Poetry

Whoa

Who knew my writings would cause such an uproar
I mean, I kinda knew but still…

I can’t chill
I really think I can make a mill

Money isn’t everything, of course
But it is something, of course

Everywhere I go the trees have Christmas lights on em
I think they’re overdoing it
It’s starting to look tacky

Take it easy on the Christmas lights, that’s my message
I think I need a massage, I told a chiropractor that’s my message

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