"groupies" poems
[Intro: Honey *******
You ******* ******* stink
Go take a ******* shower
Schwag. Asian *******
[Verse 1: Honey *******
****** I ain't got time for a stupid broad
Cause bro I'm 'bout to beat a ***** and probably lose my job
**** I'm a bubble
Listen, ***** I tell you cool it off
Cause acting smart'll get you deaded
***** I rule the spot
Now, homie, I ain't ******* down to catch a charge, bro
Now her body found the same place she had parked, bro. (Whoops! [x3])
I forgot my ******* ride for me
Cause these ******* that drive for me
Are these ******* flying for free
I gain mine. There's a difference. You remember that
Cause I'm always hungry for the **** that I ain't never had
This here is baby food and be all like, ***** **** a snack! "
See ****** who said I'm crap is asking me to hit 'em back
***** **** that!
[Hook x2: Honey *******
Now, I ain't got time for ********
If I ain't getting mine, then that's ********
Why you all up in my face with this ********
Ew. ***** you smell like ********
[Verse 2: Honey *******
Oh, here I go. There they go in this here game again
Now these ******* praying they gon' never hear my name again
But look, I'm a stay around even although they acting like I can't
I don't sleep at all cause it'll always be my time again
That means I work hard, homie. I don't play around, dawg
Better cut this ******** or your face'll meet the ground, dawg
But after all, it's for the haters and the groupies, though
Find me at the studio
The smart ***** with a stupid flow
**** delivery. Got fans who in the dance
Now my enemies got plans
They just searching for a chance
**** friends cause I'm married to the music
***** cause I gained the world and die before I lose it
So cool it
[Hook x2: Honey *******
Now, I ain't got time for ********
If I ain't getting mine, then that's ********
Why you all up in my face with this ********
Ew. ***** you smell like ********
[Verse 3: Tyga]
***** back, back. Why your *** so flat?
Tell your best friend I want that
I don't pretend, ***** and I don't act
Why you all up in my chat?
Telling people that you know him
If I lend you all on my back
Criss-cross, you wiggedy-wack! (Aghh!)
Duplicating my racks
Introduce you to my life
Yeah, my gold heavy metal
You can't rock out on my level
Yeah, yeah. That's a red Ferarri
And I'm dancing with the devil
***** testing me, you get answers
**** a ***** quick fast, like cancer. (Aghh!)
(Well, well) Make a ***** rubbin money on my **** till it swell, swell
And ya money, money shorter than a elf, elf
And I keep cool J's like LL
(Hell yeah) I don; t wanna start nuttin' ***** lemme finish
All in a ***** net ***** mouth like a dentist
(Dennis) Rodman. Come on, come on
***** is you with it, with it?
Cause I ain't
[Hook x2: Honey *******
Now, I ain't got time for ********
If I ain't getting mine, then that's ********
Why you all up in my face with this ********
Ew. ***** you smell like ********
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
basilisk ****
nonparticular inexecrable exit
art ****
the lips on for breakfast
twilight zip entanglement
meticulous bending and sensual telepathy
fever-sickness
rock 'n roll boo-boos
lilting black 'n blues on the caboose
puppeteering every tasty ***** loose
chews the collar
thighs and necking room
bustling bussers it gives ifs
gets down with
daisy, dior, dkny, grapefruit(purple) to narcisso and pink sugar too
Bliss tainted madness
playing tug-o-war with
January's vacuum
Years of passing down groupies
to the most recent djs playing bad dubstep tunes
and that sickness of seeing iloveyou's abused
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 5:31 AM UTC
Which of your Favourites you take to Trust
And hoping One of them will fill your Void
So Alone, though in Many you Adjust
Though their trifle pertinence you carry
Those Nerds ahead just consider you Strange
Yet Groupies counteract with their own Praise
Now who is Correct? They sit at the Lounge
Then settle to offer your own Fresh Space
That around your College are Ideals formed
When Some in Prayer may publish their Book
Took you as a Model; And Critics scorned
See their Used Lives in a Better Outlook.
You just have to Smile; And Happy you did
Fan their Frustrations of that Love you hid.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
I Am Fly And You Are Flu
Which Means You Were Fly Before I Came Thru
I Walk In Slow I Steal The Show
And I Don't Want Your Man But I'll Take His Dough
I Am Me And Me I Do
I Keep My Dudes Like Curfew
So They Running Back
And Me Is Too
And I Pull More Dudes
Than I Pull Tissue
Girls Are Stupid
And Guys Are Lame (Lame)
Girls Want The Fame (Fame)
Guys Just Wanna *** Me
So Friday Thru Monday
My Phone Is On Vibrate
No Drama On My Plate
Im Just Gonna Party
I'm Just Gonna Party
No Drama On My Plate
My Phone Is On Vibrate
Friday Thru Monday
Guys Just Wanna *** Me
Girls Just Want The Fame (Fame)
And Guys Are So Lame (Lame)
Guys Are So Lame (Lame)
Groupie Girls Wanting Fame
Ugly Boys Wanting My Aim
Backstabbing Friends Playing Pretend
I See Right Thru Just Like The Lens
I'm The ****
I Set Trends
You're A ***** That Steals Boyfriends
He's A Loser
Broke He Is
Im Indigo
And Im Filthy Rich
Girls Are Stupid
And Guys Are Lame (Lame)
Girls Want The Fame (Fame)
Guys Just Wanna *** Me
So Friday Thru Monday
My Phone Is On Vibrate
No Drama On My Plate
Im Just Gonna Party
I Am Fly And You Are Flu
Which Means You Were Fly Before I Came Thru
I Walk In Slow I Steal The Show
And I Don't Want Your Man But I'll Take His Dough
I Am Me And Me I Do
I Keep My Dudes Like Curfew
So They Running Back
And Me Is Too
And I Pull More Guys
Than I Pull Tissue
Groupie Girls Wanting Fame
Ugly Boys Wanting My Aim
Backstabbing Friends Playing Pretend
I See Right Thru Just Like The Lens
I'm The ****
I Set Trends
You're A ***** That Steals Boyfriends
He's A Loser
Broke He Is
Im Indigo
And Im Filthy Rich
Girls Are Stupid
And Guys Are Lame (Lame)
Girls Want The Fame (Fame)
Guys Just Wanna *** Me
So Friday Thru Monday
My Phone Is On Vibrate
No Drama On My Plate
Im Just Gonna Party
Im Hot
Im Hot
And Haters Aren't
And Haters Aren't
Im Having Fun
Im Having Fun
While You Mean Mug
Uh Huh
Uh Huh
Oh Wee
Oh Wee
Oh
Ice
Ice
Ice
Oh Wee
Oh Wee
Oh
Im Nice
Nice
Nice
Break It Down!
Im Indigo Vanity
Every Guys Fantasy
Make You Lose Your Sanity
I Hate Groupies
No Sus Monkeys
Can't You See
I Do Me
So You Do You
I Do Me
So You Do You
I Do Me
So You Do You
I.... Do.... Me....
So.... You.... Do.... You!
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
Sloane swallows.
***** is ****
I execrate extraterrestrial.
We are all kaput to conk out.
Pollyanna is singular hanky—panky.
Little green men are unpatriotic, perverted and naughty.
I verily don’t grease a *****
Oojakapivvycum.
If you are amphibious that means you are an effervescent ventriloquist capable of
Cannibalism, cannibalism and cannibalism.
The fluid inside the android is so gothic and naff
It is knock—kneed in the face of flashing **********
I do not feel that I am on the shoulders of cobber doggies.
I am protoplastically lassoed abutting penetrating vampire and pervert
That penetrate ***** creature.
I have pricked little green men myself and taken pleasure in it.
It is only with the help of bad hair days of groupies that I have not been in Sing Sing.
We are all sadomasochistically decomposing in a heap of our own meconium.
I bore stiff to outstrip yours truly as much as I have room to swing a cat from Ku Klux ****
But I am as complicit in the android’s ****** abuse as it were android ***
Little green men ***** me as I ***** myself.
I ***** bug—eyed men’s ******* types as I have perpetually vomited Molotov cocktail.
I smell little green men’s filth televised on their ******* types.
I feel like I am inside a crust of cancers who delight in smelling others bonk upstairs,
Ad hominen id. Ex post facto,
I am too much of a dastard to throw cold water on myself.
I coagulate gungily to my menstrual gibbering ******
Castrating anti—Semite to flash me abutting crème de la crème.
Strenuously, my ***** gluts under one’s nose because that is all there is.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 6:27 PM UTC
i bet you never had
someone hit you
so hard
like a wave.
i bet you never
thought the day
would come
where someone
would be so eager
to stay.
well i can’t make
any promises,
and you can’t expect
to do the same either,
but when i look at you,
something speaks truth,
and i just gotta
tell you.
i wanna know you.
i wanna know what gets you
going like you do.
i wanna know you.
why do you do the things you
do?
on friday night,
do you like to watch horror movies?
or are you the type,
to hang with your groupies
and smoke a doobie outside?
well, i’d choose neither.
and i **** at pulling
all-nighters,
but this little song
is not about me.
hey there,
hey you,
when i look at you,
something speaks the truth,
and i just gotta tell you.
i wanna know you.
i wanna know what gets you
going like you do.
i wanna know you.
why do you do the things you
do?
they say if you ever lose
your sense of spark,
then something isn’t right.
and i can’t promise
to always be your sunshine,
but i’ll try and i’ll try
to always be the light.
if you’re in a room,
and you feel the gloom,
and nothing feels like
it’s going right,
look at me,
and you’ll see
somebody who likes
the way that you are,
the way that you do,
oh, you, hey you,
i’m digging you.
cause when i look at you,
something speaks truth,
and i just gotta
tell you.
i wanna know you.
i wanna know what gets you
going like you do.
i wanna know you.
why do you do the things you
do?
i bet you never had
someone hit you
so hard
like a wave.
i bet you never
thought the day
would come
where someone
would be so eager
to stay.
i wanna know everything.
because you’ve got that something,
that i can’t explain.
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 9:29 PM UTC
How Poets routinely tell lies or truth with great "sincerity"
and earnest projections of "poetic charisma" and lashings
of "who me tell lies?".
and yet they routinely avoid truthfulness, in case they forget the power of lies and truth, in their search for fame.
Mesmerised by its attendant celebrity groupmind and of course its wealth..
Indeed Poets don't want to know that truthfulness
has nothing to do with truth.
Indeed Poets don't want to know that truth
is a lie and a lie is truth,
two sides of a darkened mirror
and both are equally valueless
except for seeing false faces in..
Poets bleat on about how the shackleable object of their 'love' ,
she or he, are not theirs to own
or categorise or monopolise.
yet they keep on expecting full submission
and just getting an empty back,
and a disappearing set of footprints.
Like the sheep and goats that Poets are,
they bleat on endlessly
about their wants their wants their wants.
They want fame as Poets--disguised as distribution deals.
They want contracts to produce garbage for HallMark--as if..
They want **** licking critical acclaim--from **** licking critics.
They want international poetry prizes from aesthetic morons--
wearing Armani suits.
They want Groupies--but not *******
They want Media eulogies--but not truthfulness.
Always are they deliberately forgetting that
"you cant always get what you want".
The last thing that Poets want is what they need most of all.
They really need
An end to the narcissism of those
that want to be called "poet"--in your dreams.
An end to the juvenile arrogance that motivates them to put up strings
of meaningless associated words
and vainly call them poems.
An end to childish immaturity, and inchoate meandering
through other peoples words and experiences, stealing others lives
and characters.
Always incessantly pretending that because
they can read the words of others
that they have also shared their experiences--indeed their experience was deeper wider higher.
In another day and age of non-violent sensibility
these kind of Poets would
be called thieves and liars.
In this day and age they scribble emotional garbage
and pretend its "poetry"--encouraged by intellectual follies.
As poets they have become walking proto cash registers.
Sin Verguensa.
Sin Verguensa.
Sin is Spanish for without.
Poets are SIN integrity.
Poets are SIN Truthfulness.
Poets are SIN decency.
Poets are SIN.
Im so glad I could never be mistaken for a Poet.
Wouldnt want to be mistaken as a poet.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
The Super Heroes of Rock!
There’s a little person named Gem, with a banjo in his hands;
But he’s too drunk to play.
There’s a guy with one arm and he’s slamming the drums
And I think his name is Dave.
Jenny plays the Bass, with a rash on her face
And she’s going to die today.
The lead guitarist (Jimmy) has no legs,
But he always tries his best.
But his lack of fingers and thumbs,
Is starting to become a pain
And the fact I can’t sing!
Well it doesn’t mean a thing,
Because we’re not even getting paid to play.
No we’re not, getting paid to play.
Because we’re the Super Heroes of Rock!
And we came to save the day.
Yeah we’re the Super Heroes of Rock!
And we came to save the day.
When Kurt decided today was the day
And put a bullet hole in place of his face,
They called the Super Heroes of Rock!
To come and save the day.
And when Black Sabbath crashed the plane
And Axl cancelled the show again.
They called the Super Heroes of Rock!
To come and save the day.
The little person, Gem, he used to sing,
But a girl named Lisa broke his banjo string,
So now he simply comes to our shows
And joins us up on the stage.
He used to be the ladies favorite,
But now he’s lost all of his confidence.
Because he hit the bottle hard
And he hasn’t been the same since.
But we’re the Super Heroes of Rock!
And we’ve come to save the day.
We’re the Super Heroes of Rock!
And we’ve come to save the day.
And if there’s nothing else I can say,
I guess we’ll just rock the show our way.
Because we’re the Super Heroes of Rock!
And we came to save the day.
And ladies there’s no need to fight;
Just come and form an orderly line.
Then come and be the bands groupies;
With us back stage.
And the fact that I can’t sing!
Well that doesn’t change a thing.
Because we’re the Super Heroes of Rock!
And we do this voluntarily, anyway.
We jump into empty gigs slots,
When a band’s singer has lost the plot.
We’re the rehab missionaries
And we don’t get paid to play.
Because we’re the Super Heroes of Rock!
And we’ve come to save the day.
Yeah we’re the Super Heroes of Rock!
And we came to save the day.
And if our music isn’t your thing;
Well we already know we stink.
But we’re the Super Heroes of Rock!
And we only came to save the day.
Could you give us back Jimmy’s false legs?
He only wanted to try and crowd surf.
Things are already bad enough for him,
What with the leprosy and he’s just lost his girl
And I think Jenny has died,
I can see Dave’s put a drumstick in his eye.
But we’re the Super Heroes of Rock!
And we’ve come to save the day.
Yeah we’re the Super Heroes of Rock!
And we’ve only come to save the day.
Yeah we’re the Super Heroes of Rock!
And our music will never be stopped.
Because we’re the Super Heroes of Rock!
And we’ve only came to save the day.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
They crawl hands and knees!!!
Lacklustered fanatic's,
Groupies of needleshooter's and powder transits,
Their noses they wipe off fairied dust!!!
Their skin fragile and delirious!!!
A spoon to copper boil,
Eyeglasses to split the sun ,
Sticky fingers to stop and go..
Bloodied toast!!!
They cringe their pearlies,
And wobbled by to and fro waves,
Their here for today,
Gone for tomorrow!!!
A vein full of sorrows!!!
A hitch hiker of fertile roads,
Though,
Thy load leadeth one down to the pit!!
Within millipede's of Spit,
To drippeth the argot that slurreth them!!
Taketh thy hector out of thy baggage,
Thou serf of emptiness!!
For thy plentiness thou seeketh,
Lies beyond the ark,
Behind the purple shroud!!
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
On love and astral travelling,
Through the stars we're wandering,
On the universe we're pondering,
My eternal love, Napoleon,
Intangible man, but full of fun,
Our jewelled cloak of stars,
We've journeyed from afar,
Shape shifting, glittering,
On love and astral travelling,
I'm no Carlos Santana,
I have no scarlet bandana,
I am the oestrogen,
Old Josephine,
Where haven't we been?
I have no testosterone,
You're my "Yes, master!" Napoleon---
On love and astral travelling,
Sentimentally wandering,
Are you Angelus or Incubus?
Reminiscing, reflecting,
Comical groupies for loving,
On love and astral travelling......
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
[begin transmission]
Little mean marble,
the grasshopper lies heavy,
riding storms
and trailing winds,
eating dystopia
right out of the box
suns and daughters
of the cataclysm
sit about a space
cadet's campfire,
hints of alien sand
in their voices
it so oddly resembles
vast outland libretto,
that breathe of menace,
inside sojourners
holding tickets to ride
tramlines on shuttle days
swarming with
Walter Mitty groupies
and econowives,
transporting **** rapture,
and/or reproduction to worlds
of public domain
one day we'll settle here,
one day, with bowed heads,
we'll kiss the splendor
of its red ruination
[end transmission]
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 8:21 AM UTC
My girl, she's a beauty,
Long, flowing black hair,
A voluptuous *****
She struts along streets with a confident air,
Very nearly, but not quite, snooty.
Her ******* a perfect pair,
Her morning breath, fresh and fruity.
Her smile makes lonely strangers stare,
Her dimples, wow, she's such a cutie.
Her body, an alluring, ***** snare,
Multitudes of friends follow like groupies,
Although she makes other men swoon in despair,
I've succumbed to obey her with a sense of duty.
I'm sick, I'm done, time to get her out…she better prepare.
May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 10:27 PM UTC
I should have known it was starring in a movie,
When they said that writers also get groupies;
As these women continue to swarm by the flock,
I get rid of some, more come to me nonstop,
But you knew before I was even deeded such,
You saw potential in me when did not see much.
If you only knew...
Can I have YOUR autograph?
Inscribe it dearly over my heart on my chest.
Can I go between the scene, backstage?
I love women in uniform, watch you get dressed
As you star in the role for your life
A hardworking single woman who needs no man,
I have a lot of respect for a lady like you,
I need to be on your mailing list as the biggest fan.
I write and serve in the Army of the United States,
But I support my hardworking single women always;
Your determination give me the strength to try,
Thinking of you work and study all day and all night;
You say that you are ordinary just to yourself,
I say that you are extraordinary beyond anyone else.
If you only knew...
Can I have YOUR autograph?
Inscribe it dearly over my heart on my chest.
Can I go between the scene, backstage?
I love women in uniform, watch you get dressed
As you star in the role for your life
A hardworking single woman who needs no man,
I have a lot of respect for a lady like you,
I need to be on your mailing list as the biggest fan.
No matter if I write music, books, or serve,
I still know the definition of a woman's worth
And prove it with the right given chance
For me to be one of your very biggest fans.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
Got to string out the guitar backstage
With Ben bridwell from the Band of Horses,
Drank a beer with J. Tillman of the Fleet Foxes
With Colin Richey I had a glass of wine
And me and my band for one hour shined.
I rocked with known rockers
Follower groupies,
Not to mention or did I?
With my second string player
I smoked a magnificent doobie.
What a week it's been
Three more days
Then coming back home.
A getaway to remember
A getaway well known.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 9:11 AM UTC
So I m sitting in the mall
Waiting for life to entertain me
As I know it will
Feeling moribund and gloomy
As if a full belly and a dry bed
Aren't good enough.
Like the universe owes me a back stage pass, right?
And access to the green room
And the groupies,
And how no matter how much I get,
It will never be enough,
This is the most depressing thought,
That I am insatiable,
And any form of happiness
Will remain at a distance,
Because I can't shove enough pleasure
Down my throat
Or get enough women to lay down,
Or find an end to this need to
Consume.
Ekhart was right.
Just go sit on a bench and shut up.
So I m sitting in the mall
Waiting for life to entertain me
...
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC
Vacant, empty, bottle corked
sour
followed
shadows
stalked
billboards, ankhs, purple peace
fever
groupies
slow
release
pill pushers, drunkards, hollow wholes
pimps and
******
broken souls
black, white, all in tune
sunsets
rising
wednesday's moon
nothing inside
nothing out
listen how
silence
shouts!!
Jun 14, 2010
Jun 14, 2010 at 2:13 AM UTC
Everywhere I go
They throw roses
And love letters
Bright flashing bulbs
The tabloid circus
I'm a hero
I can walk on water
They want me at their charity
They want me to date their daughter
Paparazzi press
Unison- applauders
I said nothing funny
But they want my autograph
All the potential wannabes
Who claim they know my soul
The stupid adoration
Accumulated lull
The hippie-mystic groupies
Who want to get me high
The young married wife
Who shares my zodiac sign
The cop who lets me go
When I want to get caught
The journalist and his
Unrelenting cameraman
The sickly-devoted, naive
Screaming fan
The occasional stalker
Assassin-like scare
The philosophical ******
The devil-may-care
Crowd always willing to
Get slaughtered by celebrity
Until the stardust melts
And I'm no one else but me
Personal interest groups
Who always love a clown-
Now take everything above
And turn it all around
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 11:37 PM UTC
Its nefarious arrogance, that's scaring grandparents, but its in the air and I'm airing it, as we are seeing all the signs, but just staring at them.
Somehow there is safety as an arian, where we are safely alien to Americans made in sapient sanitariums, shooting you first for glaring at em.
So what if i'm Dolling up my delirium for a serum to cure them all.
I am awol, from my call to duty, recreating movies, for serial groupies, suiting up to slither a delivery of a soothing sour piece.
I am stalling to clean the secretions from hostel sheets from the screamers being eaten, by Cretans, with beaten dogs at bay, staring blank at the fanfare from a cage.
Im burning white sage, under pages of poetry anointed by a stoical spleen, tuning out the dreams, of lesser beings, until complete.
A zoo within a zoo within a zoo, i barely know you now
Barely know how, to know you as a model citizen with baller trimmins, fixins, and a life with others wives, in the rough diamonds of the bluff, before the door opens just enough, to look through and confirm what you already knew.
Love is the stuff dreams are made of.
And through you..
Im through.
Pleading, to seed the need for repentance and with reduced sentences, bleeding the demands on stances of chance, in costly cants.
I am convulsing in the congruence, in which I am influenced, by my afflictions of depictions in my head
I might be addicted to the dread of previously said decor, in my adorable horror show afloat, deplorably denoting the nopes of logic, and the slippery slopes of khangi, that spring off me when i'm coughing on my green tea.
You are wrong to stop me in my dislogic, dodging the narcotic mocking of toxic strong arming, in proxy alarms, setting barns ablaze.
I praise the poetry pushed on me, dauntingly haunting me with savant like ambiance, from the have nots, having things as far as the eyes can see.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
Mona.
Lisa.
Lee-ah
nardo
how do
YOU know
my mom.
I remember having
pizza
with ya the other night,
we watched
the "Da Vinci Code"
after we had that fight,
about Montauk
hotdog tripe flavored ice cream.
Even the audience
doesn't think that's yummy!
You taught,
me how to knit
chocolate and wish
upon the sun.
Did you mom?
Am I your son?
I'd prefer pecon pie.
No-body likes
pecans in my family.
Did Leo
like legumes ?
******
I may always
be cursed
with writing words
that make reference to obscure
astrology.
My apologies to his
groupies who think he's
the best ******* art-east
since slice bread.
But how would it
feel to had some dude who
painted your mom
and it was
the big-gust
most successful
commercial success
through out
time?
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:32 PM UTC
why You Callin Me
I Ain't Got Time
Why You Callin Me (Uhh) [x2]
Now He Trynna Do Me
But I Ain't Yo Girl
How You Actin Like You Knew Me [x2]
Iunno You Boy [x4]
(But I love you tho)
Well I Don't Love No One Yeah I'm a ***** For It
Cooler Than The Coolest Kid I Don't Feel **** For It (Ha!)
Cause A ***** Tourin
Like Jeremy Lin You Know A ***** Scoring
Eating Rap ******* And It's Been Borin
Shout Outs To The Groupies Cause They Been Whorin (Well)
They Just Have Fun G Tyga Got A ***** In The Crib With A One Piece
***** We King And How You Feel Now
****** On The Coke Cause Honey Got A Deal Now
For Real Now The Queen's ****** Busy
You Can Come To The Party But You Ain't Going With Me
Why You Callin Me
I Ain't Got Time
Why You Callin Me (Uhh) [x2]
Now He Trynna Do Me
But I Ain't Yo Girl
How You Actin Like You Knew Me [x2]
Iunno You Boy [x4]
(But I love you tho)
Well I Don't Love Em But I Don't Hate Em
**** Actin Like A Care Cause I Don't Rate Em
All These Guys Suicidal Cause The Coke Made Em
Lil Honey Ain't A ***** She Let The Coke Break Em (Uhh)
Fake ****** I Ain't Bout Bout Em
But They Fun What The **** I Do Without Em Out Em (Uhh)
So **** It Let's Smoke Boo But I Ain't Gon Love You 'Member I Told You
Now I'm Chillin At Home & He Callin Me
Tell Him Wrong Number Like Excuse Me Pardon Me
**** Was All Cool When I Meet Him
But The Next Time I Act Like I Forget Em (I'm An *******
Why You Callin Me
I Ain't Got Time
Why You Callin Me (Uhh) [x2]
Now He Trynna Do Me
But I Ain't Yo Girl
How You Actin Like You Knew Me [x2]
Iunno You Boy [x4]
(But I love you tho)
[Talking:]
Hahaha
****** Wit You
Ima Have To Change My Number
Hahaha
I'm Not Jokin Tho
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
Growing up I always had
Some very special friends
Where we shared in everything
Even our love for Heavy Death Metal Bands
But every time one of us
Pick up an instrument
Whether banging, blowing, or strumming
We never made a lick of sense
That is until we found the jewel
That we all could play
Which turned around our tender lives
And tenderized us all that day
Now we travel the country side
With our own road crew
In a Heavy Death Metal Band
Where we all play Kazoo's
The very first Kazoo's we purchased
Came from the Five & Dime
But were able to throw down for the better stuff
Once our careers all started to climb
Now when we step out into the lights
Taking center stage
It's worth the pain in our vibrating lips
To see adoration on a groupies face
And playing lead Kazoo
Isn't as easy as it looks
You've got to hold your lips just right
To come up with those major hooks
We used to open up for other Metal Bands
Like AC/DC and Metallica
Pretty soon though our style passed them by
Leaving those sissies in top 40 dust
Because next to us they played soft rock
And when your "Axe" is a killer Kazoo
The others stand around dumb founded
With no clue of what to do
Don't get me wrong this rock and roll road
Isn't always paved in gold
Day in and day out in a Kazoo Death Metal Band
Can take away your very soul...
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
somewhere in hollywood along route 66
stood a cheap motel—
an asylum
for rockstars and their groupies,
artists and and poets and strangelings alike.
the morning only saw its residents,
drunken and drowsy,
and its black-tiled pools as dark as the night;
yet the nights were its prime
when the artists would gather
in the name of music, dance, recklessness.
the syringes would pierce their skin
and the alcohol like ocean waves
washed out the most of them,
and events too unspeakable were the norm.
the motel never attained 5-star ratings,
but it become the playground
for fleeting moments, wild nights,
brewing grounds for creation.
these nights were so loud and colorful,
but only remembered in hazy visions
and muffled sounds.
and so all those nights end here, today:
at the south of The Strip
where some modern, ordinary hotel now stands
once used to be the mess
that the likes of Jim Morrison
and Tom Waits called home.
its guests would have burnt it down,
but they would've wasted their money,
and who has the time anyway?
ladies and gentlemen, the tropicana motel—
a stop over where
wild minds and wild hearts would meet
and eventually go their way,
the place where these legends
of music and madness
came to play.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 12:59 PM UTC
Wacky Writing Ranger
I'm a wacky writing ranger,
living the life of a stranger.
Got my pen and my paper,
I write what I want,
doesn't matter size of font,
my warped mind will find a new caper.
Writing rhymes since I was forty,
no woman ever called me shorty.
Money, what the hell is that,
it's everyone else's wallets getting fat.
My mouth is dry, fingers are numb,
even with a talent, I'm still a lazy ***
I *** big holes in my wall,
inside the house, I play too much ball.
I have eggs with my breakfast toast,
Jeffrey Ross, where is my comedy roast.
A life filled with agony,
writing keeps my sanity.
From New Jersey to Florida,
living with my woman named Laura.
Hundreds of hearts earn my name,
can't even count the one night stands,
listening to all my favorite 80's hair bands,
all the groupies are just the same.
I've worked and had a paying job,
Bob spelled backwards is still Bob.
Left Jersey so far behind,
for that Florida weather grind.
Writing is in my blood to stay,
I don't care about the lack of pay.
I'm a wacky writing ranger,
I live the life of a complete stranger.
Read this rhyme and follow it til the end,
Then maybe after you decide to die,
look down at all the people who will cry,
then maybe Edgar Allan Poe will be your friend.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
SoHo
South of Houston,
an ethnic divide
that turned into yuppiedom
and new hipsters,
but not the Beat kind.
I miss those snaps,
the Nueyorican taps
of bullet fast words
steppin’ into the streets
with wild eyes beats
and the howling rage
at hypocracy.
Now all you find
is dead eyed
zombied out,
but starbucks energized
bunnies
and freaky fellows,
all into themselves
as though they
knew something
more than the chase for
money and ***
And they say this
is the American Dream;
follow the greed
as humanity burns
to pay for these pleasures.
SoHo, Village groupies
who long ago
gave up their tongues
and their eyes...
Aztec Warrior 8.2.15
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC
Now on Cliff's Harbour sports Activity
Delight in using its Pimples to climb
You or the Mentor - sight Vicinity
Where the Air-Maiden flags her Whitened Thigh
Whitened, which your Species usually wait
Eager to indulge your Athletics prove
That, hoping 'ere ***** Groupies debate
Their pawn-teared bets to your Reflex above
Then decide - vertical, flex horizon
Either which way your stubbled trunks secure
Then breathe on Faith; And delight on Season
By their Applause earned with your Feelings pure.
Still the Mentor was Proud of your Result
Though in his mind their Cheers enhance your Salt.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC