The 168,
Departed late,
A character trait,
Of public transit,
So here I sit,
On this black bench,
In the hot hot sun,
The bus threw a wrench,
Into my fun,
The longer I wait,
The more I think,
The bus won’t come,
Within the next blink,
This is my life,
Without a car,
Without a wife,
I’m going far,
With my girlfriend,
After I mend,
Our broken understandings,
And premarital demandings,
Now the bus is here,
And I bust a rhyme,
And I bus around,
From time to time,
I have to go,
But I’ll be back,
Don’t do drugs kids,
Stay away from crack.