POEM: untitled, rhyme
I may not be the host with the most
And I might be milquetoast
But I’m down in the lyrical low-post
Workin’ to make all foes ghost
And hey -
And I might be milquetoast
But I’m down in the lyrical low-post
Workin’ to make all foes ghost
And hey -
I’ve never murdered a man,
But I’ve murdered the mic
and I’ve murdered the stage
Full fits of fury and rage
‘Cause I might get murdered today
Murdered for being in somebody’s way
Or murdered because life is cheap and some sicko wanted to play
Life is murder, so they say
But I’ve murdered the mic
and I’ve murdered the stage
Full fits of fury and rage
‘Cause I might get murdered today
Murdered for being in somebody’s way
Or murdered because life is cheap and some sicko wanted to play
Life is murder, so they say
So I’m trying to kill it
Keepin’ your mother nervous
Like a sinner at Sunday service
I’m a musical marauder
So you weak sheep who’re asleep: step up to the slaughter
I’ll grip these rhymes like, “Luke, I am your father”
Y’all shouldn’t bother
Let the turn signal be my metronome
Letting the thoughts loose from my dome
Like - I don’t drink - it’s old
And everything I think is bold
And all my ink is goldLetting the thoughts loose from my dome
Like - I don’t drink - it’s old
And everything I think is bold
So all the ladies let the pink unfold
Applying heat until the beat gets cold
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