Tha Illiad of MC Homer

Below is the text of MC Lula’s translation of Homer’s Iliad into modern English. A plain-text version appears in this Google Doc.

Book One: The Beef

Muse, rhyme of the beef of the son of Peleus

that piled mad grief all up on the Achaeans

and spurred to Perdition the souls of real gangstas,

yo, and for bitches an' crows they made banquets.

The mighty god Zeus's will was accomplished

when, fighting, those two was split up in contest:

Atrides, lord of men, and Achilles with the brilliance.

Which of the gods willed these two to militance?

The seed of Zeus and Leta, who was beefin' at the leader,

brought disease up in this piece; and the legions were deceasin',

'cuz the mighty king Atrides dissed a high priest, name o' Chryses,

for he beat feet to the fleet fleet of the Greek peeps with a pricey

ransom, countless in its bounty, for his daughter, who got captured,

with the chaplet on the pimp cane of Apollo (who will cap you

from a distance). and his mission: to petition the Achaeans,

'specially the two Atreides, the chiefs of Grecian defense:

"Lord Atrides, and Achaeans with greaves that are pimpest,

may the highest of the deities, who live on Mount Olympus,

let you pillage Priam's village, and return ya to your hood;

just release my dear Chryseis—an' you'll earn cash for my blood;

and you'll respect Apollo, packin' heat, the son of God."

Then all Achaeans holla'd back, that he was really good,

to acknowledge this apologist and take the handsome ransom

but his prayer found no favor when Atrides checked the scansion

He ejected him, and wrecked him with invective, bomb as missiles:

"Grandfather, best not follow me amongst these hollow vessels,

best not see you tarry now nor detect you comin' back now

lest the pimp cane of Apollo not protect you from the smackdown!

I never shall release her; old age comin' down upon her

in our home, in Greece, far from the country of her father,

for I doom her to the loom-work and to humor my dark passions

Now get, lest I forget my head, and you not find yours fastened."

Thus he stated and the aged man, afraid, obeyed the motion

He, denied, went silently beside the strident waves of ocean,

there to sing a righteous song to beat the sea's uproar; he hollered

to the King of light and song whom sleek-haired Leta bore, Apollo

"Hark, silver archer, who guards Chryse, Killa,

godly Tenedos, no end to those darn mice he killin',

if ever, praisin' you, I raised the roof all up on the house

or this high priest wrapped a thigh-piece in holocaust of cows

and mountain goats, then count my vote, fulfillin' my desire

for my grievin' days, let Grecians pay: you'll kill them with gunfire."

His entreaty reached the ear of the far-shot Apollo,

who plummeted from summits, his heart hot with choler

with a shottie on his body and a scope open at both ends

and his missiles they would whistle when he focused his emotions

through the weapon; he stepped in, fell like the night

took a seat far from the fleet, and his pellets took flight

with each round, a sunburst and a sound of thunder

busted caps up in their asses, and their hounds put under

but soon mortal fire turned to soldiers of the Grecians

and the funeral pyres burned, smoldered without ceasin'

For nine days, the deity, he stoked the conflagration

the tenth day, Peleides convoked a congregation

from Hera, lackin' melanin' the thought had descended

she dared to backed the Hellenics and sought to defend 'em

so then all the men who were sent for congested

and Achilles who was illest of sprinters, suggested,

"Atrides, our attack's been driven back. It would be wise to peace,

returnin' on a journey home. and this way no one dies at least,

or else our guys are buyin' it from violence and virulence

but come on, let us summon some diviner, whether hierophant

or someone who has the oneiropolitan persuasion

he'll perceive for us the reason fair Apollo's gun is blazin'

have our prayers found disfavor? did we vex 'im with a hecatomb?

he may desire a savor that's delectable, directed to 'im

Let's get sheep and goats and smoke a fat one for Apollo."

Then he sat down, having spoken. That one's words were followed

by Calchas Thestorides, foremost authority

who foresees the future, the now, and before in dreams

who charted, navigatin' the Greeks into Illium

with arts of divination which Phoebus had given him

He chimed in with a rhyme which he meant with good intentions:

"Achilles, Διι φιλε, it's your will for me to venture

what's botherin' the sovereign of snipers, why he's hexed ya

I'll tell you: listen well, though, and promise my protection

mentally, corporally, defend me, uncollapsin'

for I sense one G be sore at least impendin', one who's captain

of the Grecians; all Achaeans to this mean one pay obeisance,

his puissance ain't believable to behold when the beef is on.

At first dolorovorous, his soreness he'll conceal away

he'll nurse that curse and hoard it; 'til like Horace it sees the day

it's burnin' in his sternum, it keeps churnin' with his heartbeat;

but hell, I might as well tell, if you're certain you'll my guard be."

Responding, Achilles the swift got to spittin'

"No despondence, get on this and gift us your vision

you're the divine's most favored, 's what I'm sayin';

your oracles shine, when you're prayin' for Danaans;

while I live beneath the daylight, any cracka by the side

of these ships won't seek to lay a heavy smackdown on yo' hide,

ain't no one, even tho' Agamemnon is the name,

high-postin' he the most mackest gentleman in the game."

The soothsayer felt braver and he started to direct this to 'em:

"Prayers met with favor; you ain't vexed 'im with no hecatomb.

he's steppin' 'cause the priest wern't respected by the king:

didn't let the shawty free or collect up on the bling

ergo the brother can't stop, won't stop plaguin';

therefo' another man drops, 'til the day when

the handsome-eyed honey is returned to her father

with no ransom cash money, and you burn up an offer-

ing on Chryse. Convince him with such an appeasement."

The soothsayer finished his rhyme and was seated.

Up jumped the chief, Agamemnon Atrides

pumped up with grief, black with venom inside; he

screamed, eyes agleam, as if set with a fire

of malice, to Calchas, a threat hella dire:

"You prophet of Apocalypse, ya droppins ain't cooperative

the sheeit you foreseein' may be pleasin' to your cognitive,

but what's really good? you ain't never do or say it

now you playin' like Isaiah, cuz you spray to the Danäans

that Apollo with the hollow-tip be causin' sorrow 'cause o' this:

the bling that they was bringin' for Chryseis didn't alter shit—

I sent them bitches packin', want my baby where I kept her

she better for the mackin' than my lady Clytemnestra

both babies got back, get stack, and got soul

but I'll give her back for the good of the whole

'cuz I need that my peoples be ill, but not sick

but every thug needs a shorty, so score me some chick

lest I go without the booty, alone of Achaeans

check check it out, y'all, my homegirl is peacin'"

Then the words of the godlike Achilles were resoundin':

"O Atrides most fly, who loves to rule cash around him,

how are great-hearted Greeks gonna get that stack?

We know of no dough that was left unjacked

What we gittin' from settlements we sacked was split up

it's unfitting to get the men to stack that shit up

Yet to God you speak thus forth? However, your underlings

will pay back to the threes and fours, if ever Zeus the Thundering

gives us the well-walled city Troy to sack."

Then Agamemnon tells all, it's ya' boy right back:

"Achilles, like a god, though you may be a great G,

don't front in your thoughts—can't evade or persuade me

or try to keep a prize, while my pockets barren be,

and plan to command my ass into charity!

If these Achaean heroes, yet, are givin’ me a prize

I decree got equal zeroes when they chip in Gs to buy—

but hell, if they will not, I’ll jack something precious

from your stash, Achilles, Ajax, or Odysseus.

When I come to levy fines, he gon’ feel so irate, word;

but don’t pay no nevermind, we can deal with that later.

Let’s tow us a vessel that’s black to the tides,

get rowers assembled, and pack it with bribes

so Chryseis with the cheeks that are roundest gets all up ons.

The leader, he should be of good council when called upon:

Ajax? Idomeneus? Odysseus divine?

or you, son of Peleus, of all men most malign?

so you please with sacrifice the one who hits farthest.”

Then the fleetest cat replied with a look of grim darkness,

“Your raiment is your shamelessness; for gain you are insatiate;

I ain’t see how Danaans are persuaded by your ravings yet

to march on the road or to fight foemen fearsome

I ain’t come to blows here ‘cause of Trojan spearmen

who ain’t tried to battle or beef with me—

or to drive off my cattle or steeds, you see,

nor despoiled any harvest of hero-raising Phthia

where soil clods are largest; between us lay the difficult

shadows of the shady peaks, and seas strong of voice

no, we’re shadowin’ this shameless G, so he can rejoice

and pilfer him some loot, for this dog and Menelaus

from Ilium. The truth of this wrong won’t bend or sway him.

This same one indeed now threatens to jack my prize

which came from the Greeks, my sweat, and my sacrifice.

My booty can’t compare to yours, G, any time Achaeans

loot some Trojan territory, plentiful with beings.

What tho’ the mass of the rush of the battle

my hands fight it, when dividin’ up the cuts, to your ass will

the greater part go, while I stomp back to my fleet

with some dainty cargo, when the combat has me beat.

Now I’m goin’ toward Thessaly, I know it’s far better

to head home in curved vessels, G, and no more just set here,

exempt of my honor, and beef up your purse.”

Agamemnon responded, the chief, with a verse:

“Mos’ definite, flee, if your heart calls you, G,

I ain’t gonna pray you to stay ‘cause of me

or my niggaz, for the biggest of advisers is Zeus.

Of all kings whom gods bring up, most despised to me is you

for you nourish your soul with war, strife, and battle

you got courage, but hold up, God gave you that all

Float home in your boats, rule your Myrmidon legions,

tho’ I don’t mean to gloat, fool ain’t worryin’ me, then;

your beef is just paltry—so just see what you think of this:

since Phoebus Apollo took Chryseis from my fingertips

I’ll send the lady back with my legions and my fleet

but then I’ll maybe mack on Briseis who so sweet.

When I enter in your tent to apprehend her, get my drift

how inferior to me you are. Then men here won’t be swift

to compare themselves to me, or say they equal me identical.”

Despair developed deep in Peleides, his ventricles

were scattered in his chest: should he dive for the sword-hilt in

its scabbard, should he wrest it from his thigh where he wore it and

put it in his enemy, then search the chief for drops

or should he seek serenity and urge his beef to stop?

Those two courses warred in his heart’s arena

As he drew forth his sword, then in darts Athena

from the heights; white-armed Hera had enlisted and deployed her

both delighting in Achilles, and solicitous like lawyers

see Athena stand behind him, bind him back by his blond hair

she appeared to none beside him, rhymed to no one else who’s there

and Achilles was astounded, turned around and then perceived

Athena great and terrible; and veritably he

made a sound unto to her, his words flew, hear the spiel:

“Why you down on the earth, child of Zeus with the shield?

Did the arrogance of Atreus’s baby catch your notice?

Let me lay it on you, lady, ain’t no maybe, yeah, I know this:

forthwith his haughtiness will sacrifice his heart.”

Then it's the goddess with the flashing eyes' retort:

“I descend to end your temper, and to sway your intentions,

from the stars, HER to the A had me sent in

‘cuz she loves you hella deep and she carin’ for you, man

but come on, quell your beef, and don’t take your sword in hand

drop a diss track instead, so ill that he’ll gasp,

cop a listen: I pledge, this will come to pass

he’ll present shining presents thrice boostin’ your pay

for his vainglory. Restrain your beef and do what I say.”

Then Peleides the speedy G spoke, laid before her:

“There is need for me, O deity, to obey your order

though it’s deep indeed, this quarrel, hell, this way’s truly safer.

If one cedes to the immortals, they’ll listen to his prayers.”

On a hilt wrought with silver, hand was stayed from the slaughter

and he stabbed into the scabbard and obeyed Zeus’s daughter

who, once she’s cared for him, to the Heavens makes an odyssey,

where Shieldbearer lives, plus eleven gods and goddesses.

Then Achilles hit Atrides, rhymed a baneful answer

turning villains to contrite Gs, rife with pain and anger:

"Got the eyes of a bitch, but your center's a fawn.

You imbibin' the Cris while your men fightin' on

yeah, I scramble to an ambush with the baddest of the Greeks,

but your spirit ain't no spearman, 'cuz it fears to be deceased

but it's all good to jack the benjamins wherever you might venture

through the hood of Grecian gentlemen, from anyone against you

you bite on your own crew! if this muster had a spine

they'd nah fight to follow you—you'd have bust your final rhyme

now I'm swearin' on the mic like Parental Advisory

invention which augments transcendental or miserly

verses for all purposes, purchase or piracy

the censors are spent, won’t venture to silence me

rockin' on your system: and the Greeks will check the method

when the rock is bearin' witness or it speak respect to Heaven;

I'm raisin' up a covenant from here unto the Lord:

that Danäans will be covetin' this hero's awesome sword

though your grieving is increasing, no protector givin' aid to thee:

deceased will pile, heapin' under Hector like he's HIV

and salt from your cryin' gonna burn your lacerations

when all y'all be dyin' 'cause you spurned the best Danäan."

Thus he expectorated, dropped the gold-decorated

microphone at his feet, and his seat, then he’d take it

Atrides, he was mad. Nestor rose up and stood,

the illinest of Pylians at flows that are good

the oration emanatin’ from his tongue could sweeten honey

in his day two generations grew from young and green as money

up through old and dyin’ and were lost—and this occurred

in most holy Pylos, and he bossed over the third.

He addressed the assembly, well and worthy in speech:

“Hot mess has descended on the turf of the Greeks.

Priam and his fam would be glad just to hear it

and you know the other Trojans won’t be mad at it neither

if word of this reached them, accounts of you bickering,

you lords of the Greeks both in counsel and triggerin’

but heed me, obey, ‘cuz I’m older than you

you see, in my day, I rolled with a crew

who were better than you people, who would never sleep on Nestor

I ain’t never seen their equals, and I’ll never see them ever

peace to the shepherds of men, Dryas, Pirithous

Caineus, Exadios, and godlike Polyphemus

Theseus Aegeides, deathless in his worth

my peeps: of all Gs these were deffest on the earth

My mentors were renowned in might. They clashed with all the wylinest

of centaurs in the mountain heights—they smashed them all with violence

these guys were my homeboys. From lands far I’d come in

from Pylos, my home, for to answer their summons

When I battled at their side, damn, I did it on my lonesome

no cat today could fight ‘em, you fidda get ‘em owned, son

the hottest in the game used to heed me when I advised

you oughta do the same ‘cuz obedience is wise

Don’t, on fleek as you may be, take a dime for your own use

the Greek sons already done assigned as a bonus

Peleides, best hope not to bomb on the don, for

the deities bestow the uncommonest honor

to the monarch on the mic, whom the gods gave greatness,

Stronger though you might be, though ya’ moms was Thetis,

he presides anyway, since there’s more that he bosses.

Atrides, I pray you, cut short all the crossness

you’ve spilled on Achilles, who’s the hardest-core

of the men who defend us from this horrid war.”

Thus rhyming, the lord Agamemnon responded

“Old-timer, your words, all of them been real honest

but this man wants to rule over everyone

[Agamemnon repeats “he wants to rule everyone” for a line and a half,]

[so the DJ scratches line 287 for 1.5 bars] but I expect one man won’t fear him!

Even if eternal gods elected him a spearman,

is the deities’ design that he heckles me thus?

Then Peleides divine interjects and he busts:

They’d say I had no vertebra, that I’m of no account

if I were to defer to ya each time you ran ya’ mouth

You can order other warriors, but check that you don’t say none

with respect to my direction: I expect I won’t obey them.

And I’ll say another thing to you, so hurl it deep in mind:

I won’t lay on you a finger, dude, the girl to keep for mine

or on others here: you gave it, take your gift back, shit

But that other gear arrayed beside my swift black ship

you ain’t never gonna jack, not when I won’t let it go

please test me, in fact, so that I can let ‘em know

the splash of your lifeblood, black around my speartip.”

They clashed in the cipher, attacked with sound and lyric,

then dismissed the party assembled by the ships

and Achilles departed for his vessels and his crib

with the son of Menoetius and the rest of their phalanx

and meanwhile Atrides got a fast ship for sailing

he boarded twenty oarsmen, a hecatomb proceeded

on as offering to God, and the sexy-cheeked Chryseis

was strapped in. Odysseus, the star of the sequel,

was captain. They lit out with the barque and its people.

Atrides decided it was time now to bathe

so his men did it, then threw the grime to the waves

and a hecatomb so flawless for Apollo they slaughtered

bulls and goats died by the side of the waters

and the flavor rose to Heaven with the smoke ‘round spinnin’.

Thus some labored in the camp but Agamemnon didn’t

yet cease on his beef, which he’d threatened Achilles with

he speaks to 2 Gs, Eurybates and Talthybius,

the comrades, the heralds, the squires, the readiest:

“Go to the bunk of Achilles son of Peleus.

Seize me Briseis, pretty-cheeked, bring her back here

If he doesn’t cede her, I myself finna jack her

together with my forces: all the worse for my man.”

Thus he spoke, sent them forth with a word of command.

They walked by the side of the brine that was barren

‘til they came to the Myrmidons’ rides and their cabins,

They seen him among them; their captain was seated

between them. Achilles weren’t happy to see them.

Surprised and contrite, in the sight of the king

they stood, and they couldn’t say or ask anything.

He perceived their thoughts and professed this to them:

"You heralds of Gods and messengers of men:

approach unreproached. Agamemnon’s the miscreant

who ordered you forth apprehending my Briseis.

Patroclus, my boo, get Briseis who the fittest

hand her off to these two, so that we can get a witness

to the gods who are blessed and ephemeral men

and the ungentle king, if ever again

there develops a need that I stave off any harm

from the Peloponnese: for he rages in his heart

either forwards or back, he don’t pay no attention

in order that the Greeks might be safe while contendin’."

Thus he spoke, and Patroclus heeded what he said,

and brought out the pretty-cheeked Briseis from her bed.

The squires retired past the ships of Achaeans

homegirl went with ‘em, though she didn’t wanna leave him.

Achilles left in tears, and he seated down, bent,

on the shore where he peered at the sea without end

Hands extended, to Moms he repeated a prayer:

"You brought me to life, although fleeting my days are

Zeus on Olympus oughta pay what he owe

to the palm of my hand—but of fame, now I’m broke.

For surely wide-ruling Agamemnon Atrides

dishonors me, flaunting his theft of my the prize, see."

Thus he spoke, weeping, and his moms heard the prayer

She rose from the deeps by her father Nereus

so swiftly emerges her form from the brine

like a mist, and she perched down before him as he cried

With her hands she embraced him; by name she addressed him.

"Why you crying? What sorrow came in your breast, kid?

Don’t front, but just spill it, so we can both know."

Then the swift-foot Achilles spoke forth with a groan:

"You already know—why you got me repeatin’ it?

We rolled into Thebes, into godly Eetion

we sacked it and jacked everything up there

and the sons of Achaeans split the bling up fair

Chryseis who so cute was allotted to Atrides.

The priest of far-shootin’ Apollo, name o’ Chryses

headed to the navy of the bronze-armored Argives

to get back his baby with a monstrously large bribe

hands on the far-gunnin’ Apollo’s wreath

on his pimp cane, he’s bargaining with all the Greeks,

'specially the two Atreides, commanders of the slaughter.

Then all Achaeans holla'd back to manumit his daughter,

to reverence the reverend and cart off the bribe

but to seize it wasn’t pleasing to the heart of Atrides

who ejected him, and wrecked him with unfairest words

Pops left, enraged—but his prayer was heard

by Apollo, the lucent god to whom he was bae

he called down a fusillade to doom our brigades

killed ‘em one after another, and the fire of slaughter

filled the bunks of my brothers, ‘til we hired an augur

to tell us a prophecy he’d seen of the reason

I said that Apollo should receive our appeasement

but ire seized the king, who jumped up fast

and fired off the thing which would come to pass …"