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Alexa Dec 2018
Hush my pretty baby don't you cry
I see how hard you try
Baby, don't let those tears roll down
I know you are hurting, but you are not alone
Darling, imma stick it through
There isn't anything i wouldn't do for you
We're crazy baby, nobody knows our monsters
So we keep them a secret, we're the true mobsters
Hush my pretty darling don't feel no pain
I'm right here, i know you're insane
Brent Kincaid Jun 2018
You cringeworthy, evil pismire;
Your father did surely miss-sire
This personification of flatulence,
The embodiment of self importance
Overflowing with abject peccancy
Devoid of any sign of respectability
Replete with gross odoriferousness
Horribly and infamously unscrupulous.

You have reveled in misrepresentation
And tried to elevate your calumniation
Disinformation and deception exists
As capitalistic dissembling persists.
You’ve collected an evil government
Built mostly of human excrement
And have such a lack of veracity
That you speak in constant mendacity.

Sycophantic eructations of dogmatic bile
Issue from your unsympathetic smile
And your inauthentic glad-handed gropes
As if we all of us are unbright gullible dopes
That buy your fabrications completely
While you pilfer and prevaricate indiscreetly.
You are a Vaudevillian villain miscast as star,
But most of us know exactly what you are.

Deceit, deception, dishonesty; a tragedy
But not for you, for us and our country.
Distortion, evasion and fabrication the rules;
You despair of any other kinds of tools.
Falsehoods, fictions and forgery are your tricks.
You demand we build with straw-less bricks
Your erections that are planned to be palaces
Filled with your giant golden carved phalluses.

Those monuments, inanotomically correct,
Established to celebrate and somehow protect
A mountebank on the way to an overseas bank
Claiming to eradicate the scoria he creates
That decades of privation will not quite alleviate.
But you, the Great Prevaricator, will always blame
Other players in your sick, unconstitutional game
Instead of admitting your complicity and guilt
About the disgusting, putrid swamp you built.
Joe Momma May 2018
All I do is get money

HYPE HYPE HYPE

All I do is **** *******

HYPE HYPE HYPE

All I do is grind till 5 am

HYPE HYPE HYPE

I’ll never find true love.

HYPE HYPE HYPE
Kyra Woods Dec 2016
Y'all tell em' to focus on school, keep ya head the books
and stay out of these streets.
But what is He supposed to do, when the Streets have him tripping over his own feet?

lurking around every corner,
confronted daily with His own eyes,
that's where He is meant to be.

The glamorized life of the Hustle,
You'll never know pain unless you the Struggle.
The same pain that causes them to shoot, but never aim.
what is He supposed to do when the streets are calling His name?

Y'all hold His hand and guide Him in the wrong direction, but then tell Him to do the right thing.
does this even make sense or is He confused by the bullet's sting.

Did you forget that He loves you,
that He wants to be accepted,
Gotta be just like You, even though you never said.
what are you supposed to do when the streets are coming after you?

Hiding in every shadow,
lurking in every crevasse.
Not a single OG could ever prepare us.

3 bullets to the chest. ringing in his ears.
blood gushing out black,
his mama screaming through her tears.

the Streets will watch you your whole life,
****** you up from home.
Do you how they Do you.
til most of You is gone.

Yea, times are tough
and this mentality is rough.
But what are you supposed to do, when the streets are after you?
those looking from the outside looking in.
These young black men aren't choosing a life that'll lead them down the road of despair.
they do not choose these situations, the situations choose them.
The battle between the streets and Young Souls is gruesome.
this is a battle of a nation.
Randy Mcpeek Oct 2016
The “Perfect” Man

He will get inside my head before he crawls into my bed.
He will be an articulate gentleman, but, straight up gangster when it’s time defend me.
He will kiss me in the club, but, beat up the **** that walks by me and grabs my ****.
He will be sensitive enough to read my poetry in the park, yet, adventurous enough to make love underneath the stars when the sun goes down.
He will not be a “Prince charming”. I don’t need saving.
He will be the beast that steals me away from the fool, and makes me understand what a real man’s touch is supposed to feel like.
You see, it’s not hard to be the “Perfect” man.  You will already be perfect if it’s meant to be.

Randy McPeek
Mind of a sinner heart of a saint ....
Stimulated fakeness that makes others faint...
Sitting out playing with time and guns....
Dont judge I never learned to walk before i had to run......
Last nights bottle is the first shot of my day...
Each time I start it pushes everyone farther away.....
You might try to save me.... But I dont want to be found...
Truth be told i hate it up here... Id rather be under the ground...
Dee Jan 2016
#16
Each time you come you mend me
Each time you go you break me
You keep coming and going
I keep mending and breaking

Can you stay if you wanna stay?
Or go if you wanna leave?
I can settle for mending
Or breaking
But never in between.
Deactivated again
Dee Jan 2016
#11
You are like a poem
my mind recites to me repeatedly
Even if thoughts of loving and losing you
Bring me into tears
to my gangster love
Dee Jan 2016
#9
I saw a long haired man
Smiling in delight
And I remember you
I saw a man with tattoos
I used to be scared of
But I smiled
Remembering the art
Painted on your body

I saw a white guy on the streets
Holding a lass
Smiling and whispering, a sweet sight
And I thought
Would it be sweeter
If it were you and I?

I think about you
In every story you told me
In everyone and everything
I hear your name
All the time
And I wonder;
Was it coincidence?
Or was I hearing that name for such a long time
But never cared
Until I knew you

Your name sounds sweet
To my ears.
That I can't help but smile
I would look back and search the soul
That owns that name
Hoping someday
I will see you.
Daniel
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
Justin Bieber is no big deal
I’m not even sure he is real.
He started out as pretty decent
Have you seen anything recent?
He looks like a kid who is trying
To join the gang but is only crying;
Sitting on the sidelines sniffling.
Dressed up in gang stuff and everything.

Poor baby Justin, as rich as a king
Isn’t quite satisfied owning everything
Has to cover up his body with tattoos
Like all the real-life gang members do.
Wears a hat too big for him all sideways
Plays in the sandbox where big kids play.
Wants to look all gangster and rough
But looking like a ******* makes it tough.

Poor Baby Biebs with his millions of fans
Three pairs of underwear and baggy pants
Grinning like he’s bashful, we know he’s not.
Far too often he has proved himself a snot.
Some of us were worried when he was a kid.
We worried nobody was careful of what he did.
So Baby Justin Bieber is a bit of a wreck
Sort of like the words crawling up his neck.

Justin Bieber makes the young girls scream.
They don’t care he’s not the angel he seems.
If only he would misbehave with them, they think.
They’d let him act the fool, smoke and stink.
Because, after all, when you’re a teen-aged star
It doesn’t really matter just how fake you are.
The thing is be to be fashionable the youthful way
And let them get a glimpse of you every day.
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