Author Topic: Flowetry  (Read 114 times)

ebonybreecaple@gmail.com

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Flowetry
« on: September 12, 2020, 08:29:51 PM »
When the poet talk all the ho-ettes walk
Struttin they slut for a fuck and hawkin they forks
I love to play sports thatís what ya pussy be c
Spread ya legs for the bread and run home after ya hit em off g
Iím on that backpack rap tip
Wack brats trap sick
Talk craps like every word I spit is a hollow point tip and the cards be on my side like the dice roll 6
7/11
24
Heaven
Iím bumpin styles P
Scratch that
This B Bishop
Everyday got the illest confessions like a Catholic priest writin a self help book
Canít help yaself
Well Hell
The devil can
Just look
Around the corner from a stone
Around the block
Knock the head
Opportunities rock the best of em
You lucky you aint dead
Be wishing you was livin
Lookin back over all your crimes
Youíll never be forgiven
Whatís good bout bein under the hood
Fuck a crucifixion
This aint fiction
Somethins missin
You be on the milk box wishin for a sip of dirty water
Treatin me like a skank
Save it for ya daughter
I bought war for the poor you poorer than a martyr
Dear satanic father
Let me go manic
Panic
Then act a lil harder
Take it to the pastors
So they can preach hell fire
Youíll expire when I retire
Iím feedin people fams
We got glories to look forward to
Fuck them rings on ya fingers
Stans
Damagin
Ravagin
Savagin scum
Watch the fuck out homes
I ainít even done
Past dumb
Straight stupid
Who you is
You cupid
You bringin love
Iím breathin hate coz thatís all you got for me
Iím talkin role reversals
We gods
You a piece of shit ya fiend
This be the poetry flowin free like Eb-knowz-Geez-Louise-Aint-Nobody-Free-Till-All-Iz-See-You-Bee-Slow-Dee
So
What you got for me
Forget me
Knots
Rips
Hot tips
Zip locks
And rock crypts


Iím over this shit