Intro:

In the damp, jaded place where they couldn't teach this child
There's a group that meets twice weekly, to unleash their minds
Of sick dreams and ill thoughts. Hidden in our coats,
Each story told, real and bold with thought prevoking quotes
In our boats we paddle broken oars in capsizing oceans
as the speaker circles the group in a clockwize motion,
I begin to tell my tale of the hurdles that have challanged me
And the life of malice that's damaged my personallity
On the edge of my seat, fingernails bitten to my knuckles
Like a weed fiend in school critiques with a nervous case of chuckles
I gasp for breath as I know my turn is coming soon
One more fool to address the room then it's doom...
Four minus three and countin', engulfed in liquid like a fountain
My heart's poundin' at rates astoundin' lookin' at the faces surroundin'
They won't understand me, I think I'll need a plan b
Mentally, I've had more injuries than the career of Marcus Camby
Will I stand out like a pink hat with an outfit that's lime green?
Well he's just finnished his last words and has handed the stage to me,
So let's see...

Pen:

Hi, my name is Pen and I'm a HipHopaholic
The culture user/abuser man, whatever you wanna call it
Every movement has been influenced by a break
Try and remove me from this state and I'll quake with the Harlem Shakes
I tried to kick it a few times, cold turkey with no assistance
this led to kickin' more rhymes with fury when I spit it
though I'd never intended to end up in this frame of mind
Occaisonal recreation was easily swayed into all the time
As a child, I'd often hide a tape deep within the basement
So my parents couldn't find, rewind or worst, confiscate it
they hated it when I played it, assuming it persuaded
Me to act differently when I was visibly inhibriated
seconds to turn to minutes and minutes lead to hours
This same arrangement of ours displays a sequence of power
In the first-timer's affliction with a Hip Hop addiction,
there's no way to resist it, after one listens to their first hit
Beats lead to rhythms and rhythms result in rhymes,
Leading the listener to scribble his own dribble between the lines
And there's a fine line that devides the next man's from mine,
not only fluent when I do it, but I influence the use of minds
Even today as I speak, I'm tipsy off turntable scratches
Numark or Technics, the revolution has me blasted
I'm attending this meeting 'cause I was caught pennin' graffiti
Last night at 10 in the evening when I thought onlookers were sleepin'
Bare with me, I'm embarrassed to stand before you
We're all here for the same reason, yet I almost feel abnormal
This group therapy can't repair me, I'm 10 steps beyond that
I'd sooner take the electric chair or a beatin from an aluminium bat,
A double edged axe to disattach my spinal cord,
Then lay them back to back in alignment and accord
I only agreed to speak to y'all as a special guest today,
For you to please believe me when I say, "hip hop is not for play"
It'll take you day by day and refore you realize
It cosumes all your time and consequently ruins your life
To me it's like foreplay, you know I'm always down for it
I got like, 69 ways providin' improvement to my performance
But I'm gonna let the next man speak because my tone is gettin' boring
Besides it's late and I gotta hit a cypher tomorrow morning...

Skills:

Hi, my name is Skills and I'm a Hiphopaholic
It lifts my blood pressure like hydrollic metabolics
I've tried various tonics but still fling my shit like Jackson Pollock
Abstract spits from 'text pistols', 'never mind the bollocks'
My pschology was threatened when I became lead by illusions
Two hands cupped in Tower Records, beggin' for contributions
I was losing my sanity and removed from society
And confined to my room in a gruesome noose of sobriety
For my fix, the doctor prescribed mitts to attach my digits
To quit me holdin' pens in my grip or slashin' slits in my wrists
My dad took away all my cds and notes from the floor,
My moms posted my meals underneath the bolted door
I screamed for compassion, but they just ignored my every call
scratching at the ceiling as I went clawing up the walls
From this beat curse, I'd stripped off my paintwork like turps
I could only spit vommit that spilled down my t-shirt
So with a pen-knife to the wall I etched in free verse:
"I would digress into depression if I questioned my free expression
And God bless the poetically obcessed who learn lessons of direction"
It was refressing to get some some shit down inside my cell,
My lab had been ramshackled and turned to darkest hell
I've fell by the wayside on the road of mental health
I joined this group therapy to pull myself down off the shelf
and start to live again, apart from my heart and my true love
I would rather die than give it up, if push really came to shove
So I'm here seeking assistance from like minded individuals
Who are also afflicted as I compose my own obitual
This ritual of rhyming and word connection has to stop
I must take each day as it comes, pretending I never loved Hip Hop.