Poetry

New Shit

I’m ready for whateva nigga
Deuce Trey. I’m strapped up. Pick the map up
It say how to hit the road hoe
I’m the perfect man
Y’all can’t do better than the perfect man
When I blam the eight, it make blood squirt from heads
I fuck bad hoes. I put in they butts a Percocet
They direct deposit your worthless check
I get money bags, a milli at minimum
I kill mo niggas than that dude at the cinema
Cineplex. I’m on the Internet and I’m outside
I leave the world wit lips. So they mouth wide.

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Poetry

Chair Munoz

I masturbated into a flower pot
And I swear the lillies grew 10 inches

Finches, they are fish
But I couldn’t distinguish them to save my life
My new wife, is life, and she’s a hell of a woman
Now I’ma rhyme that with tuhman

I kissed the TV, a young Salma Hayek appeared
I touch my own ears to make sure they are there
I comb my hair as I look to see what I’ll wear

My firstborn, I will name him or her, Chair

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