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Stream of thought

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

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, places...man, 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, man..it 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 looks...like 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