Black hoodie, half woolly,
stuck prematurely playing hooky.
Born with a ******'s book
like I was Chuck trying to cross the brook.
Cross your wood then look
to the words left carved in your mood
and ask yourself if this is something
you'd wanna pursue like glue.
Clutching questions in your palms
like a *** begging for a lesson.
Not me not I, I'm a certified deadbeat for life.