"To Be A Gangster" by Mr. Hardy and Celph Taut

[Soule]

To Be A Gangster...
Mr. Hardy (Verse One)
Celph Taut (Verse Two and Three)


[June of 1970]
Sipping my glass of whiskey as I swirl around each cube,
a bullet wound bleeds through as I attempt to speak truths.
My knee's blue from a riot more violent than starving sharks,
it's an alarming mark, every breath is like it's carving heart.
The bartender keeps pouring until this pain begins to fade,
my brain depends on pain but whiskey and I chase the sins away.
The stains on my suit raise my temper, as I strain my liver,
there's a faint quiver up my spine that aches something tender.
Seems money's the winner, being a gangster is all about the coin,
underground joints where respect is intellect and clouded noise.
The town's been destroyed but London will never die...
she'll forever fight until a better light shines from the shepherd's sky.
I finish my drink and collapse from the stool, a blasted fool,
tragic, consumed, once a respectable outlaw without passion or rules.
It's a drastic ruse, pretending to be immortal everyday I lived,
now the payment I give is in blood with no son to save my legend.


[June of 2015]
Sipping my glass of Brandy, handy, in a dim lit room....
... Inside of a club. Counting laundered money with a hand that lies in a glove.
Marijuana dancing solstices on the skyline above...
That'd be like a rock concert in the 70's if you tried to get up.
This was the "Stock" room, a couple men, dressed
in NYC cop suits, getting cocaine on their tactical SWAT boots...
An "Easy buy", I smirk to myself; a stripper dancing on top of me is
worth it, n' well paid for in the depths of my personal wealth
My head tips back, room spinning around, as the music is playing...
The plasma screen captures an image of me, on the news they're displaying...
But the words are drowned out over the MDMA resonance
I lived by the legends, which tell you, "Mark where your present is"
I ever so candidly remember my come up
it was ages ago...
I walked the path, they were waiting to go...
And garnished the information it holds...
So many places I know, and territories marked with a X...
Like we were stationing gold, the stasis is so complex
It would cause your brain to explode...
Paraphernalia staining my clothes, my eyes closing
Hearing chimes going off in my head,
the passing by moments, feeling like fly motions
A rap sheet as long as the back streets I owe my maturity to...
Reading from the template of the Gods, when the words are askew
I watch, as half of the city's assets rest in my hand...
Learned from the British Gangsters to invest in a plan...
That you will be overthrown from taking an executive stand...
If your dealings aren't in line to have your efforts expand...
This was entirely true, from what I recall, one
notorious Gangster was killed, while buying a brew...
And stayed to finish the glass before he died from his wound...
And this moment forever resonated in my mind,
I thought it was bold...
As to almost accept your fate, while taking that final walk down the road...
So, I lock in and load.
The fruition of my estate...
They kick in the door.
The two cops, on my payroll, grip for their holster...
As the blaring of sirens serenade the premises and the voices
get a bit closer...
I grab my jewelry piece n' then kiss it, for closure.
For a split second, time stops...
I picture a duvet layout, with me, inside of a pine box.
The muffled sounds must be firing shots...
The stripper's wails of agony sound like soothing melody's of embrace
pointillistic voids create space...
Then start to take shape...
Adrenaline levels overload, there's no control
happening rapidly...
Bullets whizzing, ligaments punctured, people moving - sporadically...
As what seem like hours in my mind,
time lapse seconds have passed...
A numbing feeling washes over me,
Arms contracting, impulsively...
As I barely focus my vision to see n incision in me...
I press to my chest, slowly...




I blink.... and nothing. Dead silence. A black room.
A light shining in, sight has an alcohol glass view.
A crept in space, n' all I can smell is some gas fumes...
hands tied behind my back, in some kind of a trap
I try to react, the rumbling underneath me is like
we're riding a track.
Bouncing around, like a tire was flat...
And then, within minutes, the ceiling flashes, with a firing glow...
In an instant, I am alone
Inside of the hold of this fire, exposed...
entire body is tied up, and no
escape is presented
The heat itches near my face with a scent of an Ancient apprentice...
Fate would have it, I would awake
and be placed in the trenches
What a way of making an entrance, to the doors of Satan,
with a spatial ascension...
Sweat beading profusely, it's getting harder to breathe
from cough and fatigue,
The thought of me leaving my body is more than an anatomical being...
I've killed women, children of men...
Ripped off millions, then I did it again...
Living off of the civilians, while building a trend...
Now, the cross roads are reached...
A perfect outcome befitting the end...
Now giving out handouts because they never did it to him...
The fire becomes a fortress for me, where I'll forcibly sleep...
in its crevices, an American gangster, this is his exiting...
For when I die, there will be many more at the head, again...
A history of onslaught beyond my grave, that'll never end...

- - - Updated - - -

http://www.rapbattles.com/showthread.php?489965-Into-the-dim
http://www.rapbattles.com/showthread.php?489942-Mr-Assassin

[Emily]

"...I've killed women, children of men...
Ripped off millions, then I did it again...
Living off of the civilians, while building a trend...
Now, the cross roads are reached...
A perfect outcome befitting the end..." ---celph taut

The town's been destroyed but London will never die...
she'll forever fight until a better light shines from the shepherd's sky. ---- Mr Hardy

Many more. So many amazing quotes that make me go "Oh wow". The flow, nice, the rhymes, nice, lots of clever quotes.

Celph Taut, you teach me a thing or two about quality in volume. You've a tap of talent. You can switch it on or off.
Almost all of it, almost all the time, is top notch. And what gets me about you is, the sheer lengths you'd go,
if someone let you go lol. do ya get me? I feel like you could go on and on and on and...endless supply
of hippyidy hop wording that makes clips for visual pleasure. It's in my head because of your words.
Some of it, I could have done without, very little, I can't quote now, sorry. But I know I could have
cut some out, because I went ape over certain other parts, not just the quote. I mean, you're a tripper.
It's an endless supply of beat and colour and mood and wordplay and its really impressive to read celph.
You're such a talented writer. And you're true to you within your signature stream.
My advice is, keep the best, only. I figure if there's bit's that are impressive, but not as good, either, omit, or fix.
make em as good as your highs, cause that's the bar that you set.
Keep that quality from a to z, and do away with fillers. You'll be cutting it down a little but it'll still be a long piece.
And every line will be equally as impressive.
You've a natural talent, having an endless stream of thought. You can afford to know what to cull and know what to keep.
Remember, we don't wanna be reading big mother fucking bits of verse, we wanna be swept off our feet, and quickly.
We're impatient, and tend to ... 'where's the remote control? how do you fast forward?'
It could be two pages, but if it's all enthralling, it's two sentences to us. We're always gonna want more of a good thing.
We've forgotten we're reading.
I'd like to see more direction focused on the top notch lines you've got, acknowledgment given to those, and that's the bar.
I can't pick out examples of fillers now, I'm sorry. but essentially, they were the bits that dragged a bit for me, compared to the Surround Sound, In ya face, stars of the show. Not to say anything's drab, quite the contrary, but when you've got the goods, everything else is the bads. lol

Mr Hardy, your verse was impressive. Unfortunately unbalanced imo, as far as a collab goes, in my unbalanced mind.
in this collab, it felt like you did one quarter of it, and that's a shame. I would have liked to have felt what the two of you together would have done, and not so much one a little bit and the other a lot.
I reckon this piece here would have been amazing if you'd have taken this theme, mixed with those emotions and descriptions, those rhymes and that exceptional flow at times, shared the collab sort of evenly, at least half and half. this was more like a celph taught verse with Mr Hardy as guest speaker.
I felt the word Gangster was used more than I'd like. I like to think...'he sounds like a gangster', but not be told.
And then I'll probably think..."he sounds like a gangster", again.
get it?
give me a little.
get me a lot.


I think this collab was unbalanced with amazing wording from both of you. Some stellar quotes.
I think this had so much more potential. If time was taken to edit a little more, to streamline the verse, with a cleaner msg delivered, I'd be epic.
As it stands, it's still pretty bloody impressive imo.
I'm always floored by celph taught. I just wanna touch him and take some of that talent. That endless supply of breath.
And Mr Hardy comes with his typical quality flow and rhyme, it's a win win.
If you two polished it up, and only kept the cream of the crop, my oh my, it'd be so good.

It's still so good now.

God I can't believe how long this feed has gone for.






Top Job Fellas.
Good team work here.
Looking forward to what the future brings.

[SELF ACTIVATE]

Mr. Hardy

[June of 1970]
Sipping my glass of whiskey as I swirl around each cube,

^Dope imagery to start things off. I'm intrigued.

a bullet wound bleeds through as I attempt to speak truths.
My knee's blue from a riot more violent than starving sharks,
it's an alarming mark, every breath is like it's carving heart.

^ Nice rhyme scheme. Also, the shark line was really tight as well. The carving heart part is cool. It works, but could also be reworked a little to provide a more clear picture. But I'm nit picking.

The bartender keeps pouring until this pain begins to fade,
my brain depends on pain but whiskey and I chase the sins away.
The stains on my suit raise my temper, as I strain my liver,
there's a faint quiver up my spine that aches something tender.

^Now this was clear and crisp. The wording was spot on and as Em would say...you took me there. I was sitting right next to you at the bar fella.

Seems money's the winner, being a gangster is all about the coin,
underground joints where respect is intellect and clouded noise.
The town's been destroyed but London will never die...
she'll forever fight until a better light shines from the shepherd's sky.
I finish my drink and collapse from the stool, a blasted fool,
tragic, consumed, once a respectable outlaw without passion or rules.

^I'm guessing this piece was inspired by that new Tom Hardy flick? I haven't seen it, but the picture you paint reminds me of the trailer. Nonetheless, thus far, this has been a pretty smooth read complete with dope imagery. In this section In particularly, the Shepard's sky line works beautifully. It was like a touch of poetry laid on top of the grime.

It's a drastic ruse, pretending to be immortal everyday I lived,
now the payment I give is in blood with no son to save my legend.

^Not sure about the ending. I mean did he just die from alcohol poisoning or something. Is he even dead or did he just pass out. I suppose either are plausible.

Celph:

[June of 2015]
Sipping my glass of Brandy, handy, in a dim lit room....
... Inside of a club. Counting laundered money with a hand that lies in a glove.

^^Like Hardy you open your piece up with striking imagery as well. Really dope intro.

Marijuana dancing solstices on the skyline above...
That'd be like a rock concert in the 70's if you tried to get up.
This was the "Stock" room, a couple men, dressed
in NYC cop suits, getting cocaine on their tactical SWAT boots...

^^It's unfolding like a movie. I can honestly visualize it all happening in real time.

An "Easy buy", I smirk to myself; a stripper dancing on top of me is
worth it, n' well paid for in the depths of my personal wealth
My head tips back, room spinning around, as the music is playing...
The plasma screen captures an image of me, on the news they're displaying...

^^Whew! You got your foot on the pedal. The flow, the imagery, the plot. It's all top shelf. The whole scene here is crazy.

But the words are drowned out over the MDMA resonance
I lived by the legends, which tell you, "Mark where your present is"
I ever so candidly remember my come up
it was ages ago...
I walked the path, they were waiting to go...
And garnished the information it holds...
So many places I know, and territories marked with a X...
Like we were stationing gold, the stasis is so complex
It would cause your brain to explode...

^^So the imagery took a backseat to the flow and scheme here. Still really good writing, but the bars above were more captivating.

Paraphernalia staining my clothes, my eyes closing
Hearing chimes going off in my head,
the passing by moments, feeling like fly motions
A rap sheet as long as the back streets I owe my maturity to...
Reading from the template of the Gods, when the words are askew
I watch, as half of the city's assets rest in my hand...
Learned from the British Gangsters to invest in a plan...

^^ The wording in that last line was nasty. It had that sort of conversational flow that comes off natural and organic.

That you will be overthrown from taking an executive stand...
If your dealings aren't in line to have your efforts expand...
This was entirely true, from what I recall, one
notorious Gangster was killed, while buying a brew...
And stayed to finish the glass before he died from his wound...

^^it's dope how you tied in the event from Hardy's verse.

And this moment forever resonated in my mind,
I thought it was bold...
As to almost accept your fate, while taking that final walk down the road...
So, I lock in and load.
The fruition of my estate...
They kick in the door.
The two cops, on my payroll, grip for their holster...
As the blaring of sirens serenade the premises and the voices
get a bit closer...
I grab my jewelry piece n' then kiss it, for closure.

^^^ Here we go with the cinamatics. Again, the technique and skill aren't being overlooked. The flow, wording, and imagery, were all equally impressive.

For a split second, time stops...
I picture a duvet layout, with me, inside of a pine box.
The muffled sounds must be firing shots...
The stripper's wails of agony sound like soothing melody's of embrace
pointillistic voids create space...
Then start to take shape...
Adrenaline levels overload, there's no control
happening rapidly...
Bullets whizzing, ligaments punctured, people moving - sporadically...
As what seem like hours in my mind,
time lapse seconds have passed...
A numbing feeling washes over me,
Arms contracting, impulsively...
As I barely focus my vision to see n incision in me...
I press to my chest, slowly...

^^I liked how you described the little intricacies of motion in those bars. It's the depiction of the little things that added flesh to the whole scene.


Mr. Hardy

I blink.... and nothing. Dead silence. A black room.
A light shining in, sight has an alcohol glass view.

^^^Ahhh, I get It. You were drugged. Okay, makes sense now. You got a real knack for wording. I feel like I'm the one waking up in a dark room with a single light shining down on me. Dope.

A crept in space, n' all I can smell is some gas fumes...
hands tied behind my back, in some kind of a trap
I try to react, the rumbling underneath me is like
we're riding a track.
Bouncing around, like a tire was flat...
And then, within minutes, the ceiling flashes, with a firing glow...
In an instant, I am alone
Inside of the hold of this fire, exposed...

^^^ Loving the flow here. It's silky smooth.

entire body is tied up, and no
escape is presented
The heat itches near my face with a scent of an Ancient apprentice...
Fate would have it, I would awake
and be placed in the trenches
What a way of making an entrance, to the doors of Satan,
with a spatial ascension...
Sweat beading profusely, it's getting harder to breathe
from cough and fatigue,
The thought of me leaving my body is more than an anatomical being...
I've killed women, children of men...
Ripped off millions, then I did it again...
Living off of the civilians, while building a trend...
Now, the cross roads are reached...
A perfect outcome befitting the end...

^ Digging his final moments of retrospective thought and what not. It really helps bring life to the character.

Now giving out handouts because they never did it to him...
The fire becomes a fortress for me, where I'll forcibly sleep...
in its crevices, an American gangster, this is his exiting...
For when I die, there will be many more at the head, again...
A history of onslaught beyond my grave, that'll never end...

^^^Nice ending!

Overall: This was a sick collab. It played off the source material quite a bit I assume, but still, for a guy like me who hasn't seen the movie yet, you two just gave me a front row seat with your words. Both of you had excellent schemes, imagery, and wording. Top notch and compelling drop. Thoroughly enjoyed.

Peace.

[Soule]

This isn't based on any movie. It's a piece about a modern day gangster who is inspired by a 1970's British gangster. My part in this collab was just to give insight on Celph taut's character's hero. Like when you watch a movie and the first 15-20 minutes focuses on a hero or father figure and something happens to him, then the rest of the movie focuses on their son or someone who looks up to the legacy they had. Celph taut's character was the main focus. Thanks for the long bit of feedback though and hope this helps people understand why it seems so 'unbalanced' and to keep you away from thinking this is ripped off a movie because it's not. It's our own concept.

[Cody Phoenix]

celph taut, you've come a long way since I last seen your writtens..


I've no time to really feed now but your imagery is wonderful, a pallet of colors.

[Defy-Gravity]

[June of 1970]
Sipping my glass of whiskey as I swirl around each cube,
a bullet wound bleeds through as I attempt to speak truths.
My knee's blue from a riot more violent than starving sharks,
it's an alarming mark, every breath is like it's carving heart.
The bartender keeps pouring until this pain begins to fade,
my brain depends on pain but whiskey and I chase the sins away.


The shark line was great. Excellent opening. The bleeding wound line is very visual


The stains on my suit raise my temper, as I strain my liver,
there's a faint quiver up my spine that aches something tender.
Seems money's the winner, being a gangster is all about the coin,
underground joints where respect is intellect and clouded noise.

This made me think of godfellas or some 80s mob flick with goons at a bar blast the juke box arguing


The town's been destroyed but London will never die...
she'll forever fight until a better light shines from the shepherd's sky.
I finish my drink and collapse from the stool, a blasted fool,
tragic, consumed, once a respectable outlaw without passion or rules.
It's a drastic ruse, pretending to be immortal everyday I lived,
now the payment I give is in blood with no son to save my legend.

Lived and legend don't rhyme but still good.


[June of 2015]
Sipping my glass of Brandy, handy, in a dim lit room....
... Inside of a club. Counting laundered money with a hand that lies in a glove.
Marijuana dancing solstices on the skyline above...
That'd be like a rock concert in the 70's if you tried to get up.

Very dope metaphor. The 70s rock line


This was the "Stock" room, a couple men, dressed
in NYC cop suits, getting cocaine on their tactical SWAT boots...

Excellent rhyming here. Best line yet


An "Easy buy", I smirk to myself; a stripper dancing on top of me is
worth it, n' well paid for in the depths of my personal wealth
My head tips back, room spinning around, as the music is playing...
The plasma screen captures an image of me, on the news they're displaying...
But the words are drowned out over the MDMA resonance
I lived by the legends, which tell you, "Mark where your present is"


I'm trying to find rhyme scheme. Some good visuals but nothing is flowing for me


I ever so candidly remember my come up
it was ages ago...
I walked the path, they were waiting to go...
And garnished the information it holds...
So many places I know, and territories marked with a X...
Like we were stationing gold, the stasis is so complex
It would cause your brain to explode...
Paraphernalia staining my clothes, my eyes closing
Hearing chimes going off in my head,
the passing by moments, feeling like fly motions

Took a few reads but definitely great. Some abstract imagery explaining the emotions



A rap sheet as long as the back streets I owe my maturity to...
Reading from the template of the Gods, when the words are askew
I watch, as half of the city's assets rest in my hand...
Learned from the British Gangsters to invest in a plan...
That you will be overthrown from taking an executive stand...
If your dealings aren't in line to have your efforts expand...
This was entirely true, from what I recall, one
notorious Gangster was killed, while buying a brew...
And stayed to finish the glass before he died from his wound...


This isnt a piece that can be reviewed line for line but I'm grading the technical aspects of it. the above line described a real gangster moment. Gunned down but still finished his brew


And this moment forever resonated in my mind,
I thought it was bold...
As to almost accept your fate, while taking that final walk down the road...
So, I lock in and load.
The fruition of my estate...
They kick in the door.
The two cops, on my payroll, grip for their holster...
As the blaring of sirens serenade the premises and the voices
get a bit closer...
I grab my jewelry piece n' then kiss it, for closure.
For a split second, time stops...
I picture a duvet layout, with me, inside of a pine box.
The muffled sounds must be firing shots...
The stripper's wails of agony sound like soothing melody's of embrace
pointillistic voids create space...
Then start to take shape...
Adrenaline levels overload, there's no control
happening rapidly...
Bullets whizzing, ligaments punctured, people moving - sporadically...
As what seem like hours in my mind,
time lapse seconds have passed...
A numbing feeling washes over me,
Arms contracting, impulsively...
As I barely focus my vision to see n incision in me...
I press to my chest, slowly...




I blink.... and nothing. Dead silence. A black room.
A light shining in, sight has an alcohol glass view.
A crept in space, n' all I can smell is some gas fumes...
hands tied behind my back, in some kind of a trap
I try to react, the rumbling underneath me is like
we're riding a track.
Bouncing around, like a tire was flat...
And then, within minutes, the ceiling flashes, with a firing glow...
In an instant, I am alone
Inside of the hold of this fire, exposed...
entire body is tied up, and no
escape is presented
The heat itches near my face with a scent of an Ancient apprentice...
Fate would have it, I would awake
and be placed in the trenches
What a way of making an entrance, to the doors of Satan,
with a spatial ascension...
Sweat beading profusely, it's getting harder to breathe
from cough and fatigue,
The thought of me leaving my body is more than an anatomical being...
I've killed women, children of men...
Ripped off millions, then I did it again...
Living off of the civilians, while building a trend...
Now, the cross roads are reached...
A perfect outcome befitting the end...
Now giving out handouts because they never did it to him...
The fire becomes a fortress for me, where I'll forcibly sleep...
in its crevices, an American gangster, this is his exiting...
For when I die, there will be many more at the head, again...
A history of onslaught beyond my grave, that'll never end...


From the point I stopped commenting until now the piece got very engaging. The house shootout was done very well, metaphoric, abstract and flowed nicely. I almost had a max Payne moment when you said time slowed to what seemed like hours but it was only seconds. The ancient apprentice line was also great.


The issue with collabos is that the verses don't often match or one writer exceeds the other skill wise. I like it an American gangster in London. The last part was amazing..that writer took the trophy.

8/10