Post by Lora Shaw on Nov 18, 2014 3:20:19 GMT
“I don't know, guys. I mean, I'm a fantastic singer – but rapping?”
Our scene opens up inside “Mic N' Ike” Music; the low-budget recording studio located in Brooklyn. Lora Shaw is positioned inside the sound booth, staring through the glass and into the mixing studio at her husband Warren and local producer, LaShaun Michaels.
Warren: “Look, it's easy. If pimps and drug addicts can do it, then so can you.”
Lora can hear him through her head phones and looks a little nervous, as she stands in front of the microphone.
Lora: “Why can't I just sing to them?”
Warren sighs and rolls his eyes, growing impatient with his gorgeous wife.
Warren: “Because; like I told you before, we're not dealing with regular people here, darling. We're sending a message to a pot head and someone who masks the fact that he's homeless by calling himself a superhero. These are the lowest echelons of society, sweetheart – so we need to speak to them in a way that they understand.”
Lora: “Gangster rap?”
A smile creeps over the chiselled face of her husband.
Warren: “Exactly. The lowest form of music out there. Now, my boy LaShaun here has got the track, so all you need to do is say whatever comes to mind. Don't even think about it. It'll be like talking the lyrics of a song; that's all.”
Lora exhales deeply and nods, investing her trust in Warren's belief of her abilities. He pats LaShaun on the back and rubs his shoulder.
Warren: “Okay, home boy. Ready when you are.”
Michaels looks visibly annoyed at the stereotypical language being used by Warren, who is clearly out of his depth here. Rather than argue it, he begins to feed the INSTRUMENTAL TRACK into the sound booth; a move that panics Lora.
Lora: “Ah, what if I can't think of anything?!”
Warren: “Lora, you're poorly educated and you're from the West Coast. If you can't rap, something is seriously wrong.”
She's too tense to recognise the insult and begins to count herself in, starting at twenty two seconds into the track.
LaShaun stops the track and there's a moment of silence that follows – an awkward one. Lora is trembling and looks through the glass to the speechless pair.
Lora: “What? What'd I do?”
Her husband grins.
Warren: “You killed it, darling!”
Our scene opens up inside “Mic N' Ike” Music; the low-budget recording studio located in Brooklyn. Lora Shaw is positioned inside the sound booth, staring through the glass and into the mixing studio at her husband Warren and local producer, LaShaun Michaels.
Warren: “Look, it's easy. If pimps and drug addicts can do it, then so can you.”
Lora can hear him through her head phones and looks a little nervous, as she stands in front of the microphone.
Lora: “Why can't I just sing to them?”
Warren sighs and rolls his eyes, growing impatient with his gorgeous wife.
Warren: “Because; like I told you before, we're not dealing with regular people here, darling. We're sending a message to a pot head and someone who masks the fact that he's homeless by calling himself a superhero. These are the lowest echelons of society, sweetheart – so we need to speak to them in a way that they understand.”
Lora: “Gangster rap?”
A smile creeps over the chiselled face of her husband.
Warren: “Exactly. The lowest form of music out there. Now, my boy LaShaun here has got the track, so all you need to do is say whatever comes to mind. Don't even think about it. It'll be like talking the lyrics of a song; that's all.”
Lora exhales deeply and nods, investing her trust in Warren's belief of her abilities. He pats LaShaun on the back and rubs his shoulder.
Warren: “Okay, home boy. Ready when you are.”
Michaels looks visibly annoyed at the stereotypical language being used by Warren, who is clearly out of his depth here. Rather than argue it, he begins to feed the INSTRUMENTAL TRACK into the sound booth; a move that panics Lora.
Lora: “Ah, what if I can't think of anything?!”
Warren: “Lora, you're poorly educated and you're from the West Coast. If you can't rap, something is seriously wrong.”
She's too tense to recognise the insult and begins to count herself in, starting at twenty two seconds into the track.
I dish out beatings in the ring but here's a verbal beating out of it,
I sing instead of rap, but either way you'll like the sound of it,
You're in the tag team tourney up until we knock you out of it,
Our flawless submission game will make you tap or choke you out a bit.
8-Ball & Lunar don't stand a chance – no offence,
'Cause our strength lies in submission and you're weakness is defence,
As far as fights go, this one is lacking in suspense,
'Cause you strangers are gonna find this couple far too intense.
To be the best team, you need the strength and stamina,
and my amazing husband Warren has more than both of ya,
We're not new to tag teaming, but this is new to both of ya,
Your weed and mask won't save ya when we get a hold of ya.
I don't expect this to be easy, you're not weak everywhere,
but if I run it in to trouble, I'll sneak around with style and flair,
I tend to get away with murder in this wrestling affair,
with my dirty cheating tactics, getting caught is mighty rare, so!
“No-one's ready to deal with us!
No escapin' this!
No escapin' this!
No escapin' this!
No-one's ready to deal with us!”
Our experience and mental game is far superior,
'Cause your focus and composure is vastly inferior,
as a team we outclass you, there's no need for fearing ya,
but there's so much about us that should put the fear in ya.
8-Ball is far too much of a stoner to bring this war,
he abuses weed so much, I doubt he knows what it's for,
he'll spark up a couple doobies and like an Eagle he'll soar,
so high until I bitch slap him back down to the floor.
Lunar is a mystery that no one knows a lot about,
although his wrestling repertoire is easy enough to scout,
he's a typical acrobat with a tendency to fly about,
so we'll lock him in an arm bar, break his wing and tap him out.
He's proven he knows nothing, he thinks we're sister and brother,
Warren and I are married, fool, with two sets of fathers and mothers,
He doesn't know us just like they both don't know each other, so...
“No-one's ready to deal with us!
No escapin' this!
No escapin' this!
No escapin' this!
No-one's ready to deal with us!”
I sing instead of rap, but either way you'll like the sound of it,
You're in the tag team tourney up until we knock you out of it,
Our flawless submission game will make you tap or choke you out a bit.
8-Ball & Lunar don't stand a chance – no offence,
'Cause our strength lies in submission and you're weakness is defence,
As far as fights go, this one is lacking in suspense,
'Cause you strangers are gonna find this couple far too intense.
To be the best team, you need the strength and stamina,
and my amazing husband Warren has more than both of ya,
We're not new to tag teaming, but this is new to both of ya,
Your weed and mask won't save ya when we get a hold of ya.
I don't expect this to be easy, you're not weak everywhere,
but if I run it in to trouble, I'll sneak around with style and flair,
I tend to get away with murder in this wrestling affair,
with my dirty cheating tactics, getting caught is mighty rare, so!
“No-one's ready to deal with us!
No escapin' this!
No escapin' this!
No escapin' this!
No-one's ready to deal with us!”
Our experience and mental game is far superior,
'Cause your focus and composure is vastly inferior,
as a team we outclass you, there's no need for fearing ya,
but there's so much about us that should put the fear in ya.
8-Ball is far too much of a stoner to bring this war,
he abuses weed so much, I doubt he knows what it's for,
he'll spark up a couple doobies and like an Eagle he'll soar,
so high until I bitch slap him back down to the floor.
Lunar is a mystery that no one knows a lot about,
although his wrestling repertoire is easy enough to scout,
he's a typical acrobat with a tendency to fly about,
so we'll lock him in an arm bar, break his wing and tap him out.
He's proven he knows nothing, he thinks we're sister and brother,
Warren and I are married, fool, with two sets of fathers and mothers,
He doesn't know us just like they both don't know each other, so...
“No-one's ready to deal with us!
No escapin' this!
No escapin' this!
No escapin' this!
No-one's ready to deal with us!”
LaShaun stops the track and there's a moment of silence that follows – an awkward one. Lora is trembling and looks through the glass to the speechless pair.
Lora: “What? What'd I do?”
Her husband grins.
Warren: “You killed it, darling!”
