I ain't so slim,
But y'all sure are shady,
Will y'all eva call me back maybe,
Just maybe
And if and only if,
If I spewed like Haiti
And cried like a Big Hungry Baby,
After I waited in vain to
See you CC me lately.
I know I've been Certifiably Crazy,
But my nugget-crystal ball ain't Hazy,
I bohlieve this boyee's been lazy,
And that G Unit rightfully ma$ed me.
And my gold record broke,
With the onset of Port-A-Pot belly,
That yes can be real smelly,
Like pee, sloppy nuts
&
or Butt crack jelly.
But when did y'all brocide,
To tag me as a Brosociate?
What did I do so wrong,
For y'all to go and get yo gong?
Wuz it too many rips of the five foot bong?
Perhaps.
Tired of just the same old song?
Perhaps.
Don't want The Fish to swim along?
Perhaps.
But in the Now, my powerful push ups come with claps
And my rhymes n rants be Google maps--
That lead Dreaming Trees to warranted sap,
Lulls insomniacs to a regular cat nap
And calls barely legal strippers to moral victory laps,
That steers black sheep from great white traps--
That perhaps,
Come across as Kool aids &Apps,
But will soon lead,
As a matter of fact,
To a little lamb,
That Mother Mary once had,
Before it came spewing out from
A Big baaaad Alpenwolf's,
Fat, explosive, agravated ass.
I am the Alpha dog,
With a third eye 20/20 on the Omega,
An Honesty Department chair with hints of baby blue to make him seem funny because he is so true--
A Pink NeonArtist & Fine Line Leader:
A Can-Do W.O.P who honors his sacred pact
To act,
(Even though it ain't on legal padded paper)
With no perceivable lack
Of courage, cajonies,
Nor having his Brothers' back.
I can be a highly acidic chemical who chooses not to react
When "too cool" er men change the hedi track,
By burying his Gratefully Deadhead in the Golden Sand
And dismantling his buddy band,
But instead,
Gets out the Led,
Flashes his samurai sword but keeps his prevailing Cooler head--
Sees what ain't
And with emerald waves of patience like he were its patron Saint,
Begins to shred
Er'
Begins anew so he can gracefully wed--
A New Found Glory,
With a uniquely Christmas story.
Never afraid of the Dark,
But with a long, Evergreen Island sound so
Profound,
Celestial, yet Earth-tone grounded and
So merrily round
It'll make the Southern California Angels,
Hark,
Pitbulls with masters who can no longer see their shadows,
Bark,
And the few and proud men who know their All-American mission,
Embark.
On a quest for see with telepathic vision,
Mildly scared of the Word Transcendent Light
But holistically fit with a GI Joe Kung-Fun grip on the Holiest of Holy Grail,
And a blistering aquamarine pace that would skunk a sea snail,
En route to the Emerald City without known limits' Gates
Ringing in he wondrous years with fellowship of all-time greats
I will indeed surf, swim, balance anew and ride,
The inceasingly high-stakes and Tidal waves of
A seven story Fate--
Touch down on the Eastern shore, erect a fortress, and serve my boys a hardy, gravy centric plate alongside their unequivocally first choice in a mate that'll makes their collective souls levitate.
But never ever will ever do this before,
We give our Sunday Best Blessings and
Hum Ballin' odes to our Seacret City of Unspeakable joys--
Where my brave, tested but ultimately triumphant boys
Can rise with the Beautifully Mysterious, Cresent Moon-lit tide,
And shine with a luster that's supernovic, so alive, in and outside but usually Oceanside
When it draws in and seals its one and only lottery pick,
In the NBA draft,
Of boner-fied Sirens that you and only you convinced--
The cruel summer sea wasn't so sick,
King Neptune was indeed a jealous, polygamous prick,
And your Palace Master Bedroom will leave you in
If and only if you act complete, honestly and quick
While I say that a magical life on the shore is not the classic lore
That Bow legged Suitors have tried to hook you with, several time before
But what we all should see as
The cosmic inevitabilty of marrying for,
Not fame, nor fortune, nor critical acclaim,
But because you were always so soaking wet,
Every time his vessel came.
