83) “bOFeLIESd”

83) bOFeLIESd
By: Johnny Blaze

I pack what’s left of the weed in my sesh pape
About half past twelve, I hit the doors very care-fullay
Steps are creeking as I make my way down the hallway
Unlock the door,
Turn the knob,
Breathe in the outdoors,
Closed it behind
I turn to my right, I turn to my left
Look across the street, see if Phil is awake or he probably shlept
Sitting on my stoop,
Learned “Mr. Hankey” is code word for poop
My attire was rather Rasta
All black everything and I recklessly rip a bowl in front of my casa
Que pasa?
Solo quiero fumar Mari’
Yo siempre hablo de permanecer zen en prosperar como un hippy
If my Mama seen me, she’d probably hit me
But hits are what I do
Rip bowls because days are blue
And nights are even darker
I wear a mask of happiness but in reality I’m just like Peter Parker
Because when Peter becomes Spider-Man,
He’s a hero, a character who only tries to fight bad
Then he goes back to being Peter because he’s just a,
And I? Or me should I say?
I’m off back inside,
Pretend to be asleep but that’s ahead
Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky
Put on some cologne,
Put my essentials away,
Gotta do this very quickly, nifty and!
In a jiffy
So I brush my teeth, say Fuck you retainer!
Grab my bag and head to bed with a brain that’s in danger
Now I adhere,
Could never really fantasize anyone laying next to me, here, fuck this phone
When I got it, I used to think I’d be texting bitches for days
Then I realized I don’t even have any bitches; I have girls that call me “Dave”
I used to dream about women
Now all I see are green walls and my palms are just livid
I already gave you Baby Blue!
I could’ve saved you,
Bathed and ape’d you,
But I should never revisit,
-My past but it always seems to come back like the 168 in a loop, show some identification for this bus pass
But that’s, not what I am getting paid for
I payed my dues,
I went through hell just to be brand new
And even still,
The thought of you makes me ill
My frindle can do things that no man or woman, like Ms. Frizzle,
Can understand or plan what I will do next
That’s my object,
That’s my obsesh
That’s why I don’t fuck with Nick Cannon because he carried Mariah,
Now she fucked up like the inside of her vagina
I don’t even have to explain myself, fuck it, perceive it as you may
But in June, you’ll be caught in your lies (July)
So by August you’ll be like “Ah, bless”
In September though, you’ll be the victim of a victimless crime
And just like Nicki & Skylar, you made a mandem cry
So you’re bound to be laid out on the bed; the same bed of lies


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