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Review
Clay
The Duke on 42nd Street
November 1, 2008
Morgan Wycks
mwycks@nyconstage.org
Listing Information
Y’know my stomach does the flip-flop
When I hear the hip-hop
Cause it rhyme
All the time
Specially when it whine
Rappin’ bout a crime
It crackles on a head-set
To the point it make me bed-wet
Or it pumps up on the radio
But now it be a theatre show
Written by a white guy
Who thinks he make the game fly
Yeah, a play
For pay
Called Clay
Makin’ us pray
For the day
We all say
Hey
Stop!
Enough, enough
Rap aint’ no fluff
It got to have a plot
Which this one ain’t got
It just be Def Poetry Jam
Which for me is a scam
And a sham
I hate to be shouted at
But this guy thought he spouted phat
While I say no
You’re not my bro
So go
Spew on the street
While you trick and treat
And leave the stage alone
For a drama to be shown
No matter how you dress it up (sets – Meghan Raham, lights - Jason Lyons, costume – Emily Rebholz, sound – Joshua Horvath)
Inherently, you mess it up
By thinkin’ this is thea-tah
Where the creator can be a star
And here be the sad facts
The guy’s name is Matt Sax
Who wrote the show
When he was a soph-o-mo
Which gives us some clues
And this ain’t no news
Bout how low
The common denominator
Can go
But all I can commend
Is the rote memory that Matt send
Of word after word
With not one of them slurred
While he flip me the bird.
And let us be assured
That Matt ain’t no Moliere
Who used to show some truer flair
As well as impart
Some heart
And story
With lingo a-glory
And a theme
With a beam
To reveal a human scheme
Or fault or sin
Where we all have been
But Clay
Nay
Unless it is to say
Don’t get too big for yo baggy pants
You think yo better than that guy from France
So in the end
When you have no friend
You’ll be shoutin’ out some draggy rants
Amen
...end
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