Light another cigarette and soak myself in self regret.
But wait a minute, hold that second.
Yeah, I'm fucking sick of it.
Roll my dollars in my wallet,
just some some fuck went and palmed it.
Damn I'm fucking done with sons,
of bitches that don't give a fuck.
---
Here it comes,
the spu-spu-sputter of tongues.
Halt of air to the lungs,
strike you hard with the puns.
Fuck you.
ha ha ha, let's get on that tipsy top hat crap,
the rustle with the tumble of the struggle of the hood rat.
---
Fingers slipping on the page.
Halt.
split sickness full of rage.
Stop.
Take a step back, inhale and think of summer haze.
Stop.
Break, hold up,
here it comes,
straight out of mouth and tongue,
caught your attention like a gun.
Smoke.
I got infinite days, still fulfilled in infinite daze,
some say,
being ignorant ain't all it's cracked up to be,
but to me,
being stupid for a second's like feelings free.
Shit.
Nicotine, straight to the lungs,
sucking up all of my funds.
But why not? Right?
It's living right, and 19's not when you're thinking,
rather drinking or gifting yourself with chemical drifting.
Sifting.
Damn, thoughts aren't all they're said to be.
And literally I break down when those motherfuckers haunt me.
---
