Priceless: The Bomb-You-Missed Slam-ifesto

(What I Slam For, Part One)

Looseleaf paper: $1.29 a pack
Number two pencils: $1.19 a pack
Me getting this off my chest?
Priceless.

Somebody asked me what I thought about slams
And since I’m into acronyms, I told them, “It depends;
Sometimes ‘slam’ can stand for
Supreme Lyricists Always Make it
Other times it can stand for
Sore Losers and Angry Muh’fuckas.”

Now, I’ve been in a lot of slams
And sometimes I’ve emerged as that “supreme lyricist”
Other times, I’ve emerged as that “sore loser”
And other times, I’ve even been that “angry muh’fucka”.
But bottom line?
If I have to choose between
being the cat who won the slam
And being the artist who rocked the mic the hardest
Then I’d rather be the artist who rocked the mic the hardest
regardless
Because the shit you get for winning slams is WEAK
And not just WEAK with an “A” but WEEK with an “E”
Because if it’s money you won in a slam?
You will blow that shit in A WEEK
If it’s a trophy you won in a slam?
You will lose that shit in A WEEK
And if it’s a title you won in a slam?
Everyone will forget that shit in A WEEK.

But that one cat in the slam?
The cat who refused to read his piece off the paper
because the shit was so hot he was afraid
that it would burn the paper to a crisp like wafer?
The cat who took the stage like he was Marvin the Martian
and the microphone was
his Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator?
The cat who had you feeling
like all those video tapes that you wasted
taping Def Poetry Jam episodes
would have been put to better use
taping his shows
because none of those jokers even came close?
The cat who had all the other poets in the slam
asking each other if they had any Grey Poupon
because he had turned all their tails into toast?
The cat who knew that he had a guaranteed “30” poem
that was tried and true
but instead he chose to do something brand new
that he’d just written on the way to the venue
because that’s what he wanted to get off his chest
and he refused to compromise for you?
The cat who couldn’t see it coming down his eyes
so he had to make the poem cry
and he made you cry too?

You might give him an 8.7
But you will never forget his stage presence
You might give him a 7.9
But you will never forget the cleverness of his lines
You might give him a fricking 6.6
But you will never forget the shit that he spits
Because slam-winners get respected for a second
But microphone-rippers get remembered forever
So when I slam?
My goal is to send y’all fellas home
with something to tell your girl!
When I slam?
My goal is to leave y’all ladies feeling like
your eyes just beheld
the eighth wonder of the world!
I want you to leave MY slam thinking, “Damn!
Drew is a gangster dude!
The new millenium remixed reincarnation
of Langston Hughes!”
That way, even when my Broke Baller bank balance
is negative
My respect level will still be in the billions
To the point that the cat who wins the slam
will be counting up his winnings and thinking,
“Damn, I ‘won’...
...but Droopy killed it!!”
So no matter what’s the outcome of the slam
Please believe my feelings won’t be hurt
Because if I don’t win
Whoever does win will only spend their prize money
copping copies of my book
and Droopy: Dat Boy’s A Fool t-shirts!

So to everyone who ever said
that the judges “robbed” me in a slam
Much love for the support, fam
But don’t worry!
Be happy!
I’m fine!
I got everything I came to get!
I had fun
I met some tight poets
And I fricking ripped that shit!!
Plus, in the process,
I came up with some new acronyms for “slam”
Like Spitting Lasers At Muh’fuckas!
Or, more to the point,
My Style is Like those Ads for Mastercard
Because what you paid to get in
was anything from five to ten
And what you paid to get ready to come here
depends on whether you got dolled up
in your “nicest”
But me baring my soul to you on this microphone?
That, my friends,
is priceless
And whenever I slam with this poem
As soon as I’m finished, I’m walking straight out the door!
I don’t even want to see your scores!
Because even five 10’s
Could never define this
Because
this
shit
is
PRICELESS.