H.Williams 2013
Who among us is this freakin' humongous?
You're human, I'm a hue-man, painting pictures for all you fungus.
You're a bug to squish then flick, like dust off the table you dis-gust us.
I'm about to blow everyone away, don't even try to duck from this gust.
They sweat from my riddles, thermometers turn red when we step in to see.
You're weak in the knees, lost in the woods for the better part of a week.
This is my forest, when trees fall everyone hears –or they read it and weep.
What's black, white and red all over? Newspapers with stories about me.
I'm news, your olds. I Redd-it before you read it, you're a day late and 2 dollars short.
In short, your stuff's a re-run. Shorten the ending or put in a cork.
We already seent it like a Tarantino beginning ending's over, sport
Sit out this inning, grin and watch me win then bomb your tree fort.
I roar around, burnin' your twigs, turn everything red, rage it all down.
Re-run your lap, re-score your sound. I returned your tape, so refund me now.
I did the work, you just sat around, and you deserve zip. So YOU pay me now.
You're human (just), stop having a cow. I'm humongous --the money better match now.
Now you're sayin' that my head's too big, too big for my britches after
I tell you I can't fit inside this box, so please stop putting up rafters.
I have nothing left, so the fear of losing has ceased to be a factor.
This isn't tooting my own horn; it's me spitting blood on my captors.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 4:25 AM UTC
H.Williams 2013
Who among us is this freakin' humongous?
You're human, I'm a hue-man, painting pictures for all you fungus.
You're a bug to squish then flick, like dust off the table you dis-gust us.
I'm about to blow everyone away, don't even try to duck from this gust.
They sweat from my riddles, thermometers turn red when we step in to see.
You're weak in the knees, lost in the woods for the better part of a week.
This is my forest, when trees fall everyone hears –or they read it and weep.
What's black, white and red all over? Newspapers with stories about me.
I'm news, your olds. I Redd-it before you read it, you're a day late and 2 dollars short.
In short, your stuff's a re-run. Shorten the ending or put in a cork.
We already seent it like a Tarantino beginning ending's over, sport
Sit out this inning, grin and watch me win then bomb your tree fort.
I roar around, burnin' your twigs, turn everything red, rage it all down.
Re-run your lap, re-score your sound. I returned your tape, so refund me now.
I did the work, you just sat around, and you deserve zip. So YOU pay me now.
You're human (just), stop having a cow. I'm humongous --the money better match now.
Now you're sayin' that my head's too big, too big for my britches after
I tell you I can't fit inside this box, so please stop putting up rafters.
I have nothing left, so the fear of losing has ceased to be a factor.
This isn't tooting my own horn; it's me spitting blood on my captors.