writing poetry to some witch I havent met yet
shovenistic ass clown with a fetish for staying lit
laying in my bed,high as fuck,complaining about the current state of the american government.
and its come to this...hash hits with no britches on,with the brink of winter
gas stove on,cooking up marvelous rhymes in the kitchen,in which I get
minor praise for doing,
a sign that sylvan learning center didnt do shit for this middle class mad dog
a major reason I should have been tossed to the heathens covered in seasoning
because the season is the reason Im bringing the pain
& im still not being taught expenses,or the way to stay complaicent in the middle of the rat race.
lest I move on.
all wrong/all right
I love women all night due to perscription drugs and lack of a better passtime
ass rhymes spew out in my down time,the main reason my mom frowns everytime I get in
class clown into cash cow,just the way things work out
foul mouth spinning harsh words because
family reads it too
new world tactics to let everyone know this old soul
dos what he dos
rude...the main complaint these days
the tings I gave
still...spit until my cup is filled
or I get myself killed
because I can do nothing but be
all to get a
all those feels.