Blog

I prefer life without if possible, so here is a light-hearted blog with some extras, for those who have read the book and would like to see more. And if you read all the way to the bottom here, you can read restaurant reviews and then you will meet MC Rhymebeard, and be treated to his 10 pages of epic gangster rapping. This page is just for fun. But before all that...

One of my favourite interests: drinking chocolate for breakfast.

Mainly it's just photographs of Starbucks cups though. Like this one - that’s not my name, version 2,417. You have to love them though, this one is truly legendary. So, to conclude, my name is Sead Seferovic, pronounced "Se-ad". Here are some of the names I have been called in my life:

Seed, Saeed, Siad, Sinbad, Sally, Shelley, Ian, Shaud, Sid, Sidney, 'vic, Sayed, TLTITS, Sebastian, Sabian, Said, Say-ad, Sahib, Seal... the list goes on... Is it any wonder that the chumps at Starb*cks always get it wrong? Still, this beats the lot.

Explanation of the name “Seed Bellow” - on Instagram my tag is Seed Bellow – although my actual name is Sead (“Se-ad”). I did this because it is catchy and although it is not difficult, people find my name hard to pronounce. “Seed” is an ironic nickname. Bellow comes from the surname of one of my favourite writers, Saul Bellow. Hope that clarifies the name.

Still, maybe it's better to photograph Starb*cks cups than pictures of selfies and cute little animals. Or maybe not.

Wonderful Fans:

Recently one of my fans, Julia Schmidinger, created this wonderful painting, based on my photography work. I am deeply flattered and I am sure that you will agree that she is extremely talented. This is a link to her Instagram -

https://www.instagram.com/js_painting_

The painting was made on wood and is based on my photograph “Paradise Found”, which was created while travelling in Kyrgyzstan. Thanks again to Julia!

Music Video for Mayan Factor reaches 300,000 Views!

I made this video in 2009 and I am deeply humbled by this. This in itself is unbelievable but I also want to thank the guys in the band for continuing to stick with my work and continuing to promote it. I gave up my old YouTube channel and the music videos I filmed but this song Warflower will always be a part of my life and the video reflected a special journey for me at the time it was made. 300,000 views later, it's just unreal. But my video was never an original film that I recorded and this pained me as I would have wanted to record something myself that was truly special to fit the song. It was made from stock footage, but I still put my heart and soul into it. Now that I do my own original photography on www.instagram.com/seed_bellow and also on my website www.seadseferovic.com I am still influenced by the music of my formative years like this track Warflower and I’m just mega hyped and so happy that the band still love my video.

At Home With My Books:

At home with my books. Taken while preparing for my journey on the silk road, which is within the book "Scenes from my Life: Understanding the World". I hope you have read it in full, from start to finish? I don't get to spend much time at home these days because of relentless travelling and adventure, but some of my experiences are still stored here at home. Though with the recent self-isolation due to the Coronavirus pandemic, this place is once again getting some love.

Restaurants

My favourite restaurants in London by world cuisine, a list by Sead Seferovic

During my travels around the world, I’ve eaten in some truly wonderful places. In a restaurant in Uzbekistan, I could have died happy. So, on a day off in London, I decided to revisit one of my favourite restaurants and had a truly succulent meal of epic proportions. Actually, I’ve been meaning to write this list for quite a while, but never got around to it. I decided to make a brief list of all my favourite restaurants in London, the strict rule being one per world cuisine only. I didn’t think about it all that much, because it’s just for fun. So, here goes:

Persian food-Mahdi Persian restaurant, Hammersmith (pictured above) - these guys just do it so right. Iranian cuisine at its finest and they always bring the joy. I had the Cheloo Bargh with extra saffron rice and a non-alcoholic cocktail of lemon, mint, and some kind of extra ingredient I never identified. I think it was possibly spinach. It was beautiful and the intricate red Persian rugs and beautiful design of the restaurant, as well as the warm, friendly and welcoming proprietors make this a truly special place, nestled in the heart of the otherwise awful area of Hammersmith and radiating beauty for miles around. 10/10.

Turkish- Ozlem restaurant, Dalston - I was first introduced to this place by my sister. I love Turkish food. On reflection, the Turkish cuisine is probably my favourite cuisine of the world. The best thing to have here is the Iskender kebap. A lamb kebab on a bed of bread and yoghurt, twice over. It is really quite incredible. If you haven’t tried it, you haven’t lived.

Japanese- Fushan, New Oxford Street. I chose this place out of all of the Japanese places out there because it felt like being back in Kyoto. It’s relatively inexpensive and the sushi is excellent. When you sit at the bar and they make the sushi, you are treated to an authentic Japanese experience, of the customer always being greeted with hospitality and looked after to the utmost, as well as being involved in the process a little. Once they saw I could wield the chopsticks like a weapon, I had their respect. Or maybe it was because I ate everything there.

Chinese- The Sichuan restaurant, Old Street - of all the hundreds of Chinese joints I could have chosen, I went for this one, because it was the last place I ate at and I’m still discovering the bomb that is Sichuanese cuisine. It’s the spiciest, most fiery cuisine in the world, without question. It took me back to being in China and bravely eating an incredible dish that made the inside of my nose go on fire, my eyes water, and make me almost scream for help. Once I acclimatised to the heat extremity of the situation, I found it revealed flavours previously unknown to man. I knew I was in Xanadu, at the temple of Kublai Khan, tasting the joy of life itself in the land of Shangri-La. Rapturous.

Indian- Flavours of India, Hounslow. It’s a long way out to go, but worth it. There is no such thing as “Indian” food. The concept of “India” is an artificial construction imposed by the British Empire for historical reasons, usually for the purposes of exploitation, control and bloodshed. In India, there are perhaps a thousand languages and many varied and different cultures of people. Just like that, there are perhaps a thousand different types of cuisine. Because of this, the quality and type of Indian restaurants varies so widely, maybe more widely than anywhere else. If you discover a bad Indian restaurant, avoid it. But if you discover an excellent one, you must treasure it. And that brings me to this place. Here I discovered perhaps my favourite food of all time in the world, the Saag Ghost. Upon chatting to an Indian fellow in another restaurant, I learned that this is actually a type of goat - the sauce is made from ground spinach and spices. Whenever I tried a new Indian place, I would always judge it by whether they had the Saag Ghost on the menu. Some places gave me a minty green drizzle that could not pass muster even as the diet of Britney Spears. Some places gave me leafy spinach that was so overbearing to the curry that I was outraged. And then there was Flavours of India, who did it perfectly and brought tears to my eyes. Do it.

British- Andrew Edmunds, Soho - my friend James, who is a food critic, took me to a lot of great places over the years, though he focuses on French food a lot. But my favourite is the Andrew Edmunds restaurant, one of the true gems of Soho. A place where “Lunch Means Lunch”, in an epic tale of two old pals who engage in witty dialogue over a heroic lunch, consisting of bitter duck, creamy gnocchi, moist potatoes and raw pigeon. Lunch happens here, and it is good. Tell your fam.

Italian- Casa Tua, King’s Cross - I went for this place because of its warm, friendly and intimate atmosphere. The pasta was very simple but full of flavour. When I was in Italy I would try two primi at a time, in an attempt to find the perfect carbonara, and the perfect lasagne, at the same time. But it never happened for me that both were perfect. I live and dream of making it happen somehow. Anyhow, anyone will tell you that the secret is the pasta. And the pasta here is really good.

So, that is all I have time for right now. I had to be strict and only write about one restaurant per world cuisine. It’s good to keep a record of my London food journeys here on the website. Perhaps one day I will write much more on the subject.

Love and hugs, from Sead.

And then I discovered this place.

Restaurant Review - Karma Restaurant, Exeter

Thoroughly recommended in every sense, Karma Restaurant, offering quality Indian cuisine, attains the very highest level of culinary perfection. I have eaten at many of the most wonderful restaurants around the world, yet hand on heart, I swear that right here in Exeter is one of the very best. The standout dish was the Saag Ghost, a fiery infusion based around a ground spinach curry, made with free-range Welsh lamb, prepared beforehand in a tandoori grill and brought to life by a unique blend of spices that scintillate the whole area of the palate; the back of the mouth alive with the bitter taste of the spinach, while yearning for the secret ingredient. And this is it - the Peshwari naan. If one eats this particular naan at the same time, the sweet, nutty consistency offsets the bitterness perfectly, and the front of one’s palate is satisfied at the same time, leaving one’s whole senses overwhelmed and every area of taste maximised in a holistic experience. The rice attains a similar level of near perfection, long-grain, dry and succulent, bringing only a mild hint of garlic to the fore and allowing the ghost curry to do its magic and take over the palate, without being an imposition. I am delighted that I discovered this restaurant when it first opened, and I was one of the only patrons. Now it is one of the most acclaimed restaurants in Devon. And I am happy that at least someone still thinks that I am patronising. The chefs do a wonderful job, the quality is never sacrificed, and the waiting staff are good guys, friendly and easy to banter with. The owner also works hard on the decor and ambience, that lays out an atmosphere of soft lighting and calm inner peace, befitting of a restaurant drawing inspiration from Buddhist philosophy. Please note that this is their photo, not mine, and I do not claim copyright. However I do claim to have eaten at an exceptional restaurant, whose excellence deserves to be recognised.

Favourite meal:

Here we have a prime example of one of the finest things that can be found in this life - the Halep Kebap. Like the Iskender kebap, but with a focus on tomato and paprika over a bed of bread and yoghurt. Admit that you want it too.

Rapping

Bonus Material:

The Hip-Hop Wasteland

This is my evil alter-ego "MC Rhymebeard" speaking. Sometimes he starts spontaneously rapping at polite dinner parties, for no apparent reason. He last wrote a rap around 2016, but one day, he might return. Before you proceed, you should know that it is not supposed to be taken too seriously.

Parental Advisory – Explicit Lyrics. ***Warning – May Contain Irony*** Best taken with a shot of tequila – and a pinch of salt.

Uh. Yeah. Uh. Yo. What. Guess who's back? Rhymebeard. Uh. Rhymebeard 2016. Hip-Hop battle champion, greatest rapper of all time.

OK. Rhymebeard – let 'em have it:

Word up, I'm a ninja,

I'm so ill I'll mentally unhinge ya,

Stab a playa hater in the face with a syringe-ah,

Hungry as hell, I eat this rap game for dinner,

Even when I lose my shit I still come up a winner,

Your rhymes are inedible, my rhymes are incredible,

Your flow on the mic sounds like a beginning beginner,

You just a rap rank amateur,

I'm a flaneur, an auteur and a connoisseur,

I'll make your mama purr and leave my crib in a blur;

Serve you up the best shit that gets a Michelin 4 star rating,

Leaving you eating at McDonald’s and waiting,

And doing other rhymes that I should not be stating,

Quit your player hating,

You'd best defer to Rhymebeard, hip-hop monstrosity,

Rhymes fly at terminal velocity, dangerous shit, this is brilliant precocity,

Your rap's an atrocity, witness rap virtuosity;

Hip-hop messiah, real life Jesus,

I walk into your meeting and the beard starts rapping when it pleases,

Muppet haters seeking God: their creator Jim Henson, he created Kermit,

I'm regulating the rap industry – and you won't get a permit;

Deliciously ludic, lucid rap Lucifer, my lyrical supremacy's ludicrous -

'Cause I've got hoes, in different tube stops on the Piccadilly line,

Leave haters depleted like my Oyster card and then you'll have to pay a fine;

Yo I'm something like the hip-hop giraffe,

My skill's way off the graph,

Stick my neck out to reach the highest skills they can't teach,

Respect the ascension, I'm thrusting,

Every time the beard drops a line, they're adjusting.

You're chewing the cud, you're something like the hip-hop llama,

I'm addicted to the hood drama,

You ain't Breaking Bad let alone breaking even,

I'm breaking rap records like Phelps, scream for help, your widow grievin'

You're my codpiece, think you can rap? Bitch please,

Hang your shit up in the Tate this is art, like Matisse,

Hang a snitch up off the balcony, Tony Montana shit,

Pass me the mic and I punish it;

I Sexit, you Brexit,

My rap's not for Netflix and chilling,

This is 50 Shades of Rhymebeard, got you in bondage, it's thrilling,

Rap capitalist creditor, you owe me,

I'm the type of rapper that's not your homie.

You're universally challenged, I'm a Criminal Mastermind like John Humphrys,

You a rump of beef chump, shit hair like Trump, this you can't deny,

Like or lump I'm always pumping a cast iron alibi,

I'm phat, with a high ph rating, like an alkali,

You're festively plump, a jolly tippler from a painting by Hogarth,

I'm the rap bogeyman, you've got the hump like Bogart.

Here's looking at you kid, in the rear-view mirror, this is Casablanca,

Haters are up shit creek – and I've got the paddle – Rhymebeard's gonna spank 'ya.

There's rhyme even if there's no reason, it's Rhymebeard season, this is rich pickings,

I've got great expectations, you need to lower yours like Charles Dickens,

I'm slayin' the raps, just like Nando's is slayin' thousands of chickens.

Your rap's like a TV set on honeymoon – unnecessary,

I'm the Boss, write it down, you're the secretary,

I'm the rap Taj Mahal, magnificent erection,

I'm spraying bullets from my pistol in every direction;

Philosophical raps, bitch you existential,

Like Socrates corrupting the youth, I'm influential,

Idealistic Jean-Paul Sartre rapper, I'll explode the mental prison,

Quixotic motherfucker, you an anachronism,

This is present day empiricism - I'ma make you look at life through my prism,

You're like Camus, Sisyphian constraint, forever rolling up the boulder,

I'm like Jay-Zed, I brush the dirt off my shoulder -

'Cause if you're having rhyme problems, I feel bad for you son,

I got 99 problems but a rhyme ain't one;

Dostoevsky of hip-hop, bloody-axe Raskolnikov raps - I'm killin' it,

Your rap remorse guilty conscience - I ain't feelin' it;

I use the Socratic method of rap, let you speak, then rebut it,

I'm a diamond in the rough, hardest substance on Earth, your rhymes won't cut it.

I was raised by the mean streets of Devon,

Where hoes just want a line to send you to heaven,

Master of the English tongue, cunninglinguist,

Verbal ecstacy, I'ma handle my business,

In the room they come and go, talking of Rhymebeard's flow,

The good, the bad and the ugly - my rhymes, your rhymes and your mum,

You know that it's true so you'd best keep shtum,

Haters talk out they bum - if you don't believe me look it up on Wikipedia,

That's the kind of shit that's not reported in the media;

I'll put you down like a vet,

Bookies call off all bets,

Am I gonna win the rap battle? We've already been through it,

Does a bear shit in the woods? Well, where else would it do it?

Crimebeard on the loose, alert the neighbourhood watch,

My skill on the mic rarely seen like the motherfuckin' Sasquatch;

I'ma give it to you raw like a carrot,

You rhyme like a parrot,

Your personality leaves a lot to be desired, namely, a personality,

With flows that lack originality,

I'm so real that I invented reality.

Vituperative rap viper, lyrical sniper, this is Snakebite, you just a shandy,

Hater chat breeze, hater dead, like John Candy.

Playa-hater, I want some of what you're on, which is the end of a mop,

Because I'll wipe the floor with you and the whole of hip-hop,

Leave it Shining like Kubrick, here's Rhymebeard, head through the door, pure savagery,

We're gonna need a bigger boat like Jaws, I'm a whale, you're an average G;

I'll silence you like Chaplin and Buster Keaton,

Cross me on the street and we be grapplin' and you'll get a beatin'

Rap Hemingway, say farewell to your arms, my reach abundant,

You'll get a severance payment too because your brain redundant;

Steppenwolf in wolf's clothing, I'm sporting new Adidas sneakers,

You're the Emperor's new clothes – look out for streakers.

Show the 'beard respect, call in Poirot to inspect,

Another death upon the Nile, another hater in denial,

This ain't a rap, this is evidence to be used in my trial.

Yo I never come up short like Corbett,

I'ma blast off into the stratosphere, watch me orbit,

Your rap is Groundhog Day, seen it all before, like Bill Mooray,

You're a yoga DVD, I'm a horror Blu-ray.

This is LA gangland cartel syndicate shit, illuminati tattoos,

It was Rhymebeard in the library with a candlestick, I won't give you any more clues,

They kidnapped your brain, out of sympathy I paid the ransom fee,

Which was overvalued at 49p.

I'ma lay the smackdown on these fake ass gangstas, they twerking,

I'm a motherfuckin' steam engine freight train off the rails – and the brakes ain't working,

It's unstoppable like the Rhymebeard rap movement,

Crash into your crib, the wreckage gonna cause £1,000,000 worth of improvement.

Haters runnin' their mouth like a hamster on a wheel, they're going nowhere,

I'm going where no one goes, so sit the fuck down on your rocking-chair,

I sit my ass down on the rap throne and I'm sittin' pretty,

So let's down to the nitty gritty, your raps is pretty shitty,

I'm spraying bullets on your Facebook wall like they're graffiti;

I'm a legend like Zelda, call me Link,

Laugh my ass off when I hear your raps, they tickle me pink,

Youse a Mickey Mouse impersonatin' rapper, but this ain't Disneyland,

There ain't a heinous crime in which I haven't had a hand;

I'll fuck you up like Frank Zappa when he called his daughter “Diva Muffin” and his son “Dweezil”,

Fake rappers making bald statements, but they just shit actors, like Vin Diesel.

My rap's like a poisoned dagger laced with honey,

I can keep rapping and rapping for longer than the Duracell bunny,

It's a motherfuckin' long haul flight on the Emirates,

Still teaching basic rap skills to degenerates,

Yo I probably belong in a secure psychiatric facility,

Where I'll amaze the other patients with my lyrical ability,

I'm blessed with verbal facility, over your rap futility, it lacks credibility,

Better learn some humility, you hip-hop liability,

Your rhyme flew over the cuckoo's nest,

And landed in the motherfuckin' beard of the best,

Spat back at you with improved capability,

At least that's what you'll attest when you're put to the truth test,

My verbal rap bullets strike like a blow to your chest,

I suggest you quit cause I'm that inmate who runs the asylum,

I'm in my own phylum,

When I freestyle 'em have 'em under arrest, it's too much to digest 

And I'm motherfuckin' Rhymebeard possessed,

You can't touch this like MC Hammer,

You illiterate twat, I'm correcting your grammar,

Hip-hop velociraptor, carnivorous tyrannosaurus,

In my head there's an entire thesaurus,

You a hip-hop walrus, like the Beatles, you can't deal with the upheavals,

I'm the greater of two evils,

Utilitarian motherfucker, bitch this is Shakespearian,

I'm not a person, I'm an experience.

Sesquipedalian sonorous salacious stentorian sound,

I'm the most versatile rapper around,

Voilà, think you'll need subtitles to translate,

Still wanna hate? I'll throw you straight out the window, I'll defenestrate;

I'll burst your world like a bubble,

You'll get buried under the lyrical rubble,

Yo, even if you shaved the beard – there'd still be stubble;

I'm the rap foundation – you're wobblin'

Rhymebeard shoot you in the leg – you're hobblin'

Hater takes the biscuit – they're crumblin'

Hater praying to the rap God – it's humblin'

Honestly, you've go to admit, my rhymes are bitchin'

Syphilitic haters are like an STD – they're itchin'

[-----------------Redacted--------------------]

[-----------------Redacted--------------------]

You rap like Hugh Grant, stuttering over every syllable,

Or a lawyer sperm whose every thought is billable -

Lying haters grow their nose like Pinnochio,

I'll whip your wooden asses all the way from London to Tokyo;

Yesterday a little rap bellend came up to me on the street and said - “You're a bit of a prick, who's taking the mick”

Shit, he just tried to diss me, I could have sworn,

Son, I've been wrestling with bears since before you were born.

He put his hoodie up and started bustin' his shit,

So I took a couple of seconds to gather my wits and then Rhymebeard let him have it:

“I'm rhymin' like a demon motherfucker who's trippin'

Diss me on the street and you're bound to get a pistol whippin'

Test me I'll knock your block off you cock block you rock soft I rock hard you retard,

I'm strainin' off my leash until I hear that beat start,

Let me loose and you'll get ripped apart like Bonaparte,

Bitch I'm Napoleonic,

My style is ironic,

Your style is moronic,

My flow supersonic,

Your shit is laconic, bitch I'm demonic;

Choice one-liners, hip-hop's finest,

Inject myself into your bloodstream just like a virus,

The illest most villainous cynical musical lyricism,

Lighters are lit, to celebrate illuminated rhymes that's legit,

Cease and desist from all pedestrian sounds from your lips,

See I'll obliterate it with mellisonant shit that aims right where it hits,

Your unintelligible illegible lyricism makes no sense, enunciate,

Cutting remarks, guillotine raps that decapitate,

I'ma make this street get off the ground, watch me levitate;

This is polymath shit, for real I'm cerebral,

Illest of all time, bitch this is febrile,

You're a microscopic comic strip, this is astronomic cosmic shit, colossal hypnotic skits,

I'm a gangsta on some other shit,

Bit between my teeth when I decide to spit,

Bitch I'm for real, you're a counterfeit,

I shower you with wisdom that philosophers writ in ancient texts I transmit:

“And if you gaze too long into the Rhymebeard, the Rhymebeard will gaze into you”,

Into the dark abyss of your soul where the only way out is through,

I'm your worst nightmare, my beard sprouts on your face during sleep paralysis,

Yo that shit defies all rational analysis;

Gourmet fillet of steak, you're a scabby crust creme brulee,

You're a fluffly souffle, I'm a bald eagle motherfucker laser-eyed bird of prey”

And at that, the little twat bitch rapper, hung down his head, turned around and walked away;

See, these humpty dumpty egg motherfuckers sit on the fence,

Dracula rapper, creep up with stealth, leave 'em in suspense,

I push 'em off and make 'em crack like Escobar,

The Rhymebeard, the rhyme bard, I'll leave 'em mentally scarred,

Thermal standard of rap, I raise the bar,

Observe the thermometer exploding, their reputation eroding,

I'm the rap big cheese, you're fawlty like Cleese,

I'm towering above you, you venereal disease,

This is the rap VIP club, for you there's no admittance,

Right now I'm wearing murderous gloves, you're wearing fingerless mittens;

Every day the 'beard's attempting to give a fuck,

But if you're hoping I succeed you're out of luck,

Get down to business, rap entrepreneur like Branson,

You're a serial conversation killer like Manson;

Tongue in cheek, making it hard to speak, let alone rap, still this style is unique,

Beat you in rap battle any day of the week,

You talk in Orwellian doublespeak;

I'm from the school of hard knocks, first to knock, first admitted,

You take the rap, I get off with a rap on the knuckles – Rhymebeard's always acquitted,

Knock, knock – who's there? It's the beast -

Threatenin' to bust it down unless the latch is released,

I'm rap rap rapping on heaven's door, let me in, I'm the rap priest,

Street fighter, brass knuckles to the chuckleheads,

Knock 'em out like Tyson, raps charge like a bison,

Vacuuming haters up just like a Dyson,

Psychological warfare, the words are traumatic,

Raps leave them breathless like an asthmatic,

A beautiful mind like John Nash, I use mine to get the cash,

Robin of the 'Hood, robbin' banks like Bane, leave haters sobbin'

You're shit like Batman and Robin,

Prick up your ears, this is a stick up, gimme the loot, don't make me shoot,

Stick it in the back of my pickup, stash the loot near the owl sanctuary in Gloucester, I'm having a hoot,

Then I smoke a cheroot,

Illest patient in the psych ward, wrestling with an imaginary bear,

Rapping at Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great, jabbing his index finger in the air,

Babbling in biblical tongues and tugging at his hair,

This is satire on the grandest scale,

But y'all just think I might be crazy,

That's why you're looking so pale,

But I know it's 'cause you've seen the rap Ghost, like Patrick Swayze,

Life's a bitch for some, including Rhymebeard, life just ain't a beach,

And I know that some won't grasp me 'cause I'm out of reach,

Some playa-haters just don't “get it”,

But if there's an appetite for this, then Rhymebeard's gonna whet it,

They say it's mind over matter, and if you don't mind, it doesn't matter, but jealousy will consume you if you let it,

There's not a dry seat in the house when Rhymebeard be performin'

The Rhymebeard rollercoaster keeps on soaring,

But when it crashes down don't say I didn't give you ample warning,

I ain't a “non-sequitur rapper”, my shit's sequential,

To me you're all non-sequitur, so haters' shit's inconsequential,

I've really got the dopest bitchin' rhymes, self-styled,

I'll whip 'em like the Commons, make 'em Wilde,

'Cause Rhymebeard's got that uncommon thing called common sense,

So let common sense prevail when you sense the Rhymebeard blaze the trail,

I don't play by the rules, rationality's for fools,

When we sit down to play chess I win every time straight-away,

Because I grab the king off the board with my hand, laugh and walk away,

Check-mate fool, I call that mental efficiency,

I call your rapping deficiency;

Jesting aside, there's no need to rush it,

Rhyme it out, then I crush it,

Can't sleep at night, I toss and turn, constructing verbal algorithms,

Shaping neologistic aphorisms,

Rhymebeard's on another level, bitch this ain't a level playing field,

So I'm gonna level with you – you've gots to yield,

This ain't rapper's delight, this is the agony and the ecstacy,

Therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee,

So sound the bass horn,

A rap Titan is born,

Emerging from the Chaos, related to Erebus and Nyx,

Born from Gaia and Uranus, descending to Prometheus,

Stealing fire from the Gods and bringing it down to the humans for kicks,

I sat down and wept by the river Styx,

This is the Divine Comedy,

Told in rap terminology, from Rhymebeard to his progeny,

Revealing the rap prophesy, in hip-hop prosody,

Guided by Virgil through the human Inferno,

Through the nine circles of hell,

Into my hip-hop fortress, my rap citadel,

The Trojan horse containing the Rhymebeard, tolling the bell,

It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing, but it's a tale told well;

Enough is enough, of really quite unbelievable stuff,

I have seen things you people wouldn't believe,

Really unbelievable rap shit up my sleeve,

It's beguilin' at first, but when the smilin' out,

I've got a grouse against life, that's why I'm wilin' out

The local wit writ large ready to whip with a quippin',

That's why you'll never catch me under-prepared, never catch me slippin'

Youse tap-dancing in the moonlight, youse just some show-tunes,

This is a real hip-hop banger, produced by my homies Snowgoons,

With Vinnie Paz guest rapping, we bound to light it up,

I'm representing the UK scene, you need to give it up,

Hip-hop royalty, the game's got my loyalty,

Prime specimen, the thoroughbred beard breed,

My rap gallop at you with speed,

So when you hear the death rattle, I've won the rap battle,

Crowned the rap soldier King with the truth that I bring,

Lyrics that sting, leave haters sore, fans wanting more,

On the streets chat shit get stabbed,

Your mama's purse grabbed,

Inside the purse a picture of Rhymebeard with a few lines of his verse:

My beard on fire, when I spit that nuclear shit it's curtains,

I'm the greatest rapper alive, of that I am certain,

When I drop my Little Boy rap on their heads leave them screaming: shantih, shantih, shantih,

Exeunt motherfuckers, get off the stage – avanti.

LEGAL DISCLAIMER

MC Rhymebeard can confirm that no animals were harmed during the making of this rap.

Nothing in these raps is to be taken as a statement of fact - the whole thing is a sick joke.

MC Rhymebeard is an imaginary person and he is merely the product of the writer's imagination. The writer's life bears no resemblance to MC Rhymebeard and nothing that is said by MC Rhymebeard is a statement of fact relating to the writer, nor is it a statement of the writer's intention to do any such activities, such as what MC Rhymebeard has stated he might do to any person, for example, to someone who is a “playa-hater”.

If you have taken offence, it is probably because you are a chump.

Written by SS - 9 August 2016 to 15 August 2016

The writer asserts his proprietary rights over his shit. If Rhymebeard catches one of you UK rappers spitting some of his rhymes on SB.TV on YouTube, Rhymebeard might give them a “pistol whippin'" Acknowledgments: Everything in this rap is fresh - 100% organically grown produce, straight from somewhere in the writer's brain - Rhymebeard's referenced a lot of things, and in most cases, the reference has been worked into the text, so if ya know about it, it'll be clear where the reference is from. However in some cases, he hasn't provided the reference, so he now needs to "pay repeck" and acknowledge the following: The line "Your personality leaves a lot to be desired, namely, a personality" is taken from the film Hannah and Her Sisters, by Woody Allen. The line "Your rap's like a TV set on honeymoon - unnecessary" is adapted from what is uttered by Peter Sellers in the film Murder by Death. The line "You are not a person - you are an experience" is from the 1965 film A Thousand Clowns. The line "I'm the type of rapper that's not your homie" is adapted from something said by the US rapper 50 Cent in one of his shit raps. The two lines that have been [-------redacted-------] must not be written down - if you want to know what they are, you can ask me if you see me - I might write it down for you on a piece of paper, but then we would have to burn it. "Not a dry seat in the house" is from the god-awful film Coyote Ugly, but when digging around it seems to have come from another probably god-awful Broadway play, City of Angels by Larry Gelbart. Rhymebeard really hopes no-one looked up on Wikipedia to see whether "haters talk out they bum" - if you did, this is what you would get: The page "Haters talk out they bum" does not exist. You can ask for it to be created, but consider checking the search results below to see whether the topic is already covered. Rest assured, it isn't. Rhymebeard has rapped about a voluminous amount of Greek mythology - he doesn't need to reference it, because no-one reads that shit. The line "Therefore never seek to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee" is from one of the meditations by metaphysical poet John "Ya Dun' Know" Donne. The line "it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing" is from MacBeth by William "Big Willy" Shakespeare. "I have...seen things you people wouldn't believe" is a line from the film Blade Runner. Rhymebeard doesn't like sci-fi at all, but he does like this quote. The line "first to knock, first admitted" is taken from the opening paragraph of Saul Bellow's 1954 novel The Adventures of Augie March, which goes: "I am an American, Chicago born, Chicago - that somber city, and go at things as I have taught myself, free-style, and will make the record in my own way: first to knock, first admitted; sometimes an innocent knock, sometimes a not so innocent. But a man's character is his fate, says Heraclitus, and in the end there isn't any way to disguise the nature of the knocks by acoustical work or gloving the knuckles". If you've picked up the book and never got any further than that, I don't blame you. John Candy died of natural causes. When Rhymebeard says he is "Master of the English tongue, cunninglinguist" he is lickin' a line that came from the fact that there is actually a hip-hop group called the CunninLynguists, which consists of the rappers Deacon the Villain, Kno and Natti. Anyhow, the rapper Sadistik with the rapper Kno did a newish EP in 2015 called Phantom Limbs - it's pretty good - you might want to check that one out. "Chat shit get stabbed" is popular street slang, which is adapted from a phrase popularised by the esteemed philosopher, Leicester City footballer Jamie Vardy, in his 1903 paper "Net six and chill". Big up to urban dictionary for that one. "And if you gaze too long into the Rhymebeard, the Rhymebeard will gaze into you" - this is from Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich "Rap Head Teacher" Nietzsche: "He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze too long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee". "It's mind over matter, and if you don't mind, it doesn't matter" is a quote from Mark "Bling Chain" Twain, that's a matter of fact. "The only way out is through" is from a poem by Robert "Frosty Rap" Frost, when he goes "He says the best way out is always through. And I agree to that, or in so far As that I can see no way out but through - Leastways for me - and then they'll be convinced". "In the Room they come and go, talking of Rhymebeard's flow" comes and goes from the poem The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot: "In the room the women come and go, talking of Michaelangelo". The final lines "shantih, shantih, shantih" are taken from the final lines of T.S. Eliot's poem The Waste Land. In his note 433 of the notes to the poem he describes it as "Shantih, Repeated as here, a formal ending to an Upanishad. "The Peace that passeth understanding" is a feeble translation of the content of this word". Everything else you can look up on Wikipedia, the dictionary, or the urban dictionary and if there's anything else that hasn't been properly referenced and you wanna know, just ask me. Yeah, I know you wanna know, Rhymebeard uses Pantene Pro-V to shampoo his beard. The writer may or may not currently have one, but if not, rest assured - it can grow back at any moment. Notes: The definition of irony: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irony The definition of tongue-in-cheek: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tongue-in-cheek And that of satire: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Satire Index: Too much foul language to reference. Fuck the index. Further Reading: "They said it was decaf: and other stories" by Seed Seffield, Chapter 17, OUP, 2007 "The Collected Raps: 2009 - 2011" by MC Rhymebeard. This book contains the following raps of MC Rhymebeard, when he was still a youngster rapping on the street corner. As Walter Scott once said: "I have rarely if ever met anyone out of whom I could not extract amusement or edification". Although Scott never met Rhymebeard, he might have enjoyed some of his following raps: Pre-2016 Raps: On his beef with the actor Charlie Sheen: Yo I'm MC Rhymebeard, giving it to you clean, Telling you the truth about a homie called Charlie Sheen, This goes out to the man with a dream, To be in a sitcom and a bit-part in Scream, You say you've been in Wall Street, making a lot of dough, Well I'm from the real street, I've got homies on death row, You just a hoe, With a fat kid in a sitcom show, Your crew is 2 1/2 men, well that shit has me in stitches, My crew is 12 of my homies, and 17 bitches. You think you a real gangsta coz you been in rehab, But to me that just sounds like prefab, My crew over there don't remember anything you've been in, Oh yeah, Hot Shots Part Deux! And probably Little Women. Your old man Martin Sheen is more famous than you, And your brother Emilio Estevez too, Your hairstyle look ridiculous, sticking up like you scared for your life, Well I would be too if Denise Richards was my wife, Oh wait, she's hot, but she divorced your skinny ass, She's back in my crib now, sipping champagne from my glass. That fat kid on 2 1/2 men, we don't even know his name, You no longer have any fame, Don't hate the playa hate the game, Your real name is Carlos Estevez, you should change it back, You probably forgot you real name too coz you were high on crack, Now you're back, I'll pop a cap in yo' ass, Best not cross me on the mean streets of Islington yo, You a hoe, You're the worst damn actor there's ever been, I'm the realest rapper you've ever seen. On the language of the street: I ain't Weezy homies, this real, got this down to the izzle, this rap game's eazy, I'm sheisty, strapped down with nines, bizzles know, I'm breezy, All up in yo' hater grill, buckin' up drop a glock I'm for real son, That means I'm on top of my game, I'm G-izzle you a shook one, Grab a vest for my jimmy, pull another for my chest, For beef on the streets where they say I'm the best, Sippin' on dat 40, sassoon, I'm renowned, In the name of all my dead homies, pour a little on the ground, Tip of the top, strip the clip, grip the gat, cock then blast, hear a splat, this ain't hip-hop, See grime does pay the cheddar, I won't stop, Realest pimp alive, I married to the game, Bellow at me dawgz, you know my name. On his addiction to caffeine: Yo the rapping beard. Uhh. Yeah. Playa What. Rhymebeard. Rhymeabeard 2009. Rhymebeard. Yo. Uhh. Rhymebeard: My ass so full of caffeine I can hardly speak, I been a twitchin' nervous gangsta all damn week, Finger on the trigger yo I caffeined up, Got more shots of bean than bullet shots up in my Starbucks cup, I'ma pop some caps in fake ass bitches wit my slug blaster, I drink that shit before I go to sleep to make me dream faster, Yo I gots to get mine playa, sip dat caffeine shit, Inject some caffeine in my eyeball that's a good damn hit, Quit hatin' on a playa wit that caffeine heat, And that ain't just my heart yo that just missed a beat, I'm ill homie, and that ain't just the nausea and the goddamn shakes, My flow so quick in blood and rhymes it never wakes, Realer than Jay-Z, he's a decaf hoe, Yo I gots tolerance bitch, I bust that plateu, For real up in da club and we rollin' deep, High as hell on caffeine, ain't no need to sleep, Money, women, power, cappuccino, like Scarface said, Plus dat shit helps me relax and clear my head, I fully poisoned homie, go sip some chamomile teas, Wit da wack- ass fake pussies in the Black Eyed Peas, I'm a gangsta, and this is how I do, you know my style, If I get shot tonight by caffeine it'll be worthwhile. Dedicated to all my homies on the street, knocked down by caffeine poisoning. All y'all stabbed in the heart by cramp. This goes out to y'all. Yo shout out to my lil' homie El Nino the Cappuccino. Shout out to my homie Loco Mocha. Extra extra tall. All up in da hoods. Starbucks, Nero, Costa, Coffee Republic. My homies all over the world. Cream on top. We hold it down Westside. Westside. We sharp, haha. Playa what. Rhymebeard. Rhymebeard all up in this. Weed, Henne, y'all inferior. We caffeined up, 2009. Rhymebeard. Note: this rap references a film quote: "I drink a lot of coffee before I go to sleep so I can dream faster. I can dream like when they put a camera on the Indy 500... when they put a camera in the car, and it's just whipping by like that. Dream after dream after dream after dream. People ask me the next day, "What did you dream about?" I say, "I don't have time. I don't have time to tell you this"" from Coffee and Cigarettes (2003). On celebrating Pancake Day, one day in 2011: I'm so real, all the other gangstas is fake, I'm rolling through the hood just like a sugar-sprinkled pancake, I flip this game upside down, leave the other playaz flat, I'm stacked to the top, don't think you can handle that, I'm a gangsta 4 life, rise to the top like yeast, Batter these homies down, whip 'em up, leave 'em deceased, I'm a beast, From the streets of Islington where the shit goes down, Handlin' my business, bitch I run this town, More jam in than Bob Marley, I'm the realest pimp alive, My jam is when my gun freezes, pimped up Bentley when I drive, Faster than a pancake race at a village fete, Your rhymes are too slow, you're too wack, and you're too late, Guess it's fate, I was destined to be great, All time gangsta, don't hate, This ain't Shrove Tuesday, this quizzness Tuesday up in here, Hangin' in the Winch, sippin' beer wit my crew, Squid's up in the house, and we're gonna beat you, You'd best not try and test me son, I'm grimy and I'm real, you ain't half of a shook one, From the frying pan into the fire, leave you thin on pancake day, I'm the greatest rapper alive, and I'ma make you pay. In addition, Rhymebeard's sure there've been more raps and he's said a lot of things "off the cuff". If someone remembers some of these, please send them to him - he might give you a hug, and never let go. Anyhow, that's your lot. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to eat a sandwich.