Saturday, April 10, 2010

The Grouch

Back in the day,
I'd cook the crack from the yay.
Never needed a safe--
my veins would stash it away...
In a spectacular way
I'd martyr debris.
Stayed doing drugs
that were harder than me.

In the heart of the street,
a peep squeak on the come up--
a young buck with tough luck,
tipsy n' dumbstruck.
Loved to puff n' pump bud,
hump sluts n' jump fucks,
but no matter what, every Grouch
gotta meet the dump truck...

Hitchhiked with my thumb up--
abducted by the garbage man--
stuck, my tongue tucked
behind my teeth's tartar, jammed.
My scars' heart land
pulses with the blood flow.
Can't trust a soul--
don't think I could ever love, yo.

Some wounds just won't heal
like they're supposed to.
Can't come close, you
the type of chick that'd drive me postal.
Anti-social, got no cover
but fuck weathermen--
I got my covers--
sink into my bed like wet cement.

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