Put up six hands, three yellow faces,
Poetry flowin like gasoline in races.
My words are smooth like MJ on the dance floor,
noses colapse, fast night with a cheap whore.
I know you love this poem, you gonna read it often
Smoke to much of this weed now I cant stop coughin.
It rymes idiot, don't friggen argue, accept!
This rhyme is friggen dope, you know Im correct.
Im friggen thug bangin, reppin that seven-oh-sev
I looked and cant find nothin that even rymes with sev
It doesnt even matter, im way to tight
gettin down with your mom, keep her goin all night
This aint gots to be perfect Im just all about the flows
but I could still sell nine hundred billion writting in prose.
Am I the freshest?
Comments
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i enjoy the 'i know you love this poem, you gonna read it often' that was tight. hella tight.
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