"gymnast" poems
You a ***
You a ***
You a ***
An nothin bout it,
For more information please contact poison control at 647-866-1219
Cause ***** you eaten too much ****
So pazass yo ***
Or I shred yo ***** like grass
Or nah
Gratata,
Dis aint nothin but raw
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
She says something but I wasn't listening
I was feeling her ******* with my eyes
Then she points to something
Oh , my ! What a gorgeous ***
I could see both of my big hands
Cradling her most perfect buns
Then she's got legs of an Olympic gymnast
So thick , firm and succulent
Her long brown hair smells so good
I want to take a swim in it
"You haven't heard a word I said !"
She says with an air that's foul
"I'm sorry," I say ,"but I couldn't hear you .
Your body language was way too loud."
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 3:35 AM UTC
A girl and a boy pick their way across the snow-wrecked parking lot, holding hands even if they have to stretch to reach. She’s laughing, an arm out slightly for balance, like a gymnast. They come closer together as they reach a spot that is snow free, brushing arms, then the inevitable happens. The boy steps in the cold snow slush; trying to pretend his canvas shoes aren’t soaked through. The girl laughs, covering her mouth; hiding her amusement at his misfortune. Their mouths move through quick conversation, the words inaudible. They don’t really matter though, He’ll get home and peel off his damp socks and remember her yet again. The laugh that escaped her lips before she could control it, the cold hearted canvas that failed to provide adequate protection, and the way he smiled and continued walking, just to hold her hand.
Sep 15, 2010
Sep 15, 2010 at 11:18 AM UTC
Words tattooed her thighs.
Chocolate hair fell in her eyes.
Muscle queen stomped
gymnastick,
round silver poles.
She was no stripper,
but an athlete
for tips
and hand shakes
and bills in her
cracking her face,
*her face must be
cracking* to
ass-grabbing lions,
prowling LA's
city sierra bored.
I couldn't imagine
Queen Courtney crying.
But upside down,
floating disco lights
exposed pursed face shows.
She girated
sex-lined hips
for tips, not ego.
Splits and tricks
choking chuckling girls
saluting her routine,
tossing one's,
wishing they were ten 0's.
She looked magnificant.
I asked her if she was a gymnast.
She said something like that,
eyes fixed on the sleek floor,
strong arms chilled by the cold —
men with thick wallets and no home.
So I gave her my coat.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
I break my back again;
a gymnast I never was,
scoring a 6.5, never a perfect ten,
putting myself through hell because
being flexible for your needs
has always been at the top of my priorities.
but you never were a chiropractor
and my desires were never
even considered as a factor
when you chose your next endeavor
so I just keep bending backwards for you,
nearing my demise
as the life drains from my eyes
and my face turns a deep shade of blue.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
.simone biles (the gymnast)...
miles davis (the trumpet guy)...
must be black privilege;
wasn't there a movie...
starring
woody harrelson
and wesley snipes?
you sure?
i thought it was
called: white men can't jump...
sure as **** ****** can
sing church gospel!
how's that for
privilege?
if you're going to
culturally box, and repeatedly
punch below the belt...
you're quiet likely going
to get a reaction...
i have an acne wart growing
on my *** the size
of a cauliflower,
it's itchy my brain,
it's differentiating between
agitate and: lying back...
i guess the excess of...
look... you may have
the excess melanin...
i have lactose tolerance...
we're even?!
no?
so how come some smurf,
some European hobbit
shackle your N.B.A.
Goliath(s)?!
explain that one to me...
if these people were so
cock-unsure...
how they **** did they
tame the Zulu Apache Goliath
bodybuilders?!
what the ****
i already said, and it was proven...
IQ...
i don't like it...
but i'm pretty sure that
the whites **** more people
in terrorist attacks than...
camel-jockeys...
it took 3 or over three...
to perform the Bataclan Massacre...
three... the third of the IQ
that required a Breivik...
130 in France...
dissociated among 3 attackers
that gorged on testicles after the spree...
fun, fun fun fun...
like: you're trying to say that without
irony...
and how many in Norway?
77...
i only look at the IQ of killers...
so... what's the ratio?
77 / 1
130 / 3 = 43...
like i said... low IQ...
you really want your little
racial insurrection?
you'll have it, don't worry..
i'll just the narrative...
must be black privy...
if you can mash up a jazz compos.,
right?
crackers read from
a prepared script...
you ******* just, "improvise"...
rapping contra talking...
**** come to think of it...
******* boys took it too far from
your Oreos...
like... too much drums...
not enough wind, or strings...
too much drumming...
pulverizing the ears
with drum & bass and what not...
if i wasn't deaf prior,
i'm deaf by now;
******* boy to Oreo woo-oo-oops
boy;
same **** different cover.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
A short and an earlier popular poem of mine. Hope you like it! Thanks, - Raj, New Delhi.
THE SURF-RIDER !
See him riding gallantly the crest of
waves,
With dexterity and poise and flowing
grace!
He rises to descend, to rise once more,
As the waves keep rolling towards the
shore!
Like those surfs the Rider continues his
mellifluous dance ,
Be it in England, in Spain or in France;
Riding high on waves as if in a trance!
The wind churns up the waves as it rises
and swells,
As the Rider manoeuvers his wake-board
riding those crests before it breaks !
Like a gymnast he executes strong cutbacks
- to reverse his turn,
His spirit dominate as the waves rise and
churn!
He did take his time to perfect his art ,
Having loved the sea and the surf from the
very start!
He learnt to live in moments just like those
dancing waves,
Floating on their crests as his blood within
raves!
Those surfs like musical notes rise up and
fall,
Where some surfs are short and others tall !
Like a philharmonic conductor par-excellence,
He commands those waves with his skilful
presence!
Friends, riding on Time’s moments is no mean
art,
But like the Surf-rider one must make a gallant
start !
-Raj Nandy, New Delhi
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC
59
A little East of Jordan,
Evangelists record,
A Gymnast and an Angel
Did wrestle long and hard—
Till morning touching mountain—
And Jacob, waxing strong,
The Angel begged permission
To Breakfast—to return—
Not so, said cunning Jacob!
“I will not let thee go
Except thou bless me”—Stranger!
The which acceded to—
Light swung the silver fleeces
“Peniel” Hills beyond,
And the bewildered Gymnast
Found he had worsted God!
3.1k
Take my hand to continents only known in the books,
the blue maps on tiny tables sat in stacks
ready for the lesson on Mexico, or thereabouts- third this week because
the timetable is weak, poorly thought through and cobbled
together out of half-dressed evenings in the lounges of
teachers; ones once loved by the master and mistresses, leaders
of the well dressed and caretakers.
Take my feet and walk with them, balancing
on borders separating language and currency,
the gymnast's beam looking out over the forestry,
its taller trees than you and me standing upon toes tipping
down towards the urgent ground, urgently warning to stay
upright and stick around, with her holding your hand.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
Board games, card games
your games, my games,
I can't get enough.
Checkers, Chess, Stratego,
Battleship, Clue and Risk
require such strategy
and a taste of boldness.
For Twister and the Slip-n-Slide,
you need flexibility and dare.
Monopoly, Ultimate Frisbee
and Slaughter Ball all require
a good amount of aggression,
where Senet, Operation and Connect Four
only need clever patience.
For Jenga and Topple,
you need the skill of a gymnast.
Rummy, Gin, Go Fish, Blackjack and
War, you need only an opponent.
Now, go play!
Written By:
Andrew D. Robertson
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
Being in gymnastics
Is like being in an abusive relationship
Everything just tells you "NO"
But you still stay
From the bars,
And how it releases the grips of your hands
To the beam,
Which only aims to make you wobble and fall off
To the vault,
Running full speed to it only to make you miss the vault
To the floor,
Wherein you try to flip and twist only to be defeated by Newton's law of gravity
With the stupid scoring system
Pointing out every flaw
With a deduction
Just cause your bra strap is showing
jeez!
And how we are trained to achieve the unachievable —
How every move is supposed to be precise
Every muscle squeezed and tight —
Perfection
And the fact that
You'll never actually be the best
There's always a harder skill
After you've achieved what you may think
Is your "hardest"
It pushes you
To your breaking point
Forcing you to be
This perfect formed strong gymnast
Which pays so much costs
Literally blood, sweat and tears
It tells you that
Every ******* time you fall
You just gotta get back up
And try again
That no matter how much sore you are
You gotta **** it up
And do it again
And again and again and again
Until you finally get it
But there are these magical moments
those little moments of pure happiness
When you get a skill you've been working on
When coach praises you for your improvement
When you get over your fear
And when you stand on top of that platform
Knowing you gave it your all
These moments
Are what keep us going
These moments
Are what we come back for
Time after time after leaving the gym saying
"I hate training!"
There's just something about
These moments so special
That keeps us wanting more
And I will never
ever
Stop loving gymnastics
No matter how many times it hurts me
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 6:24 AM UTC
Love is….
The feeling you get when your stomach suddenly becomes an expert gymnast doing expert somersaults.
The sound of your heart beating a million miles a minute echoing the raindrops in a monsoon.
The sight of beautiful eyes, the eyes of your dreams, wanting yours to meet theirs.
The smell of a man, in all his forms, radiating from his arms wrapped around you.
The taste of the future, the texture of happiness, upon the palet of forever
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
You only live once...
More commenly known as YOLO
God, I'm such a nerd...Did I actually just say that?
...well that's new...
Anyways...
Though the song actually doesn't serve this message much good, (but has the capacity to get stuck in my head ALL THE TIME) this message is quite true.
I've been spending far too much time moping around about how my dreams never come true and a bunch of **** that means the world to me now and won't matter later....
I know this isn't poetry, but I wanted to get this out and write something that felt personal... Something that felt like me talking...almost...
So I realized that we really do only live once (duh) and that I don't want to follow the standard little path we're all started on and brainwashed into thinking leads to success. I don't want to have a ton of money but hate what I do. Really, I'd rather just be happy.
When I'm older, I want to look back at my life and be proud of myself. I want to look back and think that I lived a happy life.
So I know I'm young. I know that 20 years from now I won't remember the cold winter night at 2:17 am that I wrote this. I won't remember why I had a crush on that one boy in 8th grade.
But, I will remember being happy, or more commenly unhappy and I don't like being unhappy, no one does.
Something's wrong and I think it's time to stop acting like it's not.
So yeah, I'm young. I've got a long road behind me and an even longer one ahead. I've got a lot of choices and mistakes to make. I've got a lot of things to fix.
I've got a pile of homework to catch up on, and a couple thousand ideas to write down.
It used to be when I grow up, I want to be a doctor.
An astronaut.
A figure skater.
A singer,
A gymnast,
A doctor,
President,
And so on,
But at this point, I want to be happy.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 2:28 AM UTC
Ascent
The narrow passage arched over the gaping river
like a gymnast vaulting backwards,
gracing the ground with open palms.
I began to climb--
beleaguered on both sides
by insecure concrete obstructions;
I diverted my attention to the ascending road ahead.
I continued to climb,
like a slowly chugging roller coaster,
meekly scaling up the track
with subdued anticipation.
I sunk into the road;
the sky merged with my pseudo-perpetual path, forming the offing--
where it seemed the road ran eternally into the heavens.
I saw blue reach into black in the late afternoon's
fading visage.
Summit
Gliding over the mountainous ****
I stared over the horizon
where the sun was neatly tucked
under the trees--
silhouetted against the dusky sky,
looking like fingers reaching up into the void,
accumulating like earthly pillows to a heavenly face glowing brightly.
I watched a murky blue dip into a wet grass'd green,
then a traffic cone orange,
followed by the passionate (infra)red of two lovers' entwined,
climaxing in a jaundiced yellow--
tucked neatly like a layer of film
atop the silhouetted landscape.
Descent
I wished I had
descended the adret
of my ascension's perceived perpetual offing,
rather than this gritty one--
to dip into the horizon,
where I would metamorphose
into a dazzling array of colors;
feeling myself slowly fade away
into the impending night sky.
Tucked away for another day,
sleeping under the stars,
in the fingertipped forests
now obliquely reaching into their absent luminescence
but relishing the cool night air--
silently waiting for light
to soon again
breach their gloomy shells.
[Enlightenment lingered within the visions of my ascension--
I danced with its transient spirit at the summit--
to be decimated as the car lurched downward into mortality.
I saw what could be as I moaned into the
fading afternoon's dipping colors.
Who knew the descent was the hardest part of humanity?]
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
Wake up some days like I must be dreanin
Feinnin for a state a mind
That gives life meaning,
Submerged in reasoning,
Drowned by thinking
I see the white light
Or am I dreaming
Am I feeling this way for no reason?
Subconsciously bleeding
Sharing my thoughts like I’m seeding
An open book who’s reading
A case against life I’m pleading
In the game I’m seasoned
But if it’s the truth I’m speaking
Tell me if I’m dreaming,
Tell me if you see them
The haters the fakers the tyrants
Promoting convictions and violence
My people on the Earth are dying
Because these demons in disguise stay lying
I’m trying **** right trying to cease the pain and the crying
Mothers tears who fear their children’s death is near
I’m clear in what saying so don’t get my words twisted
Like I be having distorted visions
, Never That,
My dreams are vivid my lyrics descriptive
I’m not saying I’m gifted
But this truth will make you question religion
Will make aggressive from timid
God said we are all made in his image
Minus mutations from Chemist
Our genes don’t flex like gymnast
This world’s stress is our limit
Without artificial stress we can live it
Live life like back in the Garden of Eden
Like children at play hope hasn't gone away
Conscience fleeting today,
Emotions peeling away
Drinking whiskey straight
I guess this is the way
I guess this is the place
Life just whisking away
Who’ll miss me anyways?
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
I'm standing at the kitchen sink
The curtains are yellow and white
The light is cast on my face
As my eyes drag towards you
And a laugh tumbles out
It's without my blessing
And your teeth show from ear to ear
One tumble leads to another
Like a lady gymnast
And now we are tumbling together
The slap of your hands
They are greeting the kitchen table
I'm doubled over with happiness
And we just keep meeting
Over and over again
The linoleum is dented
With a million footsteps
Where we danced together
Twirling like a ribbon girl
Where I stirred the batter
That made your burnt birthday cake
And I'm barren, unable to conceive
But, we are each others babies
Our crib is each others arms
You take me as I am
Like the ugly wallpaper
In the upstairs bathroom
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
Two-tongued and long,
Slander and smooth,
Naked and wicked.
Moves hissing,
Delivers kisses of death,
With tongue flicking.
A revered reptile.
Lives in dead piles of woods
In trees, and deserts,
The cold earth's hugger
Crawls like nature's gymnast.
Never has he ever laughed
Never made any friends
Never trusted by anybody.
Sadly he has a king,
Black like me
But has no soul
he lives in Africa
And in parts of Asia
He bites and hisses
But I don't bite
only on my food
He doesn't chew.
I do, and I swallow.
Him, his preys whole
I despise him.
I have many reasons
He social-engineered his ways
Around Adam"s woman
One day, he ****** eve up
With smooth lies
What this even implies,
Empirically, logically,
I really don't know,
All I know, I was told!
Hold on, I know not
From whence it came,
Maybe from the good book,
That's a Long and twisted story.
It says he used his tongue
Not on her as a woman,
But to break her home.
Adam was a **** fool,
To leave that girl home alone.
Unannounced, he came in kool
Using his double tongues.
Was she kinda blind?
He isn't even cute.
This story I can't refute
Yet millions have concurred
I'm not a friend.
Not of the story.
Of him, the notorious,
The venomous
The infamous heel biter
Once again, I hate him
Never was a friend
Never will be,
Because of that poor woman.
He's the First home breaker,
Frickin' liar
Cursed by God
His head to be severed
Using a sword,
A stone or stick,
Day or night,
Right or wrong,
Because of poor little eve
Adam's kids will strike
At his tiny little head.
Death to the serpent!
Eternal condemnation
Even if he repents,
Strike his elongated body
With a double-edged cutlass.
Don't you ever feel sorry
For this sorry ***
Chinese add him cooked
segments by segments to curry.
He has no class
He Kills at will.
I hate him very much
And I do have my reasons.
He's the infamous snake
The symbol of evil
Father of confusion
With evil intention
Perpetual guide
To eternal hell
From the garden of Eden
Who gave Eve a heartbreak.
He's toxic and venomous.
©IvanBrooksPoetry
29/8/2018
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 3:25 AM UTC
Classic bier pose: eyes closed, arms folded over chest, everything aligned perfectly.
Peaceful, opposite of the turmoil in everyone around you.
You never did think about others at all.
In the flames I can see your body still.
Peaceful pose: gone.
Now: contortionist.
Eight-year-old Chinese gymnast,
perfect 10 I’d say, but perhaps I’m biased.
Over there the judge says 7.99;
stingy, just call it 8 even (or put the taxes in the **** score).
I think it was the stress of the audit.
That’s why your wife left,
the audit. And the hookers, you ***** *******
I’d **** on your pyre,
but all the alcohol would catch it on fire
and send it racing up to light ME,
instead of one of your nasty cigarettes.
Tax evasion, lying
(eight, count ‘em, eight dependents:
birds #s 1, 2, 3 (bird feeder pays for itself this way, don’t it?),
chipmunk, dog, the mouse in the cellar,
bird number 4 (only in the summer, not domesticated),
even the random fox), you name it.
How did you run that for so long?
Hero’s funeral, the great pyre, a pile of ashes.
Something a chimney sweep would leave,
and about as important. Did they ever find
cause of death—the wife?
Good, I helped her.
She needed a shoulder to cry on after you died,
and you sure as hell weren’t there (typical).
A pile of ashes,
ashes to ashes, etc., n’est-ce pas?
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 12:24 PM UTC
My summers at the cottage
were usually spent alone...
for there were no other kids
and there wasn't even a phone...
I would wander by the water
collect colored glass I found in the sand...
and mom would have me weeding
the weeds upon her land...
I always played a gymnast
while walking on fallen trees...
I'd dig up clay beneath the sand
and that would make me sneeze...
My dad would take me for a ride
in our Lyman boat...
we'd go out onto the water
and sometimes just sit and float...
He would always find a fishing pole
laying in the hatch...
and because of me, yes little me
we always came back with a catch...
by ~ judy
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
Imagination...
Isn't it Grand?
We had a rolling kitchen door,
and I would play elevator.
All by myself...
Going Up!
Because as a child the
elevators in the stores
had an elevator operator,
who would call out the floors,
and they had beautiful
music playing, that is why it is
called elevator music...
Imagination...
Isn't it Grand?
I would get in my dads Mercury
car, grab a cattail from the ditch
and pretend I was driving to the carryout.
I'd pretend the music was playing
while pretending to be smoking
the cattail...I even would put my
arm out the window
pretending it was the turn signals.
All by myself...
Slowing Down!
My dad would take me to the carryout,
in the summer while at the cottage.
I would always con him into buying me
Chocolate Cow pop, and a sucker...
Worth the ride...
Imagination...
Isn't it Grand?
While at the cottage, to pass time away,
I would walk down the beach
where trees had fallen into the water.
In my mind I was a gymnast.
I would jump on the tree which
was large and old with big branches
sticking out of the water.
I would hold my arms out to the side,
sing a song and walk like a gymnast...
All by myself...
BUT...
If I got bored, mom would have me
weeding the sand, down on the beach.
so if I complained, then my mom would
Use her Imagination...
Imagination...
Isn't it grand?
by ~ Judy
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
I awoke
from sleep
nightmares, enforced by you
sweat,
cold,
I turn over and try to fall
fall back
asleep
an impossibility, a futile attempt
there's a full dining room's worth
plates,
spinning plates, in my head
they never stop, always spinning
till one wobbles, balance falters,
and just as you'd expect they fall
one
after another
crashing
another
but there's always one
one left,
still spinning, shakily
waiting for the mess to be cleaned up
where'd that little fairy go?
the one who used to follow you around..
who is gonna clean up this mess
NO!
No, I cleaned up after you long enough!
even a maid receives a paycheck, compensation
I was just a slave
a slave to you, a slave to my mind
the trickery and contortion, you'd think I was a gymnast,
of Olympic Gold proportions!
I was a lap dog, following you around,
eating what ever you gave me,
begging for more
please sir, more?
more abuse,
more deception,
more than just friends
more than just a use,
for a good time
for who?
I worked so hard at trying
trying to make you love me
trying to make you see
obvious oblivion,
I get it!
You're blind!
hopefully
you must be,
Have you even seen some of these women?
those one night roll arounds
you're just so polite
waiting till the morning to push them out
out the door,
and you will, oh how they know you will,
but still you'll call them
those disposable women
you'll call because you know it's free
because you know they want you to
if only you were good enough to have one for every day
of the week -
you know, those ones
the ones you equated me too!
But,
a friend of mine you'll always be
so long as it pays off for you
a few amazing hours
naked
together, alone
a drinking buddy when the regulars are out of town
a gram here, a joint there
an easement of your guilt
for allowing yourself to lie
right through your teeth
to the face of an adoring fan
to use, abuse and get what you can
from your supposed life long friend!
you should have been more careful though
for you smell nothing like a rose
you wreak
your stench so vile
you slop your sludge of a personality
right across my face
before twisting the knife in my back
then pretend like none of it exists
extinct
though that would imply that it once existed
which you've stated
for certain
it does
not.
Nov 20, 2010
Nov 20, 2010 at 9:46 PM UTC
she was born to bend this way
her muscles sing through the air
wrapping physics round her finger
handspring, handspring, tuck,
plant
her equilibrium ponders life and its meaning
every twitch intentional
every smile framed
if life were more like summersaults
and less like crashing planes
if the truth were always inside your ears
and the applause came only when you landed safe
if, when you fell, there were always a dozen friends waiting
to lie to you about gravity
maybe she would tumble beyond the mat
into rumors of spiraling fates
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
I hoisted myself on the parallel bars
(in itself a remarkable feat)
Determined this day
I would go all the way.
As if I was some student athlete.
My gym teacher sought to encourage me
As he knew I’d fallen before.
“imagine your crossing
A rope bridge in the jungle,
hungry crocodiles roaming the floor.”
I inched myself forward across the beam
My arms bore incredible strain.
I made it half way
Then my arms gave away.
My best efforts had all been in vain.
I admire the gymnast on balance beams
Those who soar on the parallel bars
But I’m short and I’m fat
So that put paid to that
So, mostly, I travel in cars.
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 10:25 PM UTC
These treads of death, trends of aerial creatures.
'Twas a drama queen miscalculated affair.
She thought to herself, she wouldn't make it
To her planet.
Her eyes twitched. Her smile frowned.
She ditched her stilettos inside a hole
Floating on her bourbon, not drunk,
She hadn't seen the sun.
'Twas an alien Joan of Arc impersonating
a gymnast trying to drown
within purple clouds.
These lives of velvet, made so sweet.
I'm 'bout to pull out my rotten teeth,
And feed the devil, underneath me.
His skin so white
It glowed beyond your regular -
Transparent ice blue.
It made her shiver
Beyond his coat,
Faux-fur – smelt of blood,
So disgustingly dark.
He was my devil, made from snow – so pure.
He melted at my feet,
I hadn't shed a tear.
My white devil's inside me.
He found his way.
He is wrapped around my Intestines
So hard. He's left his cigarette
butts,
on my liver.
But it didn't hurt,
To burn
Like they said it would.
I loved my devil, made from snow.
These brown angels, stealing his lines.
These brown angels, how could they.
These brown angels, sold their wings.
For three ugly wigs.
He told me once, beaming in the dark
With several fish lying around dying: "Angels
Will never be brown."
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 1:02 AM UTC
Think About Me
Verse 1
Anytime, anyplace, baby I'm with it/ You can have all of me boy just come it/ Cuz I just can't sleep when you're not here right next to me/ I'm trying to believe in something i can't see I'm talking love/
Its got my mind all twisted out/ always thinking bout you/ talking like i can't live without you/Oh no. Im laying down my cards again/ I’m giving up my heart again
Chorus
So tell me if I'm on your mind/I need to know its real this time/ tell me do you think about me/ baby, Do you ever think about me/ like i think about you all the time
you're staying on my mind and I can't go a day without you babe.
So do you think about me? Baby do you ever think about me
Verse 2
so, Tell me boy/ what you think/baby let me hear it
we putting in this overtime are we getting serious?
Cuz I can be anything you need Doctor or a gymnast
work me out,
put it down
boy give me the business.
You've go me so open babe it's a shame
I'm letting down my cards again
Thought that i would never change never change
I'm giving up my heart again
(Chorus)
Bridge
No matter how hard I try I just can't fight ignore my mind
my heart takes flight in love
How hard I try
i just can't fight ignore my mind my heart takes flight in love (2x)
(Chorus, until fades out)
Like I Think About You….
By:
ZainaMusic
Audio:
https://soundcloud.com/zainamusic/think-about-me-by-zainamusic
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC