top drawing courtesy of melbournechapter.net
left corner drawing courtesy of pinterest (artist’s name is lucas anjos, if the cursive signature is written that way)
right corner drawing courtesy of coub.com
a poet and i play
with these words,
please don’t try
comparing me to
your favorite rapper.
chances are unless
they’re an old legend,
i’m better than them.
i’ll never say that i’m
pac, big, jay, em, kenny
like these soundcloud
boys like to go and do.
think of who you all
look up to and idolize,
won’t give love to zel
but you’ll go and rave
about the jolly rancher
with 69 tatted on him.
kyle can spy one hit,
but you pass on him
for a kid that can’t
hold down hot chips.
my third bag this week,
feel like i’m charged up
like the boy drizzy, damn,
big baby dram in the party
rolling broccoli but how is it
the real winner was yachty?
even brockhampton feeling
they gotta get better because
the lean sippers and the ones
getting face tats are charting.
i used to want the views
but if the way to get you
is for me to go off and do
all that? fuck no, stay low.
i’d rather be the poet with
no attention than the one
sipping from the lean cup,
beating the girl that i love,
stabbing out in cold blood,
touching kids, too young,
and yelling the n-word at
taco bell, bite your tongue.
suddenly, i’d have defense
even from the highest up,
because our president likes
his killers and rapists white,
gets to defend them and he
hooks them up nice, he’s so
fucking uptight, fine people
on both sides, ‘cause the guy
can’t condemn the alt-right.
stupid people get fame but
the smart ones stay low, i’ll
keep on doing as i’m doing,
i’ll stay forever underrated.
maybe i’m still overlooked,
but i’d rather it be that way,
not gonna clout-chase or go
ride a wave to get some fame.
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