tried to make the jump from complainer to poet
but all I can seem to do is complain
I'll give you one guess where this thing is going
it's quite the frustration, let me explain

Upon drinking the whiskey and smoking the ****
all I got was drunk and addicted
I've spanked the frisky and choked the slags
all it left me was feeling conflicted

I've ripped through the prompts, copied the greats
I've read all the books and done all the time
I must have lost a ton of weight
from the sweat I've poured in a thousand lines

so now I just sit here, too thin and smelly
maybe I'll take up berating the telly