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Jul 2019
Pushing chains, working lanes, find a gap and we rush up
Soft, never fast, like a puppy I hush up
Sup from a big cup, Big Red in my guts, breakfast tacos for lunch
Piles of jalapenos and one tattooed on my arm
Right above Bailey I'm a fool, she's gone
Now I am sitting here rhyming out thoughts
Making quick movements, dropping dimes spinning tops
The meat factory never shuts off
The blades keep spinning and chop
Organs and feces and slop
When does the violence all stop
Hypocrites all, slave labor cell phone
Casting the first stone
Two tones of atonement unrepentant right
Slam 3 bones and take fright, lock the board on a 4 blank make 70
Get them crooked eyes, makes you look at guys
different.
Patrick Kennon
Written by
Patrick Kennon  33/M/x
(33/M/x)   
94
   S Olson
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