i get angry when i get fucking 7s.
2002-12-31, 6:08 p.m.
I've been told that I'm too outspoken for this city...
Too out for this state...
Running rampant with my rampages of rhetorical rhyme;
I might as well scream while I'm doing my time
in this backwoods, blackwater place...
in this bullshit, blood-thirsty state...
I would apologize for being offensive,
but I ain't sorry...
Musta' left my speak-no-evil monkey
out in the car...
So I think I'll just stand here and throw out
lines of ill-written "poetry"
with my awkward alliteration
with my untimed rhyme
with my split infinitives
and superfluous use of "fuck" and "ain't".
And who the fuck do you think you are anyway?
The syntax police?
Thought we left the Nazis back in Germany...
and I ain't got blonde hair.
and I ain't got blue eyes.
and I don't know why the caged bird sings,
but I do know that I can stand up here and sing as I please,
scream when I please,
smoke what i please,
and fuck whom i please...
and i'm tired of letting YOU get to me...
You, out there, with your scorecards held high...
You, out there, hiding from these lights...
You, out there, smoking your camel, marlboro,
virginia slim menthol ultra lights
(100s... in a box, please).
Bottled beers resting casually on table-top thighs...
You, out there, trying me on for size,
hiding from my stir-crazed, drug-hazed eyes...
And I'm dilated to a ten, a hundred percent effaced,
Three seconds from exploding,
but I ain't gonna step down and take my place...
In the back of the line,
on the back of the bus,
in the back of this bar
because i got a uterus;
because i ain't got a cock,
but i sure as hell can walk the walk...
and i let my cunt do the talking,
spilling her blood all over this stage -
she's dilated to a ten, a hundred percent effaced,
three seconds from exploding,
dropping poetry like neonates...
and you... out there...
just sit back... and kick my fucking babies... in the face.
And now... I don't give a fuck about
first place
second place
third place
I just want to waste. your. time.
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