An Ziwen
An Ziwen (Chinese: 安子文; pinyin: Ān Zǐwén; September 1909 – 25 June 1980), born as An Zhihan, was a Chinese politician and member of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China. He served as minister of the CPC Central Committee Organization Department, the Central People's Government Minister of Personnel, deputy secretary of the Central Discipline Inspection Commission, the Standing Committee of the CPPCC National Committee, among other roles. He authored the book "Revolutionary successors training is a strategic task of the party".
An was born in September 1909 in Zizhou County, Shanxi province. In 1925, he joined the Chinese Communist Youth League, and in 1927 was inducted into the Communist Party of China. He participated in the Second Sino-Japanese War and the Chinese Civil War. In 1949, An was appointed as head of the Personnel Ministry, and was elected as a CPPCC Standing Committee member. He served as vice minister of the Central Organization Department, and was appointed as the Central Discipline Inspection Commission and deputy secretary. In 1956, at the Eighth CPC National Congress, he was elected as head of the CPC Central Organization Department. In 1966, at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, he was persecuted as one of the 61 Renegades and expelled from his posts. In 1978 under Deng Xiaoping, he was rehabilitated and appointed as vice president of the Central Party School, the latter co-opted to the Central Committee. On 25 June 1980, he died in Beijing.
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Untouchables
by: John CenaJohn Cena]
The untouchable cat whose style is right
I can be mistaken for the smooth and silent type
My violence bites tight like it was vampire's teeth
I'm hammerin chief, opponents with beef, you're put to sleep
My radical brain, will run your terrain, I'm comin again
It's simple and plain, you're hurtin, there's no numbin the pain
Warpin your frame to convex with ill techs
Still flex, kill specs on cassette decks
Mic checks, and tight reps, collect all live bets
We'll see how bright the lights get
The illest attack, I fight with artillery jacket
Physically smacked then verbally humbled
You stumble and fumble, so I gain posession
Music moves in cycles, natural progression
Thuganomics lesson is taught when records are bought
Analyzed for lies and fillers, nowadays
Gorillas make scrilla if the market's correct
All you need is a hook, and a hand to collect
Lack cred but respect MC's before me
Don't blast the back heat but the streets, can't ignore me
Hands nice, I rock your wigpiece, leave your hard rep soft
Just like when Miami left the Big East..
[Chorus *scratched*]
bu bu bu bu bu Bust that
Y'all know my steez, yo we raisin the bar
Assassinate the mainstream
Y'all know my steez, Trademarc and John Cena
Assassinate the mainstream
Y'all know my steez, yo we raisin the bar
Assassinate the mainstream
Y'all know my steez, Trademarc and John Cena
Assassinate the mainstream
[Trademarc]
I calculate between the hi-hat, the bassline
The slideback, the scene decides that, Trademarc
designed raps through divine contact
The synapse to climb a syntax error/era, define clever
We find Trademarc's photo ID below the letters
Your rhymes are general played, minimal blank
Your eyes was blinded by the signs of federal banks
You lost your focus of function
'Member back when MC's used to spit and say (shit) that meant somethin
The mainstream remained clean
Then the corporate industry became the same dream
And I leaned back below the scene
Mappin out the future warfare schemes
To sweep through the streets lethal, to meet you
Delete too, editorial restrictions
Cause labels need candy-ass rappers so the populars can listen
Not the caste system
The last talented cats that lost they status
Real raps end up gratis tracks on mixtapes that never sell
Cause executives and marketing schemes
Designed rims, hoes and music, and bed in jail
I know the veterans can tell, I see through the image
Mainstream acts is timid
I want hard beats, basslines, and lyrics that's vivid
A voice within it, tellin me real rap is comin back and boy it's livid
I want it, I breathe it, I live it
I cornered the scene and I bring destruction
You ain't worth your weight, never mind the cost of post-production
Introduction of Trademarc, the poet laureate
Through the diction of reason
Rhyme forever, but born out the 7 iller {?} to beat in