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Stream of thought

posted 1/4/2013 10:45:01 AM |
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tagged: poem

The action of rhyme, just following my flow

Words come around, but then I don't know

What's on my mind, all the time

I leave to the blind, playing hide and go seek and I bet you can't find me

People,, all these fucking things

I'll scream so loud, it'll make your ears ring

You won't know what the hell I'm screaming at

I'll get up and go, leaving you wondering if I was mad

But I aint mad, I'm just sick of your face

I see it all the time in my rhyme and outer space

But, you're not the subject of all my petty thoughts

I think about money, even more than getting caught

In the game of what is shame, I'm not to fucking blame

They came and took me away, but I'm telling you I am sane

Just these paranoid people lurking outside of my house

Got me creeping all quiet, just like a little mouse

And I think they have bugged my cordless phone

Cause it only rings once, when I'm at the house all alone

But fuck em and feed em, I aint got no fucking beans

Can't get my life together, I don't have the fucking means

To rob a bank, steal a tank, load the gun, and then I'm gone

That plans wrank, stanks, it's just a fucking song

At least I can rob this lady, walking down the street

Get all the money in her wallet, and get me something to eat

But money's not the issue, they told us that in school

Too broke to buy a tissue, but crying is for fools

Too bored and too lazy, to get off my dead ass

But somehow I find the money, to buy all this grass

Blazing up a storm, all the while, writting rap

The cherry is kind of warm, it just fell in my lap

And now I'm on fire, what should I do?

Don't touch that bare wire, what the hell's wrong with you?

I try to teach ya...what shit's all about

Now you're getting on my nerves...get the fuck out

My rhymes are outlandish, you've said that before

And you don't think you can stand it, but you're a fucking whore

People like to be pleased, all the fucking time

I cut the cheese, everytime I write a rhyme

You know it doesn't stink as bad as your mom's underoos

That shit's leathal, that came out from under whom

I shouldn't talk, about the lady all the time

But you don't know how easy it is, to make a fucking rhyme

About the way her hair molded spaghetti

If I looked like that, I'd shave my head and forget it

But, she bores me, just like you do

You like to ignore me when you have nothing to do

I'd like to beat you, even though I have no fists

And tie you up tight, leaving red and purple circles on your wrists

But, before it gets gory, i think it should end

I hope you enjoyed the story, see you later my friend

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Stream of thought