Doctor Doctor help i'm addicted to Rhyme.
Finds and Time combined in my mind finds me sour
An hour past the tower of power
full of flour
and finger-licking chicken pickings
mixed in
Mashed potata's and hata's creating new flava's to savor for later.
But to taste Haste's paste riddled through my viddles
fuddles my middles and insides.
Got me riding high on leather,
ever so clever in my endeavor to feather
seats or sheets or cleats or feets or whoever i meets
with Meets and Beats left deep im my gut
but...
no luck as i upchuck this rot pot lot.
I shot on tots and children
stomach rebuilding,
grownups exit the building,
disgust deeply instilled in
each and every one.
Im sorry hun to kill your fun but
I was addicted to Rhyme so
they put me on Reason
and my body committed Treason.
So umm...here's a towel.....
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