After the show every rapper I know is like can I get a ho, an it so gross they wanna do wood work, hammering , screwing like a carpenter. They will sharpen their pencil with any kind of sharpener. Don’t matter fat or skinny serve it on a silver platter, skip the formalities get on to iller matters, squizzles and squirrels a miserable whirl winds, invisible individuals that usually have girlfriends, back home, obvlious when they are in the hotel boning, groping, slobbering, hoping for a blow job of some sort, its sports wear, short hair and certain secretions, slippery secrets, red meats and bed sheets, bending over stroking parts, sleepless nights and broken hearts racket from the best cds. Wilted flowers, STDs. The nameless women involved are shameless, spreading their legs for anyone famous, the flimsiest floozys, flaunting their inventory, its all so sorted and I don’t feel sorry for them. Even though its sad, its throw away romance, disposable souls with no chance for salvation, instead salivation and heavy breating every eveing, theres always the same guessing game in the dressing room. What a waste now don’t get me wrong, im not a prude. But im not no prostitute either dude.
|
|
After the shows done, I don’t want no one pushing up on me just leave me be
|
What do you expect, breathing down my neck
|
Spreading out your legs, to lay some eggs
|
|
-----------------
|
Hens
|
| Buck 65 |
