This is my debut rap song called "Unravel the Knots." Obviously I'm not a rapper but I think my lyrics are fuckin dope. See for yourself. My stage name is 'Sardonic Poet.' For a detailed breakdown of each rap song visit https://www.sardonicpoet.com/beyond-the-beat.html
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This is my follow-up song 'Brother be Gone.' It's about assigning friends as brothers. I like the lyrics but I'm not a rapper.
Working Class (Scottish Shanty) 2022
Freedom falls with the rise of fear, narratives debunking what patriots’ cheer.
Trewth has died, so raise your glass, the war is won, starvation en masse.
On the back of the wor-king class. The back of the wor-king class. The back of the wor-king class.
Wealthy few, whisper a clue, to do as they say, to beat China’s flu.
Feckless-dung, sparkling-cinder, unlikeliest messiah, preaching God’s Good is Tinder.
Trewth has died, so raise your glass, the war is won, on
On the back of the work-ing class. The back of the work-ing class. The back of the work-ing class.
Baby’s-meat, scraped from my cleat, boil the car-cass, fah-thers must eat.
Fah-thers fail, families for sale, fah-thers starving, hunger’s betrayal.
Fah-ther, fah-ther, what shall I brew, pickled liver, or baby heart stew?
Fat and fed, anguish has fled, generous father, fill my mouth with his bread.
Trewth has died, the war is won, jump out of your seat.
The elite eating baby meat, elite eating baby meat, elite eating baby meat.
Freedom falls with the rise of fear, narratives debunking what patriots’ cheer.
Trewth has died, so raise your glass, the war is won, starvation en masse.
On the back of the wor-king class. The back of the wor-king class. The back of the wor-king class.
Wealthy few, whisper a clue, to do as they say, to beat China’s flu.
Feckless-dung, sparkling-cinder, unlikeliest messiah, preaching God’s Good is Tinder.
Trewth has died, so raise your glass, the war is won, on
On the back of the work-ing class. The back of the work-ing class. The back of the work-ing class.
Baby’s-meat, scraped from my cleat, boil the car-cass, fah-thers must eat.
Fah-thers fail, families for sale, fah-thers starving, hunger’s betrayal.
Fah-ther, fah-ther, what shall I brew, pickled liver, or baby heart stew?
Fat and fed, anguish has fled, generous father, fill my mouth with his bread.
Trewth has died, the war is won, jump out of your seat.
The elite eating baby meat, elite eating baby meat, elite eating baby meat.
Shanty date creation proof: Feb 4th 2022
Church Metal
TRACK 1
June 23rd, 2025
TRACK 2
July 10th, 2025
'Untitled' by John Ralph Tuccitto
A piercing gaze, supplies daydreams for days, whale songs swoon, like the heart delivers praise. Time is naughty, with the contact we desire, to cease the yearnings, that cause good will to expire. Crank your neck, dart your eyes, escape the delusions, crying sweet little lies. What I think, is not mutually shared, lost in nostalgia, where youth’s logic is impaired. Learn from leers, the code of peers, appeal discriminates, beyond its years. Guts wrench, the contents that brew stench, if only I had the charisma to bed that wench. I live for perversion, to stoke my loins, overlooking flaws, showered by gold coins. Worth is a jig, to crack a smile, mirroring attraction, sparking beguile. Hold the line, spew your desire, pupil’s throats coughing an invisible fire.
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