Woods' Wolves - 137

People

Want to

Know what

I do

Write about

Each day

I suppose

I just

Describe

The creatures

In one’s

Attic space

I don’t got a favorite style

I do what the beat beckons;

Always been wary of smiles

Specially from Sirens;

I’ve been called bibliophile

(Seeing what page reckons);

At the feast of wisdom

Man, I go back for my seconds

All of the venom is not an anomaly

Know it’s indicative of a disease;

I have been looking around for the comedy

Midst all the filth and the pestilent fleas

Oh my, had to scrape some people up from my floor

So I could deliver them back to their own door

Funny how good liquor can eliminate the senses

Couple downed shots and they’re messing up decor;

And I got a message for the housing authorities

Your enforcement is so filled with big holes and deformities

I, keep the club bouncing like Tigger;

Fie, many don’t keep the same vigor;

Sigh, little things can really get bigger

If you got a problem try to pull the fucking trigger

Listen, I don’t want to have an attitude

So I’ll try to say this without even being rude

I don’t want to be that person rejoicing in ostracization

But won’t you see the fucking enemies accrued

Please

I do not want your advice

I’m more obliged to throw my bloody dice

Than listen to someone who’s not in the trenches

Please name me a coach who instructs from the benches

Said this before, happily, I’ll say it again:

If you don’t understand the truth coming out of my pen

Then I do suggest you put on your reading glasses

Wouldn’t understand me if I fucking spoke molasses

Listen to me

That’s not a strike to the ones who don’t get it at first

It’s a strike to the ones who drink the most and have the least of thirst

It’s a reproach of the hungry roach that tries to spoil kitchen goods

It’s a castigation of the wolves that roam within the woods

When I was younger, didn’t have that many friends

And I pushed all through my hunger so I could—my field—till

Then I got older, and you know how the path bends

Well the only hunger I now have is for the fucking quill

I don’t got a favorite style

I do what the beat beckons;

Always been wary of smiles

Specially from Sirens;

I’ve been called bibliophile

(Seeing what page reckons);

At the feast of wisdom

Man, I go back for my seconds

Gloom, when I came out the womb

But I made the best of my gilded tomb;

Doom, at the bottom of life’s flume

Fee-fi-fo-fum, giants need room

Don’t need a gold chain

Just want a bigger, bigger crowd

For the arcane runes that I been sprayin';

And yes I do want brain

But I’m talking 'bout the one in head

Not the one for which you’re prayin'

I, keep the club bouncing like Tigger;

Fie, many don’t keep the same vigor;

Sigh, little things can really get bigger

If you got a problem try to pull the fucking trigger