The rhymes pop up in my noggin, and the lines wont stop til im propped up in my coffin. Coughin prime sublime jargon while im joggin in my head talkin to god an awkard bawlin comes knockin. Im yawnin, break out the pjs, im a be crazed, im hot as gasoline sprayed with a fleet of heat rays set to peak in a heat wave. Flee ways, that wont cross me im lost in boston, like those teenag-ers, who bombed the marathon awfully tragic these fagets soft like velour fabric I spit this galore magic, trick you all abra ca dabra i call this one the flip the floor cuz im toe up
Posted on: Thu, 07 Nov 2013 04:50:44 +0000
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