The Queen of Qanant Was a right royal ****; A ***** of the first water. And almost as bad Was the offspring she had, Her high-class badass daughter.
She looked at folks funny If they didn’t have money To her it was all about gifts. The Queen didn’t share That her kid pulled her hair Her stinginess created a rift.
The Queen of Qanant Had all she could want Spangles and baubles galore. She had so much junk She needed four hunks To carry it all through the door.
Her land was in a pickle No downward dollar trickle With which the poor could pay rent. She ignored all petitions To improve the conditions Thus a civil rebellion could foment.
Her people could starve, No roast beast to carve; To her the whole issue was closed. So her daughter colluded And the story concluded When Mommy the Queen was deposed.
So, that’s what’s in store When you ***** with the poor And ignore their righteous complaining. That’s the way things are You get only so far To **** on them and tell them it’s raining.
The daughter was no better She matched mom to the letter And the whole story started again. But that’s what people earn When they never quite learn; They end up back where they’ve been.
Peasants underestimate, the sacrifice of a King, all they see, are the fancy things. griping, and groaning, when in actuality, they are more free, then he ever, will be.
what is life really supposed to be about? Are we alive, dying, maybe just barely surviving!?! We have taken our time to "learn" the lies you've planted in us & now it's time to OVERstand!! ; they lay beneath my feet.. Like your mans best friend! But always remember; what you do in darkness ALWAYS comes to light ✨
The VIP culture is the grotesque manifestation eating up the democracy inch by inch.
They are elected by us from among us and then they want to be treated really special, They want to be treated as someone royal by everyone, Do you get the joke?
None of this would matter if I had no one to spend the money on No one to give me the diamonds No one to share the mansions with No one to drive around with me No one to call or text
What's the point of being a queen if you don't have a king
You’re all bones and no talk. All dislocated ribs and shackled thoughts. Contain them contain them, don’t you dare let them escape. Hold on to what makes you broken, I’ve heard broken thoughts carry less weight. So guard your bones that home your soul. Sharpen your ribs and polish your throne. Count the minutes and the hours and the seconds as they go. You can’t expect royalty when you’re six feet below.
Will and Kate, Take my advice, To give your new girl A lovely life. Choose a moniker That'll be a thrilla, Elizabeth, Victoria, Diana as the middle, Those are fine, But not Camilla.
A rusted crown A ripped gown With one noun She shuts down Fake smile hides one's frown In her mind thoughts drown Making it clear for her how... How corrupted is this town
we used to go back to your place at night and stand by the window, watching as the sky turned blueblackpurple a real rainbow the stars exploding and cows hopping
when the clock struck midnight but we were simply background characters, the story did not depend on us.
back when the train never stopped and we never stopped
and we would drive fast cars draw on walls beat the pavement with our feet as we ran royalty of the night our crowns made of street lamps.
when the midnight wolves howled and the midnight children howled we stomped our feet and howled like the animals we were
and it was beautiful and we were beautiful
our bodies made of light
but now the magic is over the illusion that we could ever be more than we were is gone
