Poetic Fanatic


Thursday, March 19, 2009


Caught

Don't you dare steal my gold, you backstabbing snot

Haven't you heard, we revealed your spots

Don't call yourself a person of God

You're merely a disgrace to the Lord

Now I've thwarted your ill-boding plot

Don't fret, grab one to lie on the chopping board

Isn't this calculated in your thoughts?

Pray hard lest it all falls short

Peaceful farewells were never your sort

But I warn you of the karma that's in stored

I guess you never knew you were a fashion flop

A person made a laughing stock

We knew it ain't fully your fault

But it's causing our eyes all to rot

And no, your belly's so not hot

So if you could spare us a simple thought,

Fuck off and encage yourself in Pandora's Box



7:50 AM

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