Long Royce Poems
Long Royce Poems. Below are the most popular long Royce by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Royce poems by poem length and keyword.
(Chorus)
You think you've got swagger but really you hobble,
you've got the jet lagger and you're drunk so you wobble,
don't start on me mate 'cus I will bring trouble,
to put it into slang words I'm Barney Rubble.
(Verse)
I will ruffle trouble
'cus I'm on another level
that bombs with the base
and stings with the treble,
I'll strut face to face with any ace rebel,
and put them in their place with their constant bull.
When I rhyme with my contortionist wrist
it expels a mist that sits around my fist,
I spell magic out on paper,
I'm playing with danger,
Mr. Wizardry the word selectionist,
squiggling fiction at speeds that feed friction
into rhymes that are non stop hot and cool,
so flames don't flame on the table top,
journey with me to witness the plot,
the earth shaker creator of perfected hip hop,
starting revolutions so that mumble is forgot,
dislodging the rust and rot it coughs that clots
and instating my Barney Rubble at the top.
(Chorus x2)
(Verse)
That last verse was just a small handful,
a sample of something that you cannot handle,
a scan like a bar code,
so lets open up the road and I'll unload these words,
I can't conceal this skill that rolls like wheels,
a Rolls Royce wearing heels,
in fancy halls doing dancing drills,
with golden walls
to an old skool beat treat.
I wont get signed up by any record label,
but I'm still rhyming better than mumble's able,
just admit you're tapping your feet to the beat
while my rhyme sits on top solid like concrete,
with the dancefloor crammed full,
they're pulling at all angles,
making the memories
that'll last 'til they're O A P's,
they think they've got swagger
and they're like Mick Jagger,
they're more like Sepp Blatter
but a little bit fatter.
(Chorus x2)
(Verse)
You can call me Trimendous and true,
you thought I'd flew crashed and was screwed,
but I took it back to what inspired my act,
an old skool hip hop sick rhyme attack,
I rhymed in flight with this write
and its smile's wild with sublime delight,
there are no poetic rare words
and I don't need swear words
in this dictionary spared verse
with airstream rhythm you can't burst,
I'm wearing this deserved set of words
that pilots and surges to my re-emergence,
a certainty that was never urgent
and not an encore from behind the curtains.
(Chorus x2)
Ronald Rump reasonably roasted
Remarkable – recourse retaining rickety
rambling reverence regarding “r.”
Ronald Rump
repugnant racist republican reviled -
rickettsia re:itch ruler.
Rapaciously ravaged
revered reverential rubric.
Radical ruthless renegade
rapidly riotously ripped rigged ramparts.
Refrained retaining remnant
redolent regal, resplendent rafters.
Riches rudely ruptured rooted rectified rights.
Ruckus ricocheted revenant reign.
Ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
Rambunctious rapscallions rollicked;
rendered ruinous ramifications.
Rusty razor razing revenge rented reprisal.
Rabid rectal rictus rotten
rebranded re-calibrated redoubt.
Rambunctious revolutionaries rejoiced.
Ruffians rode roughshod
routing reigning royalty.
Reiterated revetting robust recidivist rationality.
Rode Rolls Royce relentlessly
rendering rock ribbing.
Riffraff raconteur raised reactionary response.
Revisited rancorous restrictive
redlined realigned rightward rivets.
Robocop ridiculously
rubber-stamped reorganization.
Recalcitrant reactors released rapture.
Rash Russian roulette
reconnaissance raconteurs racked rubles.
Red room reflected Republican RNA.
Rap risible rheumy ratiocinated rug-rats
revoked righteous refulgent repertory.
Rapier robed robbers ransacked
reliquary resounding retaliation.
Retaliatory redcoat regnum
reformation remembered.
Rudy robotically recoiled rapprochement
raison d'être rosily revered
rifled relics raffled.
Rookie raves ripe rackful
rubenesque reliably ranked.
Refulgent rotundity requisite
requirement re: reappointment.
Road-tested, roadworthy
redeem reapportion routed role.
Reprehensible reassignment
rapidly recognizes response.
Rife rampage removed respectability – respect.
Responsible roused restitution refuted.
Risky resultant reconnoitering
runaway railroad reverberated rivalry.
Reflexive ramrod reaction reconfirmed
redoubling ridding revitalization.
Reconfiguration realpolitik reinstated repudiation
rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.
Requisition required resilient reseeding republic.
Regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing.
Rare recount restoring recondite
renown reprobate Rapunzel.
Republican representatives
rejoice reclaiming reins.
repugnant racist republican reviled - rickettsia re:itch ruler.
rapaciously ravaged revered reverential rubric.
radical ruthless renegade rapidly riotously rips rigged ramparts.
refrains retaining remnant redolent regal, resplendent rafters.
riches rudely rupture rooted rectified rights.
ruckus ricochets revenant reign.
ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
rumbustious rapscallions rollick; render ruinous ramifications.
rusty razor razing revenge rents reprisal.
rabid rectal rictus rotten rebrands re-calibrate.
rambunctious revolutionaries rejoice.
ruffians ride roughshod routing reigning royalty.
reiterate revetting robust recidivist rationality.
ride Rolls Royce relentlessly rendering rock ribbing.
riffraff raconteur raise reactionary response.
revisit rancorous restrictive redlined realigned rightward rivets.
robocop ridiculously rubber-stamped reorganization.
recalcitrant reactors release rapture.
rash Russian roulette reconnaissance raconteurs rack rubles.
red room reflects republican RNA.
rap risible rheumy ratiocinated rug-rats revoke righteous refulgent repertory.
rapier robed robbers ransack reliquary resounding retaliation.
retaliatory redcoat regnum reformation remembered.
Rudy robotically recoiling rapprochement
raison d'être rosily revered rifled relics raffled.
rookie raves ripe rackful rubenesque reliably ranked.
refulgent rotundity requisite requirement re: reappointment.
road-tested, roadworthy redeem reapportion routed role.
reprehensible reassignment rapidly recognizes response.
rife rampage removes respectability - respect.
responsible roused restitution refuted.
risky resultant reconnoitering runaway railroad reverberates rivalry.
reflexive ramrod reaction reconfirms redoubling ridding revitalization.
reconfiguration realpolitik reinstates repudiation
rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.
requisition requires resilient reseeding republic.
regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing.
rare recount restoring recondite renown reprobate Rapunzel.
Republican representatives rejoice reclaiming reins
registering retarded romantic remains
re: Rastafarian revered reliquary rests!
See them walking around the city in unbridled fashion that makes them feel jittery, soft and loose in their custom-made jumpsuit; they went shopping in high heels shoes wearing perfume that you could smell from a distance.
The threads are woven evenly and the seams at the front are explicit, it makes them feel like saucy peppers spread on top of a sedated platter at the Ritz. Lips painted in bright red colors and body soaked in lavender balm and the aroma oil extracted directly from the maple root saturate their bodies in time for the truth.
The ambience of room with the filtering smell of spring ushered in from the tropical island engulfs the room and increases their appetite.
In seconds their bodies caught fire and saturate their innate desire, it swept quickly through the room leaving a stained passion on the bed, shouting in joy and laughter from the top of their head. They wrapped their bodies in pleasure leaving a diamond bracelet dangling at their feet and smiles that you could not compete.
The tall skinny one's parades down the street in their roll Royce limonene, fricasseeing on the back seat and disrupting the driver's heart beat, while courage stood up on the stand seeking ways to devour the guilty man.
The Jumpsuit has taken over the town and pleasures are floating around, the tightness has disappeared and the distress is laid bare, the people’s mind has loosened and everyone is drinking from the same cup.
I pinch myself to see if I was alive for these images keeps flickering on the screen and it feels like a midnight dream; the fire is real the people are there and the bartender is running up and down the floor and there is a long line standing at the door; everyone was wearing a jumpsuit.
The paradise of hope lies on the brim and the wisdom of man is carried away in his sin and his naked appetite dangle in front of his pride and his lover stood briskly by his side.
The jumpsuit is coming back on stream and everyone is writing for the big screen. You have got to have courage to fulfill your dreams, if you don’t have a jumpsuit go and get one now, the cold is setting in and your fingers will be numb.
Call me the Duke of Silence,
I resonate with the six elders at the Gala.
I would rather commend a madman for saving a cat,
Than applaud politicians in SUVs,
Wearing first-class Royce,
While we suffer in harsh economic downfall.
Renaissance is my diploma,
I’ve come to see through all peers,
Shady thoughts and unclear actions.
Living is now a matter of,
“What do you bring to the table?”
Youthful pride in contrast to,
“Why should I answer that?”
Suffering childhood memories,
Seems to be the best phase of my life.
Would I wake up to be given stacks of duty to perform,
And still shine a smile in doing it?
Yet in my heyday, I languish.
I’m in a state of life,
Where I witness everything,
And I’m a vessel of secrets,
But I would never speak.
Should I die in it,
So be it, and lead me to misfortune,
For I was conceived in a stained world.
I want to be there with you,
But I ask, do you want to be there with me?
Put all that away and see my happiness.
I wonder if there is any love for me,
Seeking it but afraid to confront it.
The lips that uttered such three words,
And planted seeds of hope in me,
Have left me shattered because of,
The previous question.
Down to earth, I weep, “I’m innocent.”
I’m an African child raised to hate my people,
But like to carry a gun.
Imprinted ink on paper seems to carry more value,
Than a life carried for nine months with pains.
The war has just begun. Vanguard!
I’m not here to tell a love story.
I want to be reborn,
Reborn in a world of truth and honesty,
And sometimes wish I was never there.
There are dark souls seeking freedom,
From the pandemic we have placed on ourselves called the human race.
All these days on Earth have,
Made me pile up a lot of experience,
That I’m sure can be a safe place to ponder. Safe Haven.
Drich would be there for everyone,
But everyone would be there for everyone,
If you know what it means.
A new world awaits me. I know.
It's beautiful to live,
But it's dreadful to live outside and die inside.
Within, you know there is a graveyard,
For you have sacrificed a lot for your peers.
Now all I see is black and white.
For those who don't read blogs or know of Jan's successful first book, I've written a limerick for her and included it in my comment on her blog. She's included her interview in a podcast. I was asked to post my limerick here as well. If anyone would like to write a limerick in honor of her first publication, please join in and send me a limerick, or even a note to congratulate her. Thank you.
Jan, our Queen of Poop has a sexy voice
Crowned as Limerick Queen, she is our choice
But oh my lordy
Some are quite bawdy
Book sales are good ~ she's getting a Rolls Royce
by Lin Lane
Jan's poems are clever and funny too
Full of bawdy lines and some about poo
Comedy at its best
Her poems will attest
Read" A giggle a day" to not feel blue
by Tania Kitchin
No rolls Royce or Winnebago camper van
A sedia gestatoria, for Jan
One with a floating loo
For outdoor number two
Carried shoulder high around the Isle of Man
by David Kavanagh
LONG LIVE THE QUEEN
Jan Allison has written her first book
It was a mammoth task she undertook
Preview it on amazon
I'll guarantee you'll want one
I've read a bit and my whole body shook.
by Tom Cunningham
Jan nixed the idea of getting a Rolls
She opted to put wheels on toilet bowls
Her farts serve as a horn
She ignores those who scorn
And she never gets stopped to pay bridge tolls
by Mark Koplin
In a bathroom where tales tend to unfold
And humerous secrets are often told
There’s a plop and a cheer
Laughter rings loud and clear
In porcelain chambers poems are sold
by Arthur Vaso
Poetry Soup’s Queen of Poop
has made herself a news scoop!
She published her book
and that’s all it took.
A second book is now in the loop.
by Linda Alice Fowler
Congratulations Limerick queen Jan
A poetess who’s from the Isle of Man
Pleased your book is a hit
A giggle a day gift
From an hilarious comedian.
by Beryl Edmonds
The quest for eternity (Jeff Bezos)
He awoke under the bed; it had been his birthday
and had drunk champagne and eaten Danish pastry
He stretched, feeling stiff, walked to the kitchen, opened
the fridge took out cheese, tomatoes, butter and
A bottle of beer, which thirstily drank.
The cleaning lady had been everything was in order
but wondered where guests had gone and when they left
The house was quiet, not a sound from the street
looking out, he saw cars stopped, some with open doors
like they had been abandoned in haste, must be something
important going on, he thought, walked into the bathroom
had a shower and shaved.
In a bakery/café, he had a sandwich and coffee, which he had
to make himself since no one was around
It dawned on him people had left for a reason unknown
and everything, cars, cigarettes and beer, was free and only
For him to enjoy.
A Rolls Royce that had belonged to the mayor stood in the street
as he had never driven an expensive car before he started
The car, what smooth ride, he thought, but where are the people?
At the plaza, he saw a dog that looked like the one he had
many years ago, called the cur’s name, but it growled at him
and ran away, frightened of him.
At an expensive restaurant walked into the kitchen, made
a good meal, and drank fine wine without worrying about paying.
The dog came in, to all friendly now understanding it had
to stick with this person to be fed.
Months went by, he had everything, but he had nothing there
no change, days were the same, he lost interest
in himself stopped shaving and bathing and wore the same pants
and shirt every day as time was endless no point doing anything
Life had lost its meaning; he had to take the matter into his own hands
took the lift up to the top of the building and jumped, but he descended
slowly and softly landed, he broke down and sobbed
He was doomed to live forever as a punishment for his wishes to
Be a master of life and death.
Back under the bed, he went to sleep an eternity away, but the dog
stood outside the bedroom crying, who is to feed it now?
Lenny was 30 and still living with his old cheese, everyone called, Lenny’s mum.
She was always on his Cadbury Snack to go find a trouble and strife for a chum.
“Geez, leave off mum, I’ve been looking down at the Punchbowl rubbity Dub”.
“Well Lenny, go to the grab a granny at the Rissole, Fridý night will ya luv”.
Friday came, Lenny put on his best bag of fruit and fired up his old VS Dunny Door.
With his pay in his sky rocket as he hit the frog and toad with the peddle to the floor.
Mum put some of dad’s old brill cream in his Fred Astaire before he left the house.
“Be good Lenny, me little china plate, if ya need a lift home give me a Wally Grout”.
Jenny was on the rock ‘n’ roll so she saved up her oxford scholars for a big night out.
She wasn’t flash to look at, with her bifocal monkey’s arses but she had a good jam tart.
She walked into the Rissole, tilting her leg as she let rip a decent Royce Hart.
Her dad would’ve said, “A bit more choke and it would’ve made you start”.
Jenny met Lenny at the near ‘n far, knowing he was giving her the old Captain Cook.
Introductions made and Lenny thought she was a bit of alright, as he had a second look.
They hit it off after Jenny’s Third vodka and Lenny’s fifth schooner of pigs ear.
Feasting on bar snacks of party dogs eyes, Jenny dripping the dead horse in Lenny’s beer.
A couple of young blokes walk up to Jenny and tried to give her Reg Grundies a flick.
Jenny started throwing cut lunches, smashing him on the Lionel Rose, then gave him a kick.
Lenny intervened, saying, “We don’t want any froth and bubble.” Before thing got nasty.
He took Jenny outside screaming, “He’s got a face like a half eaten pasty”.
And that’s how Lenny and Jenny met, Lenny’s mum was happy seeing Lenny with stars in his mud pies.
They got cash ‘n carried, had a couple of billy lids, that loved to eat burgers and fries.
It’s not at all romantic, but that’s how most Aussie love stories go.
Lenny and Jenny together forever, They’re mates most of us will know.
REFINING AND MAINLINING HYPERBOLE
Something reliable, desirable, easily obtainable and consistently good
So a junkie best know the right neighborhood
The right junkie to see who won’t stab you in the back
And who doesn’t have a deck of five aces to stack
Some junkies have held eights and aces and lived to tell the tale
When the “dead man hand’s” reputation came to fail
But tragically the guy with five aces came to die
It seems the number five was one digit too high
And that’s simply what happens when a junkie plays poker and bets too steep to boot
This, of course, is all hypothetical hyperbole for a hypodermic and the dope that some junkie wants to shoot
And a junkie who won’t shoot him in his attempt to shoot his way out of a showdown with death
While a junkie named, appropriately enough, “Junkie” on Eighty-Ninth Street and Lex takes his final breath
Because his old lady named, appropriately enough, Lady
As I always suspected, turned out to be Lady, a lady who was shady
And I find it unspeakable that a junkie wouldn’t warn another about a hot shot
Which, in junkie parlance, means the shot is hot but his body will soon be not
Because one grows room temperature rapidly after a hot shot amidst the stench of rotting flesh and muscle melting into a putrid mess
But don’t expect Lady, the shady lady, to ever confess
****….that junkie named Junkie owed Lady’s ex-old man too much money for a junkie named Junkie to owe
And Lady knew where Junkie hid a kilo of blow……….
To this day Lady the shady lady will tell you that she had no choice
And of course blames it on a chick no one but Lady seems to have known named Joyce
Whose dad owned a Rolls Royce
And whose half-Asian half American Indian step brother had a beautiful soprano singing voice
But that’s neither here nor there
However, I will tell you what is obstinately and obviously clear
A junkie better know the right neighborhood
Because the acrid aroma and stagnating stench of rotting flesh don’t smell very good
© 2012……free cee!
Man and his dog
He awoke under the bed, and it had been his birthday
drinking champagne, eating Danish pastry, and smoking Havana cigars
He walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out
a beer, which he thirstily drank while wondering why
Everything was so quiet
The maid had been in when he slept, and everything was in order
When did the guests leave, or had he partied with his teddy bear
Being lonely since his dog died
Looking out of the window, he saw many cars, and they had
No drivers and some had open doors as if abandoned in haste,
But what had happened?
In a bakery/café, he had a sandwich of cheese and tomatoes,
He made it himself since the lady who owned it
The café was not there.
It dawned on him that he was alone in the world, everything
He didn't need to share his good fortune with anyone,
Except for the cur outside that ran away and barked when seeing him
He tried the Rolls-Royce that belonged to the mayor
Yes, the ride was smooth, distracted by thoughts, he hit a lamp-post,
But never mind, there were other cars around
At an expensive restaurant where he once had dined,
He made and made himself a hamburger with hot fries
drunk on the most expensive red wine possible.
The dog that had growled at him looked at him through the window,
wagging tail, it knew he was the only one left to feed it
Months went by, and the window, his life, was getting a bit onerous,
just him and the dog following him around, getting fat from his overfeeding.
He stopped shaving, showering, and wearing the same pants
Since the day was endless anyway, why bother with personal hygiene
When there was no pressure to conform
Deeply depressed, he jumped from the top floor of
a tall building to end it all.
No such luck! He descended, slowly broke down, and cried freely
as the dog was the only witness to his sadness
Doomed to live forever, he lay down under the bed
But before falling into Nirvana's arms, he got up again
Someone had to feed the dog.