My goodness! Here's Friday again, it comes around faster than we realize it, but ah, thank heavens it is here to cap off my uneventful week, with the exception of last night, which I'll tell you all about one day soon dear readers, so here's a funky little poem for you from my administrative assistant salad days and remember as always, always enjoy!!!The Great Gangsta Tale of “Chollie The Body Furnace”
Got ants in my anus
Just been read the gangsta habeas corpus
Amid scowls, scorns and stares
My days longer
Nights worse
The short end of the curse will inevitably
Deliver me swiftly home in a hearse
I try to meditate
But all I can do is masturbate
My worries and my woes
Worry gets you gray and wrinkly
The character assassination missed again by Huntley-Brinkley
The two most bored ghosts of my youth
See, all I do is tell the truth and yet I have failed miserably
A tragic loss
But I guess I now know who is boss
And who gets the axe, but it’s not really that
It’s that familiar rat-a-tat-tat
Supply and demand
Caresses the fateful hand
Of whom to dropkick when they are no longer needed
The commander-in-chief
Slinks in the shadows like a lonesome thief
And gets her boys to do her dirty work
“Hey man! The big boss needs to see you!”
Why even on the lift last week,
Her little stoolie that brought me onboard into the fold
Once upon a time,
Now unplugs the cord and can’t even remember my name
It’s all part of the gangsta game, the gangsta sublime
Nor does he even try
“Hi,” says he. So now I see.
We cannot even keep the same company.
The status quo has changed
The gangstas rearranged
And whom it ever be so humble
Can only fumble for words.
I look behind and I look ahead
The dragged river is nothing more than a dry lakebed
And I see the blood-drenched cross
And I think, “Shit. Jesus is coming back.”
And all the senseless fighting between them gangstas
Will launch a new attack
So I better run inside and get the eggs
No comments:
Post a Comment