Shitty little poem, for April Fools.
Shitty little recording, to make these fools.
Sit a little straighter in their shitty schools,
Sip a little tater juice - maybe taste a fruit.
It's been so long since I put something on tape.
So long I feel I shook my greatness away,
Don't know where I put it. I know I own it,
But you gotta hone it or it's prone to get bony -
Like your legs! Arms! Muscles you're weak!!
I gotta get out! Get out on them streets! Beef!
There's something out there, something I seek.
I don't know what it is, but I'll know when we meet.
I'm back on track so: simmer up a feast.
Aint got no backhone but I'll get it piece by piece.
Can't say I'm back Holmes cause I don't feel it at all.
I feel I'm knee deep in demons scheming to hit the wall but I -
I won't fall till I admit defeat. The wall is tall, and my list is deep.
But I'm a do it I'ma get shit done.
I'm recovering, hovering, revving for a one mile run.
Ey, and that's ten kilometers.
I'm a do it and I won't take painkillers either,
I'm tired too wired but lying here won't fire me up,
I'm going till this fire - can't wire me up.
I'm going tough when the going gets tough cause you know when:
The going gets tough, the tough get going!
My poems my fist and fuel.
They don't teach this shit at school.
Better get my hitlist I got shit to do.
Here's a quick hit for fits and fools. I'm moving through.
April Fools.