"weirdos" poems
You slowly walk down the avenue of normality
Ignoring the side streets and oddly placed alleys
Change, you feel, is strange and unnerving
You stay straight and narrow, no veering or swerving
You look at us weirdos and our strange machinations
you speed up your pace with much trepidation
You're so busy keeping to the road that's more traveled
that you are completely unaware that it's turning to gravel
You're walking alone, and the road has all but decayed
the streets that you passed up, now bustling highways
Your fear of the odd and peculiar, the offbeat uncommon
has led you to become alone, forlorn, and unwanted
Everyone's different
Everyone's weird
Everyone has secrets that no one will hear
You wanted to be normal, and normal you are
now you're a minority, among the bizarre
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
I love spicy food.
Chips and dips
And chips in dips.
God bless hot sauce!
I would always go for the spicy option.
Yeah, I'm one of those weirdos;
The ones who love the slight sting it leaves
just like how it feel
to kiss those lips of yours
but I still slurp every word, nay,
every lie that comes out of it.
Your warmth comforts me even in the summers.
Even in the summer
when you told me
you didn't feel the same way anymore.
Maybe I should consider switching to mild sauce.
It may not be as exciting
but, at least, it won't burn off my lips.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 10:28 AM UTC
must love rainy days
adventure
pumpkin carving
and unexpected kisses
must be tolerant
of jimmy stewart
and bob dylan
the other men in my life
no height
weight
or hair color requirement
but big hearted weirdos
who smile for no reason
are always welcome
no
racist
sexist
homophobic persons
or those who say baby
as a term
of endearment
i like my coffee bitter
and my men sweet
never
the other way around
lopsided grins and kind eyes can get you everywhere
if similar in tempermant style or appearance to
the doctor
david bowie
mickey mouse
or jesus
please contact immediately
must be accepting of
raucous laughter
black and white films
cold feet
and occasional insomnia
i am always late
rarely refined
and have almost no perception
of the volume of my own voice
in junior high i asked a girl to stop picking on another child
she told me to go fly a kite
it was not until much later that i realized she was insulting me
not offering ideas
for an enjoyable way
to spend the afternoon
my hair is an untamable beast
but when fashioned properly
can be wrapped about my face
to create a rather fetching beard
i enjoy being scared
and am not easily so
unless you are a bug
i talk in my sleep
never know what day it is
and cry while reading good books
i just want
to hold your hand
in a crowded theatre
while we wait for the scene
at the end of the credits
and to be able to tell you
i love you
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
Somewhere in your wardrobe, I'd be willing to bet
There's a t-shirt probably bearing the silhouette of Che Guevara
He was revolutionary, yeah, he wore a cool hat
But behind the design I think you might find it's not quite as simple as that
Che was a bit of a homophobe, Che was a bit of a homophobe,
I think... apparently.. who knows?
Che was a bit of a homophobe, Che was a bit of a homophobe
This is my song in defence of the fence
A little sing along, a anthem to ambivalence
The more you know, the harder you will find it
To make up your mind, it, doesn't really matter if you find
You can't see which grass is greener
Chances are it's neither, and either way it's easier
To see the difference, when you're sitting on the fence
Somewhere in your house, I'd be willing to bet
There's a picture of that grinning hippy from Tibet - the Dalai Llama
He's a lovely, funny fella, he gives soundbites galore
But let's not forget that back in Tibet, those funky monks used to **** the poor, yeah
And the Buddhist line about future lives is the perfect way to stop the powerless rising up
And he tells the poor they will live again, but he's rich now so it's easy for him to say
I'm taking the stand in defense of the fence
I got a little band playing anthems to ambivalence
We divide the world into terrorists and heroes
Into normal folk and weirdos
Into good people and pedo's
Into things that give you cancer and the things that cure cancer
And the things that don't cause cancer, but there's a chance they will cause cancer in the future
We divide the world to stop us feeling frightened
Into wrong and into right and
Into black and into white and
Into real men and fairies
Into status quo and scary
Yeah we want the world binary, binary
But it's not that simple.
And your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive
Yea your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive
And your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive
And so does your baby, maybe you oughta trade HIM in for a Prius-
ROCK!
I'm taking the stand in defence of the fence
I got a little band playing tributes to ambivalence
We divide the world into liberals and gun-freaks
Into atheists and fundies
Into tee-tot'lers and junkies
Into chemical and natural
Into fictional and factual
Into science and supernatural
But it's actually naturally not that white and black
You'll be
Dividing us into terrorists and heroes
Into normal folk and weirdos
Into good people and pedos
Into things that give you cancer and the things that cure cancer
And things that don't cause cancer, but there's a chance they will cause cancer in the future
We divide the world to stop us feeling frightened
Into wrong and into right and
Into black and into white and
Into real men and fairies
Into parrots and canaries
Yeah we want the world binary, binary - 011101!
The more you know, the harder you will find it
To make up your mind, it doesn't really matter if you find
You can't see which grass is greener
Chances are it's neither, and either way it's easier
To see the difference
Cause it's not that simple...
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 7:06 PM UTC
I know why Vincent Van Gogh Cut off his own ear
We are a mad bunch, you see
Poets and painters and playwrights
On the prowl for something to
jump start our perpetual yearnings,
our keen senses and cravings,
on the quest for so much more
than the status quo,
of merely checking off just another day
from our calendars
We are those kinds of people
Who wish to reinvent the world
Often cursing at our failings and insecurites
While obsessively working to shape and sculpt
our view of this planet
To fit our own brand of imagination
To satisfy our starving hopes
and desperate dreams
To foster vivid visions
from the views that are vague
And to wipe away
The nightmares of old
that cry out in us
We believe in make-believe
We who are misfits to "normalcy"
We rarely seem to fit into
The "real world"
Yet we know that this world is
Pure insanity
Stark madness
Sheer perplexion
Yet we are the ones
suffering for the sake
of our art
Often misunderstood
Many times branded as "weirdos"
I can understand the pain
Of not getting my art right
Of not seeing its worth
Because someone sniffed at it
Or scoffed at it
Or blindly passed it by
Many times, we want to break through
And join the world of our works of art
But we can't
We're stuck in the middle of its beauty
And nothingness
Yes
I know why Vincent Van Gogh cut off his own ear
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 8:04 PM UTC
I forgot to pay my muthafucking mobile phone bill.
I tell ya, this week until payday is going to be some thrill.
The only luxury I have in my life is the information super highway on that phone.
I click on a land faraway, once the weirdos at my work start to ***** and moan.
I click on the browser and let my mind roam.
I get to type all over the world,
The co-workers complain about all the races they hate
while I don't say a word and go to wikipedia straight away.
I can spend hours reading about nazis, astronomers, and plants
I might just invest in ear plugs to stop listening to co-workers rant.
I catch up on gossip about celebrities I have never heard of,
and read about the **** they are doing to ruin their lives.
I go to Facebook, where a few people think my words are clever.
Lets me sever the pains of everyday annoyances.
Read about dreamy recipes I could make, and all the delicious pies I will bake.
Chat with someone who slept all day and is now awake in Egypt.
But like I said, I am without a phone this week.
Seven days to let my insanity peak.
Apr 13, 2010
Apr 13, 2010 at 10:16 PM UTC
Laughter and degradation
Put-downs and humiliation
So you don't like me
Why must you hurt me?
You see the way I dress
You think I'm such a mess
You fear me so much
That you keep me out of touch
And you put me in my place
And you sit back and laugh in my face
You go through such tribulation
To protect your stupid reputation
Refusing to accept the unaccepted
Refusing to acknowledge the dejected
Such a slave to conformity
Such a slave to uniformity
Follow a few; step on many
Go out with the crowd in hopes that any
Weirdos who show up happen to be weak
So you can pound and beat that freak
You might not even hurt him much
But you will still tell such
Unbelievable lies; such incredible myths
So that you and your clique can resound with
Laughter and degradation
Put-downs and humiliation
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
grip it harder
till the breath can only seep out
tears are what I seek out
get you angry
see how you **** me now
bruises with a howl
a predator on the prowl
prey on me.
lay on me.
make it reckless
turn it fowl
sink your nails into my shoulder blades
your teeth into my ear lobes
***** whispers,
I want to hear those
insincere flows
just two interconnected weirdos
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 11:17 AM UTC
“The side of her head is shaved,
isn’t that weird?”
Afraid to admit my attraction,
I nodded in agreement.
And in a low voice
I responded with,
“yeah, weird…”
Yet again he pointed out,
“Look at her septum piercing!
Doesn’t she look like Benny the Bull?”
I looked away. Under my breath
I said, “I think…she’s cute.”
My friend turned
with simpering eyes.
“Really? Cute?
You’re a ****** too.”
I looked up, “I’m not weird.
I just think she’s pretty,
that’s all.”
He scoffed,
“Nah man, you’re really weird.
Tattoos and piercings aren’t attractive,
they’re weird but I guess weirdos
are attracted to other weirdos.
Flustered, I looked up to him.
“So what? Punk rock is pretty.
At least I’m not a pretentious ******* like you.”
And with that, I left him there.
© Matthew Harlovic
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
what we need is more banjo,
more djembe, more thunder finger
bass guitar --
what we need is less boredom --
less fear of failure,
less fear of *******
less Jane Austen.
what we need is the electric charge
of neurons fire dancing like
the night sky of the fourth of
july,
what we need is to learn the lesson
of rivers and runners -- keep up
the momentum
what we need is more honey,
watermelon,
sweet potatoes,
peanut butter,
and coconut oil.
more weirdos, more hippies,
more punks, more rappers,
more poets, if you have something
to say we pretty much need you.
we need more gin and less gender roles
more sin and less slapstick
more trees and trampolines and ties
between you and I.
we don't even need to be human
we just need to be sustainable.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
Northern Michigan has got some pretty twisted people but call themselves decent, God faring Christians. Copy pasting two typical posts on rants & raves forum exchanged between two typical Northern Michiganders. Not like them but think they are weirdos and get a good old belly laugh at the ignorance in the good old deep south errrr, I mean northern michigan. We got spared today from reading that Obama was chief ***** head but did get to read his racist post faking being American Indian.
From northern michigan craigslist poster #1
RE; Curious in Fairview (TC)
You sure were quick to figure out what "passes for" debate on this place.
Good Job!
Here's what I do....first, I don't give a hoot what any of them say or do to my posts.
The name calling, and personal bashing are simply humorous to me. Truthfully though, I sometimes egg them on....It simply helps prove that the common IQ level
is somewhat ( ???? ) LOW!
Secondly---"Chief Itchybutt" is the ONLY one worth reading---he tells some
pretty incredible stories....he should probably write a book in my opinion.
As for all the rest of the spew---let it roll off your back like water on a wet
duck...just read it and be glad your not one of "them"...
Advice from:
YBBB--the one, the only!
Craigslist poster #2 with pic of Obama with huge photoshopped lips.
Special for Bob, a deer hunting story (in my woods)
Ugg! How! Chief IIttccheebutt of the Neverwiippee Tribe here to tell all what I see in woods hunting for deer, Ugg! Me go out with boomstick early in morning when turkeys are on roost to sit by deer trail to **** a buck.Very windy out, see no deer, me not even see a tree rat with fuzzy tail. Me wait and wait and wait, still no deer. It get dark now so me go in and try next day. Next day come, same thing,no deer, me think I pick a different spot tomorrow. Tommorrow come and I sit by the edge of a big field with sand holes and short grass with flags in little holes, it very quiet and me hear leaves crunching, me crouch down and get gun ready. Noise get closer and closer then it stop so I look out from behind tree and put gun down and pick up I-phone and snap pic of most stupid looking buck me ever see... then me start big belly laugh, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Ugg! How!
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
Beautiful soul is what you are.
In some dark days you are my star.
You are an extension of God's love.
I can't deny the fact that you are blessing from above.
Everything of you is a part of me.
Your beautiful side is what I always see.
You are a person who fights for what is right.
And sometimes this cause you to cry at night.
Since before, you've been always thoughtful.
I saw the times when you became fearful.
Deep down I felt the tears you've shed,
and courageously to God you prayed and pled.
The time I met you was one of the best-
the best time to say that I am blessed!
We both know that I am not a perfect friend,
but you offered me something that will last 'til the end.
Fun things are what we always do.
Remember the days when we tried to fly and climbed trees, too?
I remembered a day when you cried a lot,
because you were playing and had a deep cut.
Rainy days! One of our favorite days!
We were excited to run and play.
Laughing, running, throwing mud.
We even tried to play in the flood.
Impossible things became possible to us,
There were many things that we liked to discuss.
We became fake animals and superheroes.
We had a pet frog- oh yeah, we were weirdos!
Each day was a time to had fun.
We didn't care about the heat of the sun.
We embraced every bruises we had.
Friends come and go- we were always glad.
Now that we are grown ups and at our 20's,
no more plays and doing important duties.
Memories and friendship will remain the same.
Some things about us, now I acclaim.
Dear best friend, I pray and hope all the best for you.
I and God will always help you to get through.
Let's look on forward to what is best,
and stick together, for we know that God will do the rest.
-Steph Dionisio, February 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
Another chance
Night sky resurrection
Bruise then
Soothes
You choose
Through whisky blues
Cheap tattoos
Busy streets
Teeming life grooves
To strange beats
Existential speakeasies
Proves
Electric existence
Is Heavenly
A strange bohemia
Resounds, crowns
Road side cafes
Girls with belly
Button rings,
Sing
In different hues
Multicolored moods
Hipsters, weirdos,
Freaksters
Congregate in this
Urban delight
Torn jeans,
Worn boots
Christmas lights hang
From baristas roof
Eclectically surreal
Is how I feel
Cars passing by
Intermingle
I drop my dime
And head on
To my next
Crawl
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 1:31 AM UTC
Parents are the weirdest - of God's creation.
I mean, who on Earth would desire the responsibility of another human being from the time they **** in their pants to the time they leave saying 'what have you ever done for me?' ?
Who would, of all the things in the world, like their homeroom stuffed with stupid CDs and stuffed racoons, waterguns and Legos, dried acrylics and miniature utensil sets, ugly pyjamas and strange half-knit sweaters?
I need to know why parents don't object to their kids pooping everywhere.
It's either the kids are super cute or the parents are super crazy.
I'm sure it isn't the former.
A certain lack of imaginative faculties, in parents, is evident to me,quite frankly.
Think of it this way- if it weren't for us - kids, our parents would have been carefree playboys and playgirls, and 'living their lives' - cliché.
What weirdos really!
Their standards of children's safety too possess a particular oddity.
It's only the exact moment of physical contact during a hug that our parents feel we're safe.
Their sense of economy and finance is oxymoronic.
They love discounts. But they'll pay extra for whatever their kids wish.
I wonder how they resist TV shows of most sorts just because they won't have their kids watch remotely explicit content, visual or auditory.
I bet their sense of direction is most unnaturally affected too.
Why do they even follow their kids, when they know kids don't have a working GPS?
Do you have any idea, to what lengths parents go to make veggies seem delicious?
Veggies, Really?
Parents will have you take disgusting syrups and painful **** injections,
And claim they love you.
Parents will have you hit the books,
And claim they love you.
Parents will ground you because you do something they don't like (but they too did it when they were kids),
And claim they love you.
Parents will stop you every time you say a swear word (but they swear all the time),
And claim they love you.
Parents will claim they love you,
Maybe, because they really love you.
Oh, their weirdness never ends.
Parents may seem eccentric,
Their ways might seem a bit too bizarre,
Maybe that's how the people who really love us behave!
Yet, we're always rushing away from them.
If you have ever traveled in a bus, you'll know how absurdly keen the passengers are, to get off, when it stops.
That's how keen the kids are, to leave the laps of their mothers, quite literally the most comfortable place in the world.
Parents really are - the weirdest of God's creation.
And the loveliest too.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 1:31 PM UTC
Who is that in the shadows?
Always there, never seen.
They try to get noticed, but just get shoved back
Into the shadows, into the darkness
This person has a name, but most people call them “Invisible.”
Always pushed aside, never heard, never remembered,
Invisible as the day goes on, Invisible all the time.
When people are labeled as invisible, no one hears them,
No one understands them, no one sees them
No one cares to know who they are, no one asks about them.
They get the short end of the stick, always the last to be chosen.
The invisible people are the outcasts, the freaks,
the weirdos, and the losers. Everyone has their chance
to show who they are, but others ignore them,
All the while forgetting that at sometime in a person’s life,
They will be invisible to someone.
Jun 16, 2010
Jun 16, 2010 at 9:35 AM UTC
Love me please sweet sugar puff.
To love me back is not that tough.
Hold me in your gentle arms.
That magic you fed me.
Boy, you got me charmed.
Used no chemicals, just a bunch of hormones.
Hormones and pheromones.
Such a sparking combination.
I'm stuck in a land betwixt here or there.
I cannot believe that you cannot care.
You are weird, I am two.
Two weirdos together make me and you.
(c) Livvi
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 5:11 AM UTC
There are so many of these girls
bright, lovely pretty young things who’ve suddenly—
(like it was a choice)
taken to all this madness of reading books,
drinking fancy tea and pretending that
they didn’t care about boys or clothes.
well i’m your messenger from the future
your ghost of Christmas past
Let me tell you now that i’ve always been the girl who
Was lonely in high school
Who preferred her books to nights out spent partying
and drank hot cocoa by the liter
and never once considered herself lovely or pretty
that was until i traded in my precious uniqueness
for the generic, unoriginal cutout that i superficially am now
i skipped meals for weighed almonds
put on heels pretending to be tall and cool
but i still stumbled and hoped no one saw me
boys came and talked to me but all i could manage was
awkward sputter that was a sad excuse for words
or else talk to them about books,
politics, social issues and science
until they walked away afraid their eyes telling me
She’s crazy.
let me tell you now, honey
being a geek isn’t cool
whatever trend or substance you’re on forget it
geeks are awkward
****** weirdos with their own language
who blurt out random fandom quotes and references
they’ve known by heart since they were ten.
If you think it’s fun to be the only one laughing
at a joke you were sure everyone knew
of to get stared at like a madman
for speaking klingon, elvish, harry potter, star wars, Dr. Who.
it’s not silly child, my lovely
for in all their uncoolness
geeks actually think they’re cool
well i’m your messenger from the future
your ghost of Christmas past
Let me tell you now that no amount of make-up
can hide the fact that you still preferred Kafka and Bukowski
over cigarettes and alcohol and clublights and you
(not really sure about this one, i like alcohol and cigarettes too)
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 9:20 AM UTC
I'm friends with the kids who smoke cigarettes
Instead of marijuana
The ones who drink vodak
instead of margaritas
The kids who wear all black
And pick pocket lighters
The ones who find home under bridges
And Mark them with graffiti
I'm friends with the kids who go to jail for joy riding thier parents Jeep
And not for getting into fights
We don't sleep at night
But instead we ride
Midnight fries at McDonald's
And 3am confessions
I'm friends with the weirdos
The druggies
The kids who listen to halsey
Before we listen to fetty
The kids who go to prom
Just to sneak out the back
And you may hate us
But we don't care
Because I'm friends with the people who are free
I'm friends with people who are happy
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 8:05 AM UTC
It was a Victorian night where the streets were alight with braziers and gas lamps,when out of the shadows a man rose, in the sight of those poor waifs who were waiting for succour and a bowl full of supper from the sisters, and mercy they were,for the man wouldn't dare to buy favours from females,not in front of the saviours who went among poor men, whose behaviour was suspect and where the language was ripe.
The man sunk back into the blackness of night out of sight but in mind,a kind of reminder to those in the raggety clothes,that the streets were unsafe,and
a place fit for weirdos and those who looked through you and you looked for safety in the arms of the stately,but those homes were all shut,tut ,tut
The old Queens on the throne and you're thrown to the hounds and evil abounds in this Victorian night.
The morning breaks wind as you sniff at the air and wonder, just wonder why life's so unfair,
lice in your hair and you don't smell that good,a bath would be nice and if you could you would take one to relax in,but the morning backs into your face and let's face it,the life that you're living is not good enough to **** in,and we both know these oaths that pop out now and then are not spoken by you but are written by the pen,
and another page
an Edwardian age
but the rage carries on and Victoria's gone but it matters not
you've got what you've got and there's not much you can do about that.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
My words are the keys off beat
In choir, the one off key
The bird who flies in the opposite direction
The ecentric. They call us the liberals. The freedom fighters. They say were are the hippies, the weirdos.
What makes me different........................
My hat is so tall you can't see the theatre performance
My eyes are so curious I see a light on every ceiling
My hands are so wound they jump like bunnies on every desk
My feet as so tired they twist in the soil
I paint a picture that shows shadow and dark
I feel I am both
I Feel like the wind of the opposite direction
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 1:09 AM UTC
I am issuing a postmodern offensive on the retrocultural routine
an exhalation of postindustrial and reinstallation of irreproachable
Intertextual, multivocalities of the avant-garde and postcolonial others
dealing a degendered-(King)sian discourse on equality
This is an attack on normal
a breath of fresh air
A war cry of weirdos
a dagger to the fair
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
I am teenager and I want to be loud,
I am a **** and I **** around.
Smoking villages, smoking towns,
Teenage girls keepin me aroused!
**** nine lives I've only got one,
Got problems bro? "I feel bad for you son".
****** pop lyrics till the day is done,
****** teenagers already think they've won!
World is their oyster? More like a clam!
All the weirdos with their over done glam.
Sheltered sadist couldn't give a ****
Girls so jealous of the Lady and the *****
Smokin, smokin peace to all,
Relaxing freeloaders ignore all my calls.
Chill brother the world is just a big ball,
Getting throw into the sun like a glass vase to the wall.
Don't forget me! I'm the eyes.
Seeing all these strangers caramelize.
Suffer, suffer let the pain rise,
Karma gonna see to your demise.
Voices get quieter,
As I watch them get higher,
Smiling so big, new furnace buyers.
I sit alone scared and tired.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 7:41 PM UTC
I think what really kills me
is to see a guy pour out his guts
about how hard his life is
how committed to the struggle he is
and how much conviction he has
(with his daddy's trust fund)
I could really learn to get behind his success
if I just ignored that he's a rich man's son
I grew up poor, I grew up brown
so I'm Mr "What a big ****** when my thoughts came out
about how I have hopes for a brighter tomorrow
or that life's too short, we're on a track that we borrow
So now I hear succinctly that there's guys who say distinctly
How they're fed up with the system and they hate the gender binary
They're enlightened, in the know, and they're really having fun
Because this **** is easy when you're a rich man's son.
Oh, so I grew up in a small town
A suburban uncultured brown, public school GPA high
That's nice, I like how they let things slide for you guys
getting high, dealing dope, chilling with weirdos
and not the weirdos you know, the kind with emotional, physical, and ****** hangups
and not "wee we're so ******* different"
Because we never got praise, we only worked with a backdrop
Hoping maybe someday we'd get the key to the padlock
But it doesn't matter you say, there ain't a place left to run
Because it's easy not to care when you're a rich man's son
It's always the ones with power, the one's who hold royal flushes
Who say "money can't help you, I feel so out of touch with"
all the nature that I have the money to afford to go visit on a whim
Because the world is an oyster that I have yet to sink in
While I'm hoping for you, you get the point when it's done
That not everyone gets the chance to emote like the rich man's son
I built my kingdom from my grit; I'm not a rich man's son
I learned that no one gives a **** I'm not a rich man's son
I've no promo but my mouth; I'm not a rich man's son
I've got the battle on my back, I'll be a rich man, son
I've formulated my attack, I'll be a rich man, son
I got my loving back on track, I'll be a rich man, son
If I want to stay intact, I'll be a rich man, son.
Your father loves you boy, so you're a rich man's son
Don't care if I can't have the toys, cause I'm a rich man's son
My father loves me to the death, so I'm a rich man's son
"Dad life is pretty hard, don't think I'm having fun"
"Jake, you've got to make yourself, I don't care what the other kids have done"
"If you can only do one thing, and yes I only ask one"
"Be the best at that, there's ever been, will you do that son?"
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC
The plaza is filled with creeps
Sitting along the concrete
***** smelly feet
Untrustworthy gas station meat
I lean up against the wall
See a man who's very tall
Beside an old lady who's about to fall
Granny stumbles around, dazed and confused
Doesn't even know which pills to choose
Asks tall guy which ones to take
Guy blows her off like candles on a cake
I interject, "Can I help you, ya old hag?"
Gran gran then opens the bag
I gaze upon the pills
The entire pack is filled
Stuff like this could go for many dollar bills
Granny says, "I need my Tuesdays."
I tell her, "Lady do you even read due dates?"
I don't know gran, you're on your own
You're gonna hafta figure this one out alone
Bus rolls up an somethins queer
Some pretty sketchy characters filling up the rear
So I take a seat up front, straight up Rosa parks
Weirdos left an right with their ****** birth marks
Guys with beards so long they could choke a man with em
Mexi with a **** two others smokin with him
Many oddities line all up and down the bus
So I turn my frown upside down and try not to cuss
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 11:59 PM UTC
them ole bones -
they was made for diggin!
they was made for diggin, an'
they's forgot about lovin.
that **** girl -
she was on to something!
she was on to something, but
she ain't got nothing.
them ole weirdos -
kick up an awful racket!
such an awful racket...
sounds like something tragic.
**** ole heartache -
gone forever!
said it's gone forever!
just like magic
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 6:13 AM UTC