cigarettes, cannoli, coffee and donuts
i’m a problem not a poet so what?
oh but being surrounded by mayhem helps
antii social addicts the scars speak for themselves
watchin hentai with a bad bitch in bed stuy
she dress fly, gets high, a rebel with red eyes
but she so sad, her cigarettes cry
i can’t imagine what’s gonna happen when her pet dies
i’m not sure what i could brag about
but i’m pretty good at blackin out
and wandering the city streets for somewhere i could take a seat
and study all these idiosyncratic freaks
but then i realize i’m not that different we all started innocent,
except for the shit that was in our past
i’m nothin but a long haired low life
in no hurry with no worries and no wife
i can’t lucid dream so i free write
in a room filled with gloom, doom and tea lights
i know for a fact she won’t but acts like she might
you start to pick up on all the crap that they recite
as soon as the situation turns high stress
i decide that it’s time to digress
cause i’m not that good at cleaning up my mess
i guess all that i can really do is lie less
i’m just an oaf on a sofa loafin around,
i’ve seen none of the world but i been to most of my town
i gave up on acting like i’m holdin it down
life turned into a cold shower, should i throw in the towel?