Small time poet on authorsden,
little tiny mouse of larger sin.
Couldn't even get published again,
personal pan poet that wants to win.
Other eyes of watch threaten,
want to beat up on a poet
a little more pressure
and I feel like deleting,
instead my azz is still competing,
I've nailed down my seating,
challenge anyone don't mind
a round the table meeting.
Dominos and Pizza everywhere Hut,
personal pan pizza delivering slut.
If they were selling sex in hell,
my greedy azz would be in jail.
I'd love to whore out my verse in profit,
make big cash like a white house puppet.
But I'm small time beans,
don't sweat it I love my
collard and mustered greens,
never been constipated,
only poetically originated,
make enough cash to handle my means.
I'm happy where I'm at,
but I wish I was the
biggest king of the jungle cat,
bank roll juicy rich and fat.
On my azz I'd sat,
wouldn't even swing at a nat.
I'd hire a maid,
and enjoy getting paid.