A slang-filled RE-WRITE by Robin of the rhyme... "IF" by THE MAN, Rudyard Kipling

This SLANG re-write of one OF... if not THE most... spiritually esoteric rhymes of all time... created and written by THE MAN, Rudyard Kipling!




                                         THE SLANG RE-WRITE by Robin of: 

                                              "IF"... BY... RUDYARD KIPLING



If you can keep the "sh!t off yer own shoes" when all about you... 

          "The Suits" are stepping in their own shhh... and then... blaming.... YOU for their own "sh!t-stepping"!  AAARRRGGGHHH............!  

                                                               (DUDE! S'up wit dat?)  

                If you can tell yourself your truth... when all men "Rene Descartes-you" ("doubt you"), 

                      And then... make BANK ($$$) off your back from "Rene Descarting-YOU" too;   

                                              If you can chill and not get WIRED from chillin'

                                    Or get yanked about... (don’t deal in BS that ARISEs)

                                              or be hated on, don’t give way to haters

                                                    And BROTHERS and... SISTERS!  

                            Don’t look too FLY, nor talk too YODA-like, kickin' back sipping' soda like...    

                                              you're just one of those... TOO COOL FOR HIGH SCHOOL resistors


                                 If you can spiritually analyze your dreams—

                                         and not make dreams..."the ROCK cocked-walk";   

                     If you can finally realize... and thank... your sh!t DOES stank 

                                            and NOT make thoughts your end GAME;   

                                            If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster 

                                            And treat those two "PLAYUZ" (players)... just the same;   

                                     If you can stomach the words... you’ve spat or spoken 

                         soon become twisted by deceitful scoundrels... or

                  those that don't understand the value of their own TRUTHs

 and then sub-consciously accept these "hard ass" rules of trauma... at the Pools of abused FOOLS! 

                                  As you merely observe the thangs you gave your life to now BROKEN...

                But picked 'em up anyway, UNAFRAID... and built ’em up with brand new TOOLS...

                                                             ...tools of your spiritual TRADE


                                If you can take an EPIC friggin' pile of all your winnings 

                                     And then go ballin' on one turn of pitch-and-toss

                           As you unsuccessfully "risk it all... to get the biscuit to fall"..... 

                                      and then start again... at this new beginning 

                  And never SPIT a word about your loss? DUDE! That's "Super Hero Swag"! 

                                      If you can force your heart and nerve and GUTS 

                                     To ACE your SERVE... after all... the BS is said... and long gone   

                                and then you hold on... when there's nothing left within you... so true... 

                                Except the "GUTS" which says to YOU: "YO, MY FRIEND! HANG ON!" 


                              If you can rap with crowds and keep your sh#t together

                          Or walk in silence with "THE SOURCE"—nor lose the common touch, 

                              If neither friends of Discomfort nor HATE can hurt you and... 

              If all men can "chill" WITH you... and none can turn you frozen... from a deep freezing season; 

                      If you can forgive the trainer of: "that elephant in the room" without a negative reason...

          And with a full sixty seconds’ worth of distance run... "You can win this spiritual marathon... and...   

                                YOURS... is the Earth... and esoterically everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is important, my young one—you’ll be present and SUPER-CHILLED...

                                          in less than a minute... to begin it... to transcend it...........

                                              to spiritually understand it... IS  ALL... WITHIN... 




                                                                               (DROP THE MIC!)





                              The original from 1910 entitled:


                                        by Rudyard Kipling


If you can keep your head when all about you   

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, 

    But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, 

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, 

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, 

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise: 


If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster 

    And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken 

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, 

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, 

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools: 


If you can make one heap of all your winnings 

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, 

And lose, and start again at your beginnings 

    And never breathe a word about your loss; 

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew 

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you 

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’ 


If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch, 

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, 

    If all men count with you, but none too much; 

If you can fill the unforgiving minute 

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!


1,489 - 105 - 0 - US