March the fifth, could be just any day,
But for me it's a time to sit back and meditate.
Not because it's my birthday, I'll want what others expect.
For 9 to 10 years I haven't celebrated it as expected.

It's a day to remind me the pain my mother went through.
The pain all mothers will never forget they went through.
And between me and you,
I think she feels that pain every time she cries and I think I feel it too.

What a day, just a day for someone else tho.
But they don't know, they're focused on their birthday.
That's how the world work for all of us.
Only your family and friends or maybe people in your class or work place may know.

March the fifth, could just be any day,
But I thank God for not only my birthday but for every other day.
Because I could have been dead before it had arrived.
So I'm grateful even tho I never enjoyed it that much ever in life.

Lick all off until it's done.
Don't let none waste or fall to the ground.
Enjoy the ice-cream at the time it's cold.
I'm the ice-cream man with many flavors to behold.

Lick north, lick south, lick left, lick right.
Lick all through the day and through the night.
Eat the ice-cream quickly, don't let it waste.
I bet it will be the best you'll ever taste.

Don't let the ice-cream drip or run down the cone.
Eat until you get brain freeze and a cool touch on your bones.
The ice-cream gets soft so quickly, before it melts.
I'm not talking about any ****** activities,

I'm the ice-cream man, and it's only ice-cream I sell,
And the enjoying of all tasty flavors I meant.

Tap, tap, on roof tops.
Tic, tock, the clock tocks.
Inside, what a cold night,
Rain drops on roof tops.

Splish, splash, in wet spots.
Blip, bloop, bubbles pops.
Outside, puddles in parking lots,
Rain drops on roof tops.

Drip, drop, on wet a box.
Flip, flop, my slippers flop.
Outside, in rain jackets,
Rain drops on roof tops.

Quack, quack, go ducks.
Beep, beep, cars and trucks.
Outside, the traffic stops,
Rain drops on roof tops.

Tap, tap, on roof tops.
Tic, tock, the clock tocks.
Inside, what a cold night,
Rain drops on roof tops.

Oh little red fire,
How beautiful is your flame.
That walks on dry bushes,
And leaves a black burnt stain.

Oh little red flame,
Moving in trails like a train.
And all you consume is oxygen,
So your health can be retained.

Oh little red flame,
What is your name?
What are you to be?
Can your light be obtained.

Oh little red flame,
Your fire cannot be reclaimed.
For there is no made study,
For your death or pain.

When Friday night comes, it's inevitable.
Phalanxes in the many, dancing, drinking and having fun.
In bars long lines on one road like a railing.
This fever won't be over until the night is done.

I'm dismay by all that over excitement,
And very melancholy by being alone all day.
But when the Friday night interpose in enlightenment.
All my long lasting sadness all fades away.

Call me an elated person when the fever hits me.
To be sagacious and to act judicious of an account.
About the people I see, we party the flee.
Kind of suspicious and much heats there with us.

Maybe I'm assailant and love to **** night's time,
Flies fly by to join the extravaganza.
In a place sanguinary not really sanitary.
Any day of the week, but Friday night's fever is in every month even mine, foreveruary.