ANT the RANT Brass Knuckle Poets Society's blog: "Words"

*the following was inspired from this single image I made for my profile to look like a bad shutter effect of an 8mm projector.

S-A-double-V - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
Certified Sicktastic - cock the shotty, Ant... yeah, click-clack it. Nightmare on a Silent Hill, all the Residents beyond drastic; Pure Evil, hellish buggin', watch out it's the sequel. Sharpen your meat cleaver - divide the fog, and leave limbs unequal...

Ant the Rant of Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
I put it on 8mm, but I'm hold'n 9. Late feature, documents the history of an old crime, the mystery to unfold, told in rhyme, calm, collected, cold and refined, smiling safely, as CSI retrace the, body with a bold line, the killer sits right here and waits, online, hold'n up his call sign.

S-A-double-V - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
Berserker rage, it's time - shot released, open-says-a-heem, through the spine. Shells expended, cackle on the pine. Floors, as he Rants through the House of a Thousand. Mr. No-Regard-for-the-Corpse. The Road forks, like a cat with Nine lives, leavin' alleys where there use to be doors; blowin' 'em open, and beggin' for more. Shells exhausted, he reaches for the nine, flashes a Death's Head grin, as the canines shine, hollow-tips flash, night strobes to daylight, and dust turns to ash. He licks the blood from his conscience, not what you'd expect - as he cleaves a wake of Evil Dead, and Devil's Rejects...

-Each1 Teach1- said:
remaking classics, the shells have eyes, click to clackin bastids, my 9's gotta mind...of its own, and a desire to leave domes blown, syllable savagery, with a finish of chrome, man the verbal catapult from ontopa my throne, cause offa the dome, im disectin any stranger in my home. the last laugh from no mans land to flagstaff..a lethal injection through gun metal intervention. i brought the kbar to leave flesh scared indentions....

S-A-double-V - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
Stop to reload; shotty welcomes annihilation. He inhales cain through the nasal, with a grimace - it's pupil dilation,
an increase in sensory detection'n heart palpitation; he pops nictric oxide, powered-up enter Mr. Hyde, his formula for altered station. Detectin' vibration, increase his godspeed, he's ready for Revelation - bringin' Armageddon to an ungodly situation. Six degrees, as trigger-reflex dissects, based on affiliation. Pistols extended, hang in crucifix-formation. Commence to bodily separation - heads decapped, fall in three-hundred-and-sixty-degree rotation; wet thuds signal success, and blood saturates the pavements... walls, halls, and arrangements. Dumpin' without hesitation, the Nines smoke in celebration, Mr. Meat Cleaver danglin', clanging in expectation... blood lust enacted - primal activation; hunger screams, and he laughs, feeling his aura's elevation... as it crackles through his brain - any other woulda' been slain, but he's on it like Max Payne... severing spinal cords, The Butcher brings the rain - surgical accuracy wit' the thang. Jack-off pump-dump and shotty embodies its creation, reason for incarnation. It's 8mm flicker, and the celestial soldier hurdles like an abarition, one-man army-avatar-300-at-Tripoli, insane like a banshee... the Lamb of Salvation.

Ant the Rant of Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
He leaves no forensics evidence at all, just ANT the TYRANT stained across the residence wall. Their bodies lie butchered in a decadent hall, personified devil, rebel without relevant cause, a demon screamin night terrors whenever his conscious calls.

"A killer conflicted, afflicted, with a sickness, and it's too late to fix this, let them all bare witness!!!"

Corpses lay positioned boastfully blasphemous, desecrated with the sins of sadistic malice, a man ruined, woefully callous, punisher in the palace, you can't salvage this savage, he pleasures in your pain, and revels in your strain, you can't level with the insane, this is the devil's domain, Some have tried though, in vain, too primal to quote bible, pain revival, killing a rival, like Cain did Abel, unstable vitals, as your eyes close, your life goes, but death remains, to the deceased comes bittersweet relief, finally released from his reign.


♂ΆяčнзŦұpє™ of of Brass Knuckle Poets Society
5 million wayz to slay fuckas under, runnin more gunz than dow jones does numbers. claim they packing heat? well son we stack thunder, spitin more rays, than the sun in the summer. Arrays that scorch flesh an lay masses asunder. Perplexed minds falter, fumble, to watch'em stumble.
makin'em studder,& mutter... it's all mumble.
Leavin'em dazed & confused... stunned & str8 humbled.
Dont want grief, stay ya ass out the jungle
Cuz when it s on it s on, Locked..cocked, ready to rumble.

Ant the Rant of Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
person perplexed,
pictures painted plainly,
portray pain, perfected,
posed in poised perspective.

a wrecked retrospective,
rendition of wisdom arisen,
warn of wicked ways,
the woes of the wrenched,

hectic, having heard the hearsay,
without the ears to hear her say,
she's here to stay.

talking tenderly, tears to trade,
tomorrows touch, theirs to take,
meant for memories made,
making the many masquerade,
mindlessly motivated,
but motives makes for a miserable mates.

I'm about, abstractions,
and abstaining, absolutely,
from any absurdities,
I'm absolved in my ambition,
abolished, myself from any abomination,
absorbed, from the absence, of abilities,


I'm Ant, but Rant to my confidants,
Spanish transplant, walkin with a slight slant,
I can't, go without at least 4 or 5 chants,
from my debutants, who like to vibe scant,
and grant, a showing off the implants,
and going off in their underpants,
like I was Rembrandt, ...haha buggin

♂ΆяčнзŦұpє™ of of Brass Knuckle Poets Society

Since birth
built to bruise an seer earth
to Amuse, yet show worth
Confuse!, & flaunt girth

Mentally, make ya sick of me
ill lines with no remedy
simplistically...
sowing sick seeds verbosely

while Ant spits abstract absurdities
with rhetorical Rants of hypnotic hyperbole.
Time for S A to display linguistic surgery
Or Each one 2 teach one, codes of rhythmic thuggery

-Each1 Teach1- said:

pass the instruments,
DR. OW preparing for surgery,
despite the detriments you have or have not heard of me,
got flows absurdly,
gangster to rockin nerdly,
steady on the search for a species to constant serve me,
walkin a lonely road i,
stumbled upon some bros,
kickem a couple flows and,
hey whatta ya know!?
Rant the rockhard roadblock, my roaddog,
Savv'll stab ya at each syllable, defenses left at minimal,
then to swing the spotlight, stageright, focus on archetype, leaving lessons and impressions on holding a mic right.....

♂ΆяčнзŦұpє™ of of Brass Knuckle Poets Society

Grippin the mic like Knights clutch a sword
Ready to maraud & maul through an entire horde
Reeking havoc an malice, unorthodox stylist
Drunken monk form... on spirits of dead shaolin
No reason to my rhyme, sometimes, I m just wile'in
Free flowing out the dirty south, from charlotte to long island
East coast reppin with razor sharp talons...
Brutal packs of wolves by the full moon howlin

S-A-double-V - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

My soul howls in elation; Predator, my natural inclination - yeah, I've been one since creation... a ronin rollin' with Mars' blessing and adoration. Embracin' my savvage nature, as my general mind assesses, and reassesses every situation - three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, the Sixth Sense gauges confrontation. THC in my exhalations as I scan the pavement, in heavy meditation... reciting Les Chants du Maldoror... released from Society's constraints, a snow-beast abomination. Fangs on my canines, armored up and ready... don't test me - I'll bite off ya' fuckin' face'n grin in celebration... care-take the basement - supply meals to the Morgue's specifications. It's blood-lust enacted, primal urge surgin' without reservations; reflexes trained for instant application - The epitome of Alpha Male, The Rites of the Hunter, my designation. Immune to domestication, by playstations, poor nutrition, or heavy medication. I'm a force of nature, from the Sun's apex to it's nadir; a warrior who refuses to be taken. Descended from chieftains, I'll go to war naked and shit on your phalanx, like a bastion of assassination...

Ant the Rant of Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:

I'm a cross between a sharp shooter,
and a smart computer, spray art tutor,
Los Angeles vandalist looter,
smoke so much, they label me a gross polluter...
west coast commuter, petrol for the turbo "Suber",
curse words at your stupid motor scooter... (LOL)

Combust, able to turn tables.
come just, to bust, and return later,
I unplug your mic cable,
make roofs unstable, truth not fable,
appetite to recite nice on the mic device,
insatiable...
and in case you don't know,
you got a ways to go,
I got days of flow,
wit S A and Drow,
off flamenco guitar solo,
instrumental, we desperados,
walking in frame, slo-mo,
as the background explodes,
we blaze all those, who oppose,
sensational, you need a rebate for those debatable flows,
governmental pro, cash-for...real hiphop shows,
kids today, just don't know...
deejays run us back some flava flay'vers,
take you back to the days, of real rhyme sayers,
these days, the radio plays, a total waste of words,
people's taste is absurd,
dig through the crates of this nerd, and observe,
I serve people vinyl plates of h'orderves,
line up the needle, cross the fader,
bumpin' in your buildin like some noisy neighbors,
on some scandalous behavior, sexual in nature,
I handle biz, like a Los Angeles Laker,
and kiss mah muthafuckin championship rang fanger...

♂ΆяčнзŦұpє™ of of Brass Knuckle Poets Society

Str8 out the wild, I'm so raw and primal
Alpha came to claim his territory and title

Savv shit on your phalanx, I ll piss on your vitals
Primordial instincts, the beast's homicidal

For the prey best pray to see another day
Trying to Hide, silent, in dried weeds an hay

Yet 5 senses seek an the 6th one finds dem
Ant sharp shootin puttin slugs through ya eyes son

Quick to test mettle... we like katana's metal
Bend but wont break, heads severed, ya leveled

Bodies fall crippled, gory, it's hellish
Blood spurtin juggler veins, I ve embellished

Just rate me a V cuz I get alil violent
So fuggen mean this king was deemed a tyrant

I make Vlad look sissy, Draco holds no crown here
I reign my era of terror from a throne of fear.

Blah.. Buggin