AAAAAAAAAA wrote:Hubble86 wrote: Thanks for that! I am staying at the top. Always! Haha and pfffff...
Now that i'm back upon my throne,
I thought it best to cast the first stone,
In recent years, verse has been few,
And missing in action have been the A-crew,
Yes- this humble man balks from his shabby brown box,
Just ten minutes away from the man quite gay,
(You know who he is but i'd rather not say- no names, no flames is the word of the day)
From the feathered quill pen of the humble baker,
To the flocculent ears of the hirsute rhyme-taker,
I grant thee this offering to do as you may,
A
pfff pastry of rhythm served with a lexical bouquet
But now the night calls, that's the hand i've been dealt,
The burden of time zones can clearly be felt
I can feel it clearly, I tell you no lies,
As I struggle to keep open..........my fucking eyes.
You think you are sitting on some rhyme-throne,
But I am the first to throw a big stone,
And soon I throw more and not few,
Since I like to be the rhyme-thief, in the A-fam-crew.
Yes, this thief, is far from the shabby brown box,
Where the baker rhymes, when he bakes cake-locks,
In his bakery, where all had to be gay,
to suit the owner, at least, that's what he say,
We all know what he wants, but no names from me today.
Some flocculent ears, on the humble baker,
can be offended, he is after all a muffinmaker,
That bakes the best Pffffrhymes ever were served.
And then he has, most of all, not to be nerved.
But, as soon as the sun goes down in the west,
He feels how his fucking eyes have it best,
Under his bed, without any quest...