Skilled Trades

They ask what I do, I don’t know what to say
Am I a Jester? With words I do play
Or maybe a knight, got dragons to slay
But I’m more like a craftsman, working in words
Yea, a rhyme smith, pounding out verbs
You see I take my tongs and grab a point
Put it in my fire and make a red hot joint
Grab my hammer and pound it home
Pump these bellows to blow up your dome
These beats are the anvil that I’m working on
Sounds of work are the sounds of this song
And I keep on working shaping this metal
Doing what I gotta to prove my mettle
Till I gotta take it off the heat and let it settle
Pause and let the crowd cool down
Can’t see it now but I’m forging a crown

Break time’s over now its back to the grind
My mouth is a furnace got fire in my mind
Reheat the beat and awake the coals
Light from ashes makes food for souls
I can handle this heat so I’m in the kitches
Baking up this batch so finger lickin
Good master smith cookin at my forge
Crafting rhymes deeper than a gorge
Glimpse the abyss underneath my veneer
You still polite but I can smell the fear
Don’t worry about me I expel my madness
Throw it on the page and I never miss
Then I take my pen and I craft away
Work in this smithy like every day
Molding words feels like playing with clay
Writing poetry just to feel ok