"handout" poems
I wanted
someone
that wouldn't
be afraid
of me.
I spent
twenty-one
years
doubting
that person
could ever
exist.
For humans
are far too shallow
and our
complications
are
way too deep
but I honestly believe
we should not have to
be alone.
I believe in independence.
I believe in self-reliance
and I believe in self-respect.
But I also believe that
humans can connect
on a far deeper level
than just what we see.
I believe there is a time
and place
for everything
and that includes
the moments
we fall in love.
You see,
there will be days
that you fill
empty
and lonely
but you have
to be there for yourself.
No one is going to give you
a handout
unless you show them
you are going to
make it count.
No one is going to
rely on someone
that cannot
rely on them self.
Co dependence can be
beautiful
but nevertheless-
it is filled with
even more grief.
You cannot fix somebody else
when you are still
practicing
the craft
of self-love.
Allow your lows
to be reminders
that you
can lose
and smile
knowing
that you can
bounce back,
too.
There is nothing
graceful
in struggling
but there is
something
glorious
in the
overcoming
and believe me-
you will find a way
to live through it all.
And then
some day
somebody,
somewhere
is going to
admire
the way
you refuse
to fall.
And you will wonder
how you ever
let the world
make you feel
so small.
-Andrew Durst.
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
Flipping threw my old yearbook
I see girls who were once gorgeous
tooken my the devils hand
pregnant and life beaten now
horrendous
I remember seeing them
with there cheerleading outfits on
As I sat in a corner by myself
I here them laughing and chatting
about going to tonys house after school
I remember tony strong handsome captain of the highschool world
I saw him two weeks ago
With his hands covering his face
And a shot next to him
3 empty beers infront
He really let himself go I remember thinking
fat and forgotten about
still clinging to that highschool dream
I remember him saying I was a loser as he flipped my lunch tray
and humiliated me by reading my little notebook of writes
I remember saying to him
one day ill have the last laugh
one day ill see you down and out
and you'll ask me for a handout
going back to the bar I sit down
A couple stools down to see if he recognised me
He finished his 3 beers as I finished my long island ice tee
he said to the bar tender I gotta ***
be right back
I followed him to the restroom
and we were a ****** apart
I looked over and seen his small patheic *****
as I looked at my *****
I laughed
and I laughed
and I laughed
looked over at tony
and said see sir
I did get the last laugh
and I left
I hope he knows me now
I hope he knows me now
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
I REMEMBER here by the fire,
In the flickering reds and saffrons,
They came in a ramshackle tub,
Pilgrims in tall hats,
Pilgrims of iron jaws,
Drifting by weeks on beaten seas,
And the random chapters say
They were glad and sang to God.
And so
Since the iron-jawed men sat down
And said, "Thanks, O God,"
For life and soup and a little less
Than a hobo handout to-day,
Since gray winds blew gray patterns of sleet on Plymouth Rock,
Since the iron-jawed men sang "Thanks, O God,"
You and I, O Child of the West,
Remember more than ever
November and the hunter's moon,
November and the yellow-spotted hills.
And so
In the name of the iron-jawed men
I will stand up and say yes till the finish is come and gone.
God of all broken hearts, empty hands, sleeping soldiers,
God of all star-flung beaches of night sky,
I and my love-child stand up together to-day and sing: "Thanks, O God."
2.2k
I walk across
to Hannah's flat
in Arrol House
and knock at the door
Mrs Scott opens
the door and stands there
she's a short thin woman
with a face of granite
with a slit
where her mouth is
whit is it?
she says
her Scottish accent
rough as stone
is Hannah home?
I ask
I dunnae kinn
she replies
HANNAH
she bellows
over her shoulder
Benedcit is haur fur ye
she adds
scowling at me
jist coming
Hannah replies
from back in the flat
yoo'll hae tae bide
Mrs Scott says
and walks back inside
leaving me
on the red tiled step
I look into the interior
of the flat
and smell breakfast
having been cooked
I look back
into the Square
kids are playing
near by
on the pram sheds
and over by the wall
girls are doing handstands
their feet
against the wall
dresses falling
over their heads
showing underwear
sorry about Mum
she has a mouth on her
Hannah says
where we going?
she asks
thought we'd go
to the South Bank
see the Thames and boats
and have ice cream
I say
do I need money?
she asks
just about 2/-
I say
for bus fares
and ice cream
I'll ask Mum
for a handout
but wait for the answer
Mum have you 2/-
I can have?
Hannah asks
fa dae ye hink
Ah am Rockerfeller?
nae Ah huvnae
her mother replies
no problem
I say to Hannah
I'll have enough
for us both
are you sure?
yes don't aggravate
your mother more
than you have to
so Hannah gets her coat
and we walk off
through the Square
she's like that sometimes
Hannah says
she's as tight
as a wing nut
we walk down the slope
and up Meadow Row
I ask her how her father is
she says
he's Ok but in
the doghouse more often
as not with Mum
but he's a softy
to Mum's hardness
but Mum says
he's soft in the heed
but he's lovely really
Hannah says
-I know her old man
he's English and a bit
simple after helping
to empty out Belsen camp
in 1945 where some
he told me were
more dead as alive-
we wait at the bus stop
she with her dark hair
pony tailed
with a tartan skirt
and white blouse
and me in blue jeans
and white shirt
and quiff of brown hair
and hazel eyes
she with a budding beauty
with her mother's
touch of tongue
who if roused
could give words
full lung.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
Daylight fades too quickly
and leaves you struggling like a dead fish
against a time limit you have no intention
of keeping or realizing, in even a small fashion.
The money runs out.
The money always runs out and
everyone is looking for a handout
no one wants to give.
Especially those who can afford it-
it's like a void;
a golden density not even light can escape.
Makes me wonder; "Is the money really power,
or is power just power,
and the hierarchy and patriarchy and system
just keep whatever stains in place, despite their incompetence?"
History seems to provide ample answers to the right questions;
Why does the day feel so short?
Why does retail labor feel like a pyramid scheme?
Why does work feel like prison?
Why are employers so scared of unions?
Whatever, right? Those ******* would give you an answer
after three separate commercial breaks and a survey.
Everyone views the person under their foot as less than human.
It's how we're able to procreate and sleep at night
[a night that comes quicker every day now].
A curtain over a birdcage; we're all just dozing off.
******* around.
Studying everyone else's face,
looking for a nervous twitch to decipher
whose bluffing,
believing we're doing swimmingly in our own ********
The next generation built on our corpses, secrets and lies.
Corpses, secrets, and lies.
Let the world burn if we can make it past daylight.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
She's got that peasant stink stuck to her
radiating failed dreams and passed-over advice
speaking to the untold quantities
of filthy, illegitimate children
birthed through pale and quivering thighs.
Tattered, low denims
faded, high-cut blouse
full head of ratty, unclean hair
propped up in a high-rise hair-spray style
that hasn't been popular in the trailer parks
for more than a decade.
She always worked real hard
yet always put failing-foot forward
and though I asked,
she could never tell me why -
she never, I think, knew herself.
It doesn't matter though
she'll just fall again
fall to her knees before another he again
fall into the welfare lines due to another newborn again
fall back down into what she knows again.
She saves her non-handout-cash
for the spending on endless streams of hash,
bottles of paint for nail and eye-lash
-because she believes, as she's told,
that she's worth it -
even though it's real clear that she's not
and that
it's real clear that she's one for looking-on
and never acting upon and yet,
I cannot help myself
anymore than she can -
I have fallen
completely and pointlessly
in love with her.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 8:59 AM UTC
Sick of being stuck awake,
I should probably bake a cake,
Stuff a file inside, then sit for an hour of wait,
Another hour to cool, use the tool to pry my mind from this cage
Blow out the candles, the world becomes my stage
But I fall flat on a crowd with button eyes, deaf ears,
Rusted mental gears, and smiles looking at me queer.
"Hi I'm Ryan, I'm a poet. I belong here."
Reading to a generation that skipped reading,
Stuck feeding off of the **** for free
Asking for another handout that a past life made them believe
They deserved, too delicate, while I stay thick like corduroy,
Poking fun like I should take some ilk, you're too soft
I destroy you, still drinking mother's milk, you're soft as silk.
Don't make me spell it out, we are cut from different cloth.
I've sat with my life choices happy as an oyster
In a month that doesn't have an "R"
People walk through the door and try to raise my bar,
You couldn't come close, don't judge those who trudge
Through mud and sludge then take a second to coast,
I'm still a star while others whack the green,
Barely even keeping up with par.
I don't even have enemies, I get angry with my own mind
That tells me I should be on a steady grind
Then find myself too tired to stay awake
Too awake to fall asleep, let's write it out,
I never was one to be good at counting sheep
I took to counting breaths, counting beats,
Never couldn't count on me, have a seat.
Let's talk it out and bake a cake,
Another file filed so I can free this cage,
I flee the stage.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 3:49 AM UTC
An open hand
Not a handout
An open mouth
No food for it.
I need loving
Nourishment.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
I need a job.
To start living, start earning some money, am begging.
Begging you like Madcon
The cv handout goes on, and on.
Like a record that's skipped,
beginning to feel like I've been tricked.
It's not like I wouldn't work hard
I'm willing to work hard for my pay,
willing to work everyday,
willing to earn my way.
I ain't fed on greed,
I only need what I need,
only one mouth to feed.
I'll even work on my knees
scrub till my fingers bleed
I'm like a seed sprouting, roots up routing, with stem as long as my sadness has resided.
Pent up emotion continuing to grow.
As the roots begin to take hold below.
Take hold of my tongue and its words, my heart and its love, and my lungs and its breath.
Got Nothing left; to push through to the surface beginning to feel its all worthless
What's the point here?!
I'm stumped.
"I JUST NEED A JOB YOU... Chumps"
Feel like I should take a jump.
Not a jump of suicidal intention, just a jump for attention
Attention for a life to begin.
For a business to take me in
give me the experience I lack.
In return I'll give back: hardwork, effort and sweat.
Which will help me to show that I'm able to grow.
And I deserve to leap out
from this pit,
trudging in ****
From the depths of this dirt and weeds
where it all began as a seed.
A seed, a thought, a prognosis.
So now it's my time to show this;
Show what I've got on the surface.
Show that I am not worthless.
Show from a seed I have grown.
Show that I deserve a home.
A place to call my own.
Then once I am there I will know...
How?
I'll have blossomed
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
My sister – camping on the coast
Muttering over macaroni
Fixing salad
Talking to a seagull
“George” mews like a cat
awaiting dinner
Waddling web-foot along the stony cliff
To him – life is a handout
against the backdrop of the setting sun
Garlic bread, spaghetti, chocolate chip cookie –
My sister adopts things
What was ever wild after?
Even this “Master of the Wind”
eats Italian tonight!
Till the “Alpha Bird”
younger stronger
spots the eye of orange on plate of white –
Whirls in on protest and demand
George responds in kind
Intruder seizes a meatball
George squawks and lunges
his last...
________
The sunset on the Maine coast tonight
enthroned in vaporous haze
Imbued with fragrance-- ocean rose
The sky-- delicate
mountain laurel pink
bleeding into purple
where the tallest spires of spruce
have stabbed upward
From the coastline's rock
comes qweedling of the robins
calls of sea birds in the peaceful distance....
___________
….George struggles in Alpha's grip
on windpipe
Meal forgotten
as nature serves its worst
His neck arched back
Wings fluttering desperate
in his last display
a spray of feathers
Strength will take this day
Plunge it into faint squawks
George dissolves limp in quivers
as Alpha--
weightless victor
lifts away
Suzy cries out
despair at loss of little friend
“I can't! I can't!
I rush out to hold
his last limp sigh
...tossing his gray and white into another sky
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 11:55 AM UTC
A handgun protects
A handout will ****
Greed is a method
Love is a skill
Just care for yourself
Sad means your ill
People don't change
Lies that we tell
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 11:19 AM UTC
This old drawing I made for my brother.
Nothing to look twice at.
An odd choice of paper for a drawing,
the shadows of ink caught my eye.
Some forgotten handout
from some forgotten class.
a situation is the outcome of its context. It cannot be judged separately from context, because it would not have arose without it.
Context. What is the context for me?
So many factors
some more subtle than others
each the cause for an effect.
Is that what they call "chaos theory"?
the present determines the future, but the approximate present does not approximately determine the future.
Something about dependence on initial conditions...
What are they?
I'm sure I can find the origin.
My birth? wait no... my parents... no grandpa-...
... no... even further back
if you want to make apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe.
That far, huh?
Kind of a big picture.
An Earth-sized map of the Earth.
Hurts my head a little.
You can find me in my blanket, where the world is not so big, and the possibilities not so infinite.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
But for some cruel jest are not we all perennially ailing…
Are not our lives just pictures passing by?
We, blindfold, in their wake are trailing,
Are hardly ourselves… And at the best of times
We solely hope yet for another handout
At someone’s twisted mercy and before
We ever realise it’s us we cede so freely
It’s far too late… We sob and try no more.
Shall not we fight, defiant, our doubts and envy?
Shall not we hold the fastest to our dreams?
And from our deepest selves shall not we draw our powers
When all is lost and there’s no life within?
It’s down to us to down the cup we’re given.
There is no shame in failing. All we can
Is to keep going on, perennially ailing,
However cruel and short our span.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 9:07 PM UTC
Homeless. Crazy.
Everything is smooth.
No,
no one really knows enough.
No one cares enough, or gets it.
Close to charity,
all is oppressive.
Keys on treble, wishing
everything was ******* brilliant.
My planning is a bet that
it all comes part unevenly.
Yeah,
neon smokescreen,
lime green cigarettes,
and I'll leave you to carry
that sentiment on your
shoulders.
I hope you feel empathy like
a child that's ****** the bed;
warm and embarrassed,
take as a symbol of
habitual weakness.
Take it like a pill with tap water
that sticks in the throat like a brick.
Next door to inhumanity.
Every day is slightly
darker
than the last.
**** forgot the punchline…
something about how daylight fades
and darkness falls.
If we could all be so clumsy and respected.
A "feared klutz."
Anyways.
All the geniuses are dead,
and I hate most writers;
Snarky, uppity, *********
They're all dirt now.
I passed a man who spoke gibberish,
but ended his mush mouth with some
statement about getting food.
I told him, "I got nothing on me."
I lied. Of course I ******* lied,
I had almost $270 dollars in my wallet,
cash.
I don't even know
what I'm supposed to do with the money.
Just **** it away, I guess.
Start looking for another handout myself.
I can see the lines-
washed out, skillfully ignorant or oblivious
&
whoever said I was a loser first,
won the grand prize.
Some truth in the
universe.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
I apologize for what you read here,
Some people may not believe what they read here.
You see, my generation, is shot down on all accounts
I don't play a victim in this scene, I take a higher route.
They brush me off as joker, dreaming of waking up
I've been climbing trees for fruit but now I'm on the ground shaking them up.
I'm not looking for a handout as my career track shows
But who am I, among these gods, to deny a poor man clothes.
See I'm living in a world where, when I'm old and grown,
The social security I'm paying into will be unknown,
Men and women my age are going on war tours
Left their minds overseas and come back abandoned poor,
Still forgetting what god I'm supposedly fighting for.
I sit patient as they tax my metophorical tea
Then turn on the TV and see riots in the street
As if this history just isn't skipping a beat
I couldn't care less about your race or sexuality,
About your religious ideology, or the identity you see.
I'm looking you point blank and just asking if you're happy.
Because these streets look so bleak
While holding a connected world in my hands,
Still so afraid to speak because everything has to be
So contradictory and couldn't we agree
That my generation is bad
But the previous one raised me.
A lady I work with, she works eighty hours a week
Her old man's at home wearing medical bills as shackles on his feet.
She keeps fighting strong and he keeps pushing on
But they ******* them and take the cane their standing on
Maybe I'm naive but this system just seems so wrong.
You can tax me for education,
Take a dollar for someone's medical bills too
This money is so common, there's only one of you.
I'm not looking to pick a fight
I'm just stating what I believe is right
Throwing down my pen, cutting sharper than a knife.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
She did not intend to be with to him
Though she did care for many of them
She's refused many and few
But She'd never fall for Don Quinn
She'd been to many places and many a ride
She'd seen many faces and broke mini man pride
She paid no mind to the attention of men
She did not desire the hand of Don Quinn
They would jump and trot and stride
Speak and shout And whisper lies
They were merely entertainment for her eyes
A trail of dead hearts lay broken that tried
Still steady was the stature of this man named Quinn
All ready from levies he battled within
With family with money and with the closest of friends
He weathered and learned and discerned to grin
While others were eager to dash in front or behind
Don Quinn had a plan he thought worth the time
For she never took pleasure in being pushed off her line
Don Quinn for the win had a plan more divine
While others took leisure and gusto to sway
Her focus was steady and kept on her way
So Donny took heed while walking this day
Still she was not looking she need not be saved
He tightened his noggin and sharpened his eye
He gathered his dignity and he leveled his guide
She continued to dismiss the distractions of guys
He paced himself on this path he would try
What was his secret or his future demise?
Would he falter fluster or fall before her thighs?
No. Because his aim was the same as her prize
He was becoming by running towards the Skye's
So when she got there he found her right by his side
She was not looking for Donny or a handout freedom
All she needed was a companion with whom to share a sunrise
Dr. Quinn practiced medicine while building a horizon
he was willing to walk wait and work towards their golden Skye's
Mr Quinn out did many a men simply by fixing his vision
Jan 18, 2021
Jan 18, 2021 at 5:01 AM UTC
Still thinking of those memories.
*The very first day of spring,
The trees looked colorful and festive.
The day when I held your hand,
Sitting on the bench at the park.
Flowers blossoming, birds tweeting,
Children playing gleefully.
A little boy playing his violin joyfully,
Chanting for a handout.
No doubt, no worry,
Beautiful was the day we spent.*
Time flew away,
Only memories were made.
Time is not ours to own.
It cannot be spent,
It just can be squandered and reminisced.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 12:01 PM UTC
We flipped small coins for fun
and like Apache arrows flew into the morning sun
calling curses on the day,
this was the way we knew.
Ceaselessly the air swirled round the sacred ancient hunting ground until we found the buffalo and John Crow said,
'better dead than being brave,we are the slaves of appetite'
and then the night of death rained on and soon the buffalo were gone.
Bones and stew make bedfellows too and this is what we've got
the empty stomach
empty cooking *** and not a beast seen anywhere.
No happy hunting ground,no arrows leased,no feast,not least no children born,no warming sun,harsh winters come and we must run away
this was the way we knew.
Soldiers blue and few we were
rifles,gunshot,
did we dare to dream tomorrow would arrive,could we,would we learn to live and survive on reservation land,live hand to mouth,or would we move on South to Mexico
where peasants till the soil and shattered spirits go.
This was the way when plainly night became our day and pipes of peace were smoked no more,
ruled beyond a different law
the rule of handout,get out,turn round about and cry
the way of life we knew did die
but we the children are living on, in stories told in elders huts,where cuts of jerky hang on skin lined walls and voices hush as the old one calls for spirits that he's known to rise
and cries again at so much pain and so much lost
and all it cost him and his tribe.
Describing monuments to men,is like paintings of the mists and when you think you've got it almost right
the swirling buffalo moves off again into the endless night
it's difficult,impossible,I can't explain except to say,
'that, what is pain but loss and heartache'
the breaking of another lance and one more agreement,one more given chance,
One plain speaking man of breeding
leading
his people home.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
A lifelong loner, with the dawn of each day, keeps one promise, more sadness & agony
Father abandoned me, mother too high to visit me, leaves me with an abuser, to show me their ways
To this day, I think of you & all you have taught me
How to live in fear, not being myself, become a character to please those that may fear me
People skills non-existent, however, I stayed resilient, through the insults & feeling unworthy
Surely, someone will see a light in me, or is it too dim? Oh, that's right, you view me as glib
Back in my place, with a lid put on it
Did I do something to offend? Merely being born in this world of sin, forgive me where is the gun?
That's what I should have done, many moons ago, end it all before I knew better
Since I know better, when will I become better? Never is the answer
I am a cancer, that has stricken two families
Cut me out, lump removed, it behooves you, but you knew this
Then there are the "friendships" I attempted to wedge myself in
Unknowing of how to be a friend, I'd watch, learn, mimic & pretend
Now I'll surely fit in?
Nah loser, another sad talespin, leaves me Baloo
I continue to watch & learn, this time from afar
With the bar set to a new low, by my own hand, I stand in a shadow, from the lights sight
Darkness is my home, the ground is my throne
I sit in a mess of my own making, quaking, with a handout
I am a man down & many days out
Yet, no one knows the depths of my pain
All the snickers, pushed me towards the snickers, elevating the bar
Inward scars become visible on the outside, stretched across my skin
Another attempt at a "normal" life in an abnormal society
Taking all the lessons learned to craft a new me
Authentically, unapologetically, me
Wishing you well, wayward son of no one
By Axton Rupp
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 2:54 AM UTC
I believe that
every bone has a story
that even the sun gets tired
and
that's why it rains /
I saw you waltzing
in and out like, you'd gotten lost
you keep sayin' in
everyone else's tongue so I'd
finally forgotten what you sound like;
it's been, all chop & pour anymore so,
I gently shut all of those, doors against
locks I'd given away the keys to.
they'd find me out the window,
into wet gardens of snails and worm
a stolen bird with no nest
doesn't want a handout
just more time to
make back her bed
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
The wind is foul.
The rain dribbles down my neck as I queue and stare uncertainly at the Uber Eats backpack in front of me, wondering who might have ordered foodbank takeout or how the Uber guy had come to need a handout and what he might feel about delivering Friday night treats while wondering what he'll eat tomorrow.
The wind is foul.
Feb 15, 2022
Feb 15, 2022 at 4:38 AM UTC
I set out to find love with the right person
I stayed single because I didn't want to get hurt
Been down found self respect not giving it up
Standing tall hoping the right people come around and stay
Never wanted to get my hopes up so I stopped caring
The reality is it meant everything
For years I was bullied and looked down on for not having a job
Found I can't rely on anyone if I wanted or needed I go do it myself
I got back into the dating world my heart took a beating
Gave her me that's all I can be
Went all in with no regrets or escape route
I give it to god believe something better will come out of the struggle
If not I'm meant for better not settling for less
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 2:13 PM UTC
These trips by the county boys,
Being further deputized as burly, armed elves
Tended toward the grim,
Taking them on roads way up in the hills
Where pavement was the stuff of fantasy
And the home-sweet-homes
Were ancient pock-mark and rusted single-wides
Or jerry-built additions uneasily affixed
To some abandoned hunting camp or outbuilding,
Third-hand rugs or tarps covering
Hard ground, possibly augmented with a sprinkle of sawdust,
And you learned not to do more than exchange hellos
With the parents (this just one more minor indignity,
One more for-today-only handout,
The toxic mixture of resentment and self-recrimination
Never far from the surface) and head for the kids
As quickly as politeness allowed, the smiles
(Sometimes positively beatific, others suitably wan,
Knowing that tomorrow would be another day
In a series of just another days)
And upon leaving one such place, a couple of the boys
Heard an incongruous tinkling, this place
Far enough from town and insulated by bluff and pine woods
Where it couldn't be from St, Mary's or Faith Baptist,
And turning the corner toward where they were parked,
They happened upon a black bear,
Improbably wakened and wandered from some nearby cave,
Toying with some improvised wind chime,
Comprised of old graters, 50s-issue percolator stems,
Silverware liberated from some Denny's or school cafeteria,
And as they backed away to seek
Some alternate path to their vehicle, the younger of the pair opined
Must be some angel getting his wings, hey?
To which his partner, who knew these hills
And their sundry denizens all too well replied
*You get that bears attention,
You're mebbe gonna find yourself on the waiting list*.
Dec 21, 2022
Dec 21, 2022 at 4:23 PM UTC
i'd like you best wrapped up under the axles of my truck
but i'd rather not have to pay your brother to clean it up.
get the **** out of my home town
your driving the real estate value down.
in other words:
go back where you came from.
we don't
need that liberal faggy ****
i'm a man.
i'm a man.
i'm a man.
but i love the way my baby looks in that white summer dress caught around the warm summer air,
with flowers tangled up in her hair.
and the amber sun looks good in her eyes
i'm a man.
**** a ****** stab a ***
make my granddaddy proud.
love my baby, she's WASP like me
we're gunna start a family.
i **** her good, god gave me seed
you know i sow it as i please.
ultimately-
i'm good.
got a gun, bring it to school
always with me. i know i'm cool-
in case i need to get those sunni-shiite *****
shoot my teacher if i fail a test.
it's okay.i'm cowboy.
i'm good.
jesus loves me, he told me so.
******* Hey-Zeus, he mows my lawn.
-be ****** if i let them use the good bathroom
it's all right they'll be deported soon.
and it's good.
back in the city, jesus- girls' ******* drop.
filthy ***** and cherries to pop.
but blondie looks good.
follow her home. i'm a really nice guy.
don't understand what made her cry.
just keep
*******
her anyways.
feminazi ******* wanna blame me
there just mad that they're ugly
jealous of my success
there all just ***** anyway.
blow me.
and all those ***** livin' off the government's dime
handout ******* all of them should just die.
time to rise up
time to be
family man.
i.
oh, i'm a
good ol' boy,
i'm good.
(you know i'd **** you if i knew i could.)
but i love the way
my baby looks in that white summer dress caught up in the ******* air,
with flowers -like a promise- all in her hair.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC
Hey there, I'm Joe Sixpack,
an American full of pride.
I don't want no welfare state,
I don't want no free ride.
And I don't want no charity
'cause freedom don't come free.
I just got four priorities,
they're ME, ME, ME and ME!
I just can't stand the government.
Tax, I don't wanna pay.
Don't want no lazy welfare bums
to **** it all away.
Don't want no ******* FEMA
after flood or hurricane.
Don't want no public healthcare
to fix someone else's pain.
But if my house blows over
or if I get unemployed,
and I don't got insurance
and my health's getting destroyed...
Well, then you'll see me change my tune
and I'll be first in line.
Sayin' "I deserve a handout",
"Oh poor ME" I'll ***** and whine.
Apr 21, 2020
Apr 21, 2020 at 10:48 PM UTC