The earliest I can remember writing is when I was five years old

	Simple Words From A Complex Mind I pattern my rhymes to relate to the divine plans of the maker... And try to make my nouns and verbs seem to dance on the paper... Advanced orators don’t hesitate to drop the prepositions... And don’t use words unless you know the proper definitions... Create metaphors and similes to enhance the verbal imagery... Discard any absurd soliloquies that disturb the symmetry... The energy used in your verses should be used in your chorus... Don’t be ashamed to use a dictionary or view a thesaurus... The law is never to bite a rhyme cause you’ll face relentless hell... Always practice spitting when the opportunity presents itself... And defend yourself whenever you’re faced with instigation... Constantly write what you see. Don’t waste the inspiration... Some misuse their muse and write pieces that barely move... Find topics in your daily news or try views that’s rarely used... Don’t choose to follow pop kids in their quest for tall pockets... Their life is all profits as they digress to false prophets... Claim to be discerning entities without learning empathy... Requiem for fallen emcees as their reps burn in effigy... My recipe for writing lyrics of all classic varieties... Mix in skill and honesty and add small dashes of irony... Don’t lie to me about packing heat for handling stress... Damsels in undress and how your styles damaging reps... Can I suggest you keep it real and spit shit I can feel... Ink scripts with writing skill and flow sick with mic appeal... Don’t get discouraged for fear that all your peeps will hate it... This is the primary obstacle on the road to being creative... And be original, whether you’re a warrior or a pacifist... Find your own niche in the realm of emceeing and master it... My foundation was laid by slave spirituals of the antebellum... There’s eight million stories in this city and I plan to tell them... By Clinton B.
	Trinity Formed from scorned intercourse of lore and nobility spiritually, shod prophecies in patterns of infinity destiny unknown, blessings sown as rye wheat grains oblique fame, running laps in matter to increase pain rotated and bathed in a million lifetimes and lifeforms Hell is quite warm, as we trained Satan in ancient fire forms Shaped Michael's horn in burnished brass & coarse copper shift shape & sift wind in half like blades adorn choppers Spun the world in a web, scratched out rivers wit talons high hopes sprung slopes as our desires formed mountains 3 days & counting, saliva fountains left underground springs plunder round things, I cradle Saturn as thunder surrounds rings Bound deeds, sacred covenants whispered from us to Creation elation at the breath of life, entering dried clay under sedation Craft lives like Masons, 2 lesser lights 2 emulate our presence ruling day and night, gave despite our grayer, darker essence sent doves with twigs, above the mist to drop golden gems fruit grew from rue as life clawed our limbs, now holding pens Scripting humanity's story, from Cain's demise to Babylon's fall Until Satan's funeral, his broken neck in the crook of gnarled fingers Angelic harp singers, crooning as Death's passing lingers By Clinton B.
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