of their brothers is on the jury. Maybe one of them's a hot chick with bootylicious shorts. Maybe one of them throws down a bunch of silver to the crowd - you know, working it in.
So maybe we're a little discouraged. Backstage, I pass the 40 to Cinder, who looks down, shaking his head. Brogg opens his mouth to speak - and then closes it, and takes a pull himself. Marivhon's stretching out - he pulled his quad doing a spin.
Then Renwick comes in, and calls us all pussies. "What the fuck - it's not like this shit's over - except, for you guys, it is. It is because you've given up. Is this the group I'm rapping with? Is this the group who killed that Vrill cockmonger? Look at Mike the Zombie - he can't really speak, but he's up there working it. Fuck. Do I need to bust the burning hands on yo' asses?"
He's looking at us all - and for a moment, Renwick thinks 'oh shit - I haven't known these guys very long - did I cross the line?' But then we all stand up, at the same moment, and I don't know about the other 4 guys in this room, but I suddenly remember that I'm Dave, Fist of Odin, and I'm not taking no motherfuckin' shit from no one.
'Back me up, guys - when I start beat boxin', get ready to rhyme it up.' Renwick, Brogg, and Cinder kind of nod - the Fist of Odin's got something cooking, they've seen this look before. Marivhon stands up, wipes his face, gets some water - he's ready. I slam back the rest of the 40, belch, and take the stage . . .
"Ahem."
The crowd goes silent - there's only one rapper here tonight in full plate mail, and though he's been kinda spotty with the rhymz, his beats have been solid; and when he wants to command the room - well, he is a man of the people, after all.
Dave, Fist of Odin clears his throat again, and starts singing:
Karma Karma Karma Karma Karma Chameleon
You come and go, you come and go oh-oh-oh
Loving would be easy if your colors were like my dreams
Red gold and green, red gold and gree ee-ee-een
The crowd is dead silent. All eyes on Dave, Fist of Odin. There's a dramatic pause, held maybe just a beat too long - the crowd's about to say something ugly, when....
Screw that shit - this ain't no cultured club
We're here to rap it up and bring the phat dub
I'm the fist of Odin and I'm makin' noiz
And I'm backed up here with a crew of my boyz
Marivhon you see, well he ain't so bright
And he's got a sucky Con but his moves be tight
That's right he breaks it down he's a funky sight
He's the freshest he's the phatest yeah he Dy-no-myt!
Now Renwick and Brogg y'all met these two
I been backing them up 'cuz yo, they my crew
They've been ryhmin and stylin 'cuz that's what they do
And you appreciate it like Kosher to the Jew
But there's someone up who's brought all his game
And I'm tellin y'all you better know he's not lame
He's the backstabber of rhymes he's got sneaky-skilled fame
We call him Cinder the Thief 'cuz yo, that's his name . . .
(With this, the crowd's moving it a little bit. They're still not quite sure, 'cuz I started with the fucking Boy George shit, but they're willing to give it a listen.)
I take a deep breath - Marivhon, maybe, does that move where he spins and ends up on his arm, under his head, with his legs folded backwards, looking casual. Brogg and Renwick are struttin around, backing me up, getting things ready for Cinder.
I start beat boxing . . .
Cinder?
