"swisher" poems
Summer heat summer sweet
With a wealthy nature, rich pheromones erupt
Birds n tha bees escape the trees
Please don't plant your seeds
But throw the leaves
Up n up
To get down and drop
Where the dirt pops
Ken keseys ashes
Edible umbrellas turn rainy days on their head spinning pupils wide void of discontentment
Fairies fly off clouds and stars fall at day
Impossible, feelings are blown in and out of proportion to fit a screen thats too small
Tough love
Tough life
Slick surface don't let me fall off the boat as it rocks
Swisher wraps over the curves
Got me feelin lucky like a charm
Cheef all day got me smellin dank as a Rastafarian Only stoppin to sip my Captain Morgans moonshine
Till we hit the caribbean
Then Jack's got me headin for tides end
Early
Flush the bile outta your system
And spiral out of controls iron hand
**** responsibility, Apathy rules all.
Paper crane ******* get all superficial but yellow bones make my brain go fuzzy in smokey ***
In n out, fast n slow
Nicotine dominates
My senses are lost at Molly
That ***** finger ****** my life
Made me *** every time
This unhealthy relation in action doesn't phase me yet, I'm too young to think that far
I mean
What do you expect?
A Teens crowded perceptions can be judged like a bums intentions.
Peace my brotha
Dandy danny says theres a way out
-side with the rap culture
Shots of rebellion pour through the cracks we each fill
The glass
Is too cracked to be see-through
West coast vibes kick back lax attitude I carry on my shoulders
Forever green is my state
Wash that **** off your lawn crack *** haters I'll spray paint your ***
Equality's the goal
**** race
**** sexuality
I see soul
Open up
Show me your beat
I'll count bars as we spit elicited slurs drizzled to drops leaving the cops to stop us
Quit
Obeyin the brand
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
[Verse 1]
Monster sized swag; not modest bout my splendor
Marvel at the flag and I'm the ultimate avenger
Buck Rodgers, D-Bird yep I'm the number one contender,
So I gotta uphold this rep of bein uncontrollable
so I'll take the lead, I hold the world beneath my feet
I'm a fiend, elite
Haze so cloudy cause I be blowin Swisher Sweets
Drug addiction is my disease
It's my expertise
See here's the masterpiece:
Raps lobotomize
I'm traumatized since 1993
[Verse 2]
Victimized by the lies
of this trifilin enterprise
You can front but you can't hide
There's no fault behind your eyes
So I hope this insult will suffice
It should come as no surprise
A grin will spread across my face
From side to side
My ***** mouth will mesmerize
hypnotized, memorize
the words that escape my lips
I'm a degenerate unabridged uncut
You're a ************* ****
Go hang yourself from a bridge
Here's a rope, I hope you choke
******* ******* smoochie smoochie
Only chains you got is Gucci
Y’all basic brothers rep that set
But fake like that 2chi
[Verse 3]
man I get so high,
Now watch me get higher
Watch me take flight
As my wings soar skyward
You know I'ma fighter
So watch me take my place
As I eat this rap game up
and then spit it in your face
Now pass me a lighter
see me rollin while I bake
I mean I'm not a pastry maker,
but I still bake for the sake
My rhymes are so ill
They're gonna make you sick
I be tweetin on my twitter
While Betty Crocker ***** my **** uh
[Verse 4]
Reid between the lines son and please proceed with caution
Alien splittin kilos, I be one tweaked ****** martian
I'm five steps ahead and these haters ****** forfeit
You four feet tall and I'm so high I'm in ****** orbit
Make these snitches sleep with fishes
How ****** vicious spittin mischief
****** trippin out these hypocrites
Dishin out these disses which
Bein inconsiderate
in this fast paced game of chase
But if I wanted to catch your drama
I'd just go check my facebook page *****
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 3:30 AM UTC
I remember tottering
in too-high heels,
and rolling through
the Hollywood Hills.
I remember the tide,
pummeling the pier,
as your saline lips
pressed against my cheek.
I remember coffee
and candy apples
and cole slaw
and swisher sweets.
I remember
mellow-minded sugar drops
and static-energy power pills.
I remember your smell
on my skin
and your tingle
on my tongue.
Jul 1, 2011
Jul 1, 2011 at 7:55 AM UTC
There's a prophet on the railway
He's coming with a book
Written by a woman
And blessed by a crook
The station's been preparing
For his arrival, coming soon
He doesn't know a single person
In the town under the moon
His robes are made of velvet
And his chains out of gold
His eyes look about a hundred
Yet he's only twenty-two years old
His hands are un-calloused
With pages stapled to his chest
In his mind he believes
That he alone knows best
His name came from Berkley
But he hails from the south
His mother gave him nothing
So he found his own way out
In the dead of the night by his candlelight
He heard a voice calling him
It told to me ride north
And let the people rejoice him
On their Sunday feast he sets down his feet
In a town of simple heads
He gets on a podium
And he lifts them from their beds
He promises them redemption
He promises them the end
And with just a touch of his hand
He promises they'll be heaven sent
It's been six long years
And his statue's turning green
Just like his money
Which lights his swisher sweets
He knows his just a man
Made of flesh and rotten skin
He knows this and yet
He's the one who wins
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC
I got no more ***** on my arms, vaginal schemes and gospel psalms. Very private skinny tribes, lit up with oversized black lights. In the very end, everybody walks this way, they all move like idioms, they all wanna be lit up like stars. Some could be prevalent like cascading dreams, nauseous just like mesquite BBQ baby-back wings.
Fly away little bird, fly away. But don't try to leave
Or you won't get paid.
I know very well, just what kinda caption your capsaicin
Can be, lit up like honey blunts, golden stars on top of your christmas tree. Strawberry Swisher Sweets, Blueberry Dunhill flavors, poke your hand through the fence, make friendly on your neighbors. If you like Kimmel Live, Conan at Midnight too, recipes for the zombies, SS ****** Youth. Blow-up and be a party. Get off work and drink your check. Get down, get off- I'll show you. Just how Martin pays the rent.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
☺☻╬☻
Finish the crackers --- grab a smoke . . .
of Ferguson my muse will sing.
A call to arms --- God’s fires to stoke;
let Truth and Freedom ring!
Take to the streets; avenge this wrong
and hasten the end of racist rule.
Justice, though it may tarry long
will find its target in the duel.
Young Michael Brown, like all true saints
found himself craving Swisher Sweets.
He robbed a store, whose camera paints
impartial portrait. In the streets
the thief refused to be detained
and so threw off police restraint.
Though sin escaped, the Law remained
and made a martyr of this saint.
The agitators did their thing:
inflaming thugs to smash and loot,
while racists baited hooks, to string
the press. Officials followed suit.
Angels, although not always kind,
do not display this attitude –
aware of how the police mind
responds to such ingratitude.
We ought to thank the police force
for showing mercy under stress.
The culprit chose a foolish course
and made a God-awful mess.
Prince Michael met ignoble fate
(that ghetto-Christ, that righteous youth)
His sacrifice in vain --- though great,
could not impede the march of Truth.
Ferguson, our eyes turn towards you . . .
are you now able to admit
while reality rewards you
that looting and lying ain’t ****
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 5:43 PM UTC
gin reminds me of
black birds
{singing
in the dead
of
night
}
when i want to
take my
b r o k e n
wings
&
learn y
to l
f
of flowers
blooming in
january
and
slightly-sweet country music
of
{almost}
thunderstorms and orange
blossoms
of wearing
too much
mascara
and blush
just to walk around
naked
in my kitchen
of cheeks
flushed
and the taste of lime
and gingerale
on the pads of
my
fingers
of restless nights
when days are l o n g
and sweet cosmos
and wine
don't cut the edg
e
and the
sting
of lavender laundry detergent
on a paper cut
of
being a
GROWNwoman and realizing
that
childhood
doesn't
end.
or stop.
when you
walk
a c r o ss
a stage
of t
u m
b l
e
off of a summer warmed s
l
i
d
e
of swisher
sweets
and wind chimes
in north carolina
of pressed powder and the tastes of
watered down
iced coffee
{coffee
ice
shake
almond milk
pour}
with no sugar
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
Rolling Up
Swisher split; gutted out, stuffed back in with some indo trees. Tucked right in, pull it over lick the edge close it up & roast that ****
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 12:15 AM UTC
welcome to houston texas
we roll swangas n swishers
we might hit cha
with the torch
if ya dont know where ya stand
in the ghetto we never let go
of painful memories
we got brothers get shot by cops
to brothers getting got
by they own i try not to led a path of sin on my own
phone home
soon to be at the crossroads
knockin at thugs mansion door
got **** how did i get smoked
i thought i was backed by my locs
now im sittin with malcolm
and martin n garvey
enjoying a smoke
wish i could reach deep into the pains
of black folks brain
and let em know
we used to be kings n queens
but **** dont flipped
once they change the color of the script
but ***** i peep game since i was embryo
last of a dying breed corrupt seed
we can changr indeed
we just gotta change waht our minds feed
but we too intrigue
from the worlds scent
a ghetto ih
now that've got your intention
lets form a syndication
reform strategize black nation
we all brothers from haitan to jamacian makin
nothing but flawless beats
smokin swisher sweets at the swap meet
or better yet the bayou classic
listenin to magic
1 0 2 point one everybody having fun
without the use of a gun
buts ther3s always one
that wanna start ****
got his wig split
now take a picture for yo casket
wish times wasnt so hard
but im always on the guard
sneaky *** white supremacy
pushin gay antics
miss with that semantic
yall aint slick
so let me hit ya with some of the realist
rhymes that make up for the crimes cuz im
tired of this ****** poor livin
everyday sinning
no winning stuck at a permenant loss
but somehow my soul still grows
even though the world be a ghetto the ghetto
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
Swish Swoosh Swisher Sound
Cold Draw. Smoke Bomb. Blasted Fans
Drew Estate Acquired
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
I don't understand it.
Everybody want to be a savage.
Upscale and overdramatic
90's mentality, I'm still fightin' madness.
So tell me
What you know about classic?
Better think, before you pop off at the mouth
and do anything drastic!
I never changed
I continue to do me
956 to 323
I got power
I am father to many prodigies
I'm going to stay on top
of the game, until they body me.
So you made a couple of hits
So you qualify as a hitter?
Stop calling yourself a killer
if you ain't about it ni**a
Gotta be outside the box
This is why
You cannot frame me
for any picture!
None of you, about the smoke
but be so quick to burn it all
Just like a swisher!
I cannot face time, rather not waste time.
Most of you get loco
When you be on the liquor
My foundation stands by me.
This is not vengenace, this is vigor!
So stop trying to use my lines
You's a stolen-style shifter
You ******* stolen-line-spitter
I'm not saint.
I rather not be a sinner.
I tell my child
You can do
ANYTHING!
Daddy will always rock with ya!
2021, new era, new me, I am done
******* with you pretenders!
Jul 27, 2021
Jul 27, 2021 at 12:16 PM UTC
we are the insects trapped inside homemade fly traps
glued on at the roof of the mouth
underbelly, I run around looking for trouble
trailer park princess, bar-fights in every space between my teeth
I'm a child of a child
I beat my paper wings against the shamelessness
Dance like the cigarette breaks are forever
Swisher blunts for the forget-me-not flowers inside backseats of cars, cabs, stolen automobiles
Revenge, locked jaw police officers like the fathers that never let you hold a gun so you become one
Taste blood, tongues, beauty in chaos
loose lips, stolen drugstore mascara and no more bruised knees
Boys like soft but you're the ******* Armageddon, knuckle-ring gods and all
so the men want to be kings and you grow up a feral cat sleeping in twin sized beds with a mouthful of curse words
Lord of the flies, lot lizards and truck-stop races
gritty bathroom graffiti is the cathedral but prayers never stop
Taverns with your name and the angels that spit
The television static never ends here, cicadas
Doors with mosquitoes held hostage, home for supper
wasted by dessert
Down in the dirt, grimy bathtub I unearth all the things I couldn't drink away; all the motel fantasies, cum-stained skirts and the neon lights waiting for the swarm
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
I know a man who smokes to die
With cobalt smog on his breath
Breaks his back to live a lie
Sweats himself to faster death
His dreams replaced with picket fences
His life replaced with a wife
Her needs placed in his defenses
Her heart that causes all his strife
He traded it in for minivans
He placed his hope between her arms
In the end his body stands
In his mind his ego breaks
I know a man who smokes to die
Who died too young, he’s in his prime
He gave up the spirit without a fight
And saw the light without a sign
At the end of the road, an end foreseen
At the end of the day, a bed to rest
A white wedding with his best dressed friend
A man smokes away his domestic best
Just like his dad, his cigar is lit
Just like his dad, his party’s done
It arrived today, his bridle and bit
It happened this way: he’s daddy’s son
I know a man who smokes to die
He became something he detests
The pearly life suburbanite
His last cigars were laid to rest
The last of his adventure died
With his smokes now in his chest
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 5:16 PM UTC
This holding back stuff,
facade, is getting rough
with my hopes in reach
close enough to touch.
Practically out of this rut for
a life time of not giving up,
if I could only take the last step
but I know for certain
it'd be a bad bet to run a circle
around a friend like a back-stabbing
game of chess
and the check mate would leave
a dark stain on the membrane
of what ever came next.
So I take small dips
instead of full rips
one or two hits
just enough to get me to my next fix,
the whole time her face playing
in my head like movie clips
laughing at jokes or drawing *****
little kid shows, cartoon pics.
Making food and saying, **** the dishes"
But now I wash them and watch
my ideas swirl down the drain like dead fishes.
Split a swisher, pack, light, lifted.
My mind keeps switching
as I watch her walk back and forth
cooking in the kitchen.
Sooner or later my life will be ruined
by this
decision.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
Started with a bowl of blue dreams.
holdin down the smoke with oak heart ***
feelin like a beach ***
drunk kickin the sand between my toes.
how many joints ive smoked no one knows.
but im ****** up on this shore
feelin more silly in the dome then pauly shore.
watching the green burn
as the bacardi runs.
good life on my beach.
my swisher is peach
my **** is rich.
my buzz got me feelin like the ****
**** poetic structure.
im pokin holes in my brain like acupuncture
not quite thrown
my writing is done.
goodnight in gone
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 9:36 PM UTC
She loved rolling L's,
I'd plop down on her bed,
she'd have A$AP or some
OFWGKTA on,
she was a New York girl
in skinny jeans
and camo Jordans
with them gold doorknockers,
a transplant
both from there
and into my life,
she'd run her pink nails
long as needles along
the Swisher,
and I swear
she had to know something
about internal anatomy,
cause she'd do that ****
to my belly button;
how long have you been practicing?
How many bodies have you split open
and left for dead
in the ashtray?
You rolled a tight L,
and I hemourraged
for five minutes,
it became a local anesthetic
until the procedure
was over.
The woman could do more
than just lick the insides clean,
she was humane,
she'd fill it back
with something you could burn.
She could roll L's
to Webster
all day,
not even the big L's
like love, lust, lascivious
more like
loner, longing, and live.
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 6:41 AM UTC
Listen to stories as I spill
Cuz this something that's too **** real
Hard for you to dodge my lyrical collage
So step with me into this reality first
I woke up then I looked up
I see it's a l
Past quarter to nine
And woodys on
At twelve
But forget that verse cuz it was only the spirits in a thirst
Called up a few homies while I'm laying in the bed
Watchin' Wilma and Fred then a thought occured to my head
I told my boys we should go out
Maybe a stripper club or diner
But either way we need to roll out
So I got dressed made sure I was good looking
Check the mirror even it was shooken
Got a make move moving real fast ya see
Cuz I gotta my Posse to G -E -T
My Posse on MLK My Posse on MLK
My Posse On MLK
Now once I pulled up in the big black truck
Ya know the big Tahoe where I tie hoes? Get it
Naw I'm just clowning thinkin a groove so we can start soundin'
Off to beat our vocals meet
We acting real silly up goes the dilly
They playing throwback of Magoo and Timbaland on the track
Way back up jumps the boogie all in me
Now I'm amped with my Posse
We ready to get it crackin'
And no stoppin' us G
Like Reggie Miller on three top of key
Where we all love to meet
We check each other make sure we fresh
Cuz the girlies love to test the way we dress
So we now in the street bass bumpin' with the beat
Gotta admit I had to roll up a swisher sweet
Nothing to see here haters cuz we gettin ready to raid ya
My Posse on MLK My Posse on MLK
My Posse On MLK
As we make into the club I'm feeling real good
But I hate that songs scrubs
Girls stop fronting djs cutting
Got everybody in the club jumpin'
Mens is grinding on girls behinds and
And there me and posse in long line and
Next thing ya know they move us to the front row
VIP status man I'm feeling the baddest
Once we got on set
I told the dj to change the rec so I can show em
How cold me and posse gets
Once I touch the mic their was a long silence
Microphone screeching
But stop once the rhymes started preaching
Everybody nodding having a good time
Out comes the rhymes break em every time
Throwin' hards thrills so ya better chills
Or else my Posse going to rearrange ya grill
Now that ya in a trance with my music
That's makes ya dance
And all this time they had nothing to say
Cuz my Posse to Ill from MLK
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
Ready treading.
Banking Heaven.
Higher heading onto Seven.
Connections are blending.
Rapture sure to capture all
turns to mending.
Free for all
beach sand meshing.
Flesh is blessing
Love Living.
Respect creatures.
Beings less than or equal.
Keep on giving people
brother sister
love her miss her sweet
swisher on my lips.
Ears open.
HEARD
Meditation
key to worlds of blankness,
tranquility.
Are you feeling?
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC
Eating brownies to feel inspired, then look at the **** I write the next day
stone cold, naked in bed, dining hall food resting neatly in an ordered manner.
I wish he would go down on me the same way he probably thinks about me,
and this isn't high school but I feel like every one knows something I don't. This is hell.
this image is enlarged to show texture, this swisher is full of a mixture,
big yawns and hot skin. I wish I was his. i wish the idea would cross itself off my list.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
*I think I could do with a hologram.
I think it could help me help who I am.
Feeling for a touch right through my hand.
Hope is lost for me
sinking in the sand.
I think I could do with a hologram.
I think I could do
you
in a smoky place.
Your electronic face
makes my heart switch it's pace.
The green you roll
in swisher rolls
may have been laced.
Maybe my mind's been replaced.
Something tells me you aren't here,
that you aren't real,
that I just needed something to feel.
What is ever real
anymore?
I can never deal
anymore.
Wanted just
a little more.
I combust
till there's no more.*
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
1- Totes inaprope dope smoker swisher toker blunt wrap roper you be like my ole aunt groper
2- She be grabbin ***** on all ya’ll in the Fall by the ball court short shorts and written reports
3- ******* dorks and eatin pork like nanu nanu Mork with a stork baby drop on the porch
4- Carry the torch to the couch jump up ta bounce see a fool to trounce and slap in the head
5- Make him brain dead said I see red in bedrooms full a ***** mothers slack jaw brothers
6- Druther act like one another than smother muthafuckers with rubber maid garbage cans
7- Hand feeding planned partenthood in the hood acting no good wit mad wood ya shoulda
8- Put those down came round and found a pound for slingin, bringing back the Ringling elephants
9- And cellophane wrapper sandwiches ******* snitching on rich kids for gambling small wagers
10- Drunken rage-ers deranged rangers feeding bears strangers and rearranging body parts
11- Carded farters impart special gasses on mass media fascists allowing brash
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC