Other Bitches Just Front Part 2
I want to be an urban poet
I want a mouth of gold stones and a donkey rope
I want a sweaty microphone
I want a “Yes! Yes ya’ll!”
I want the first six verses of any Run DMC song
these streets aren’t made for quilting
this corner ain’t made for sipping tea
some sell their soul to the red devil man
but he sold his soul to me
this free form city
this imagination’s sprawl
ghetto from the get-go
Oh poetry!
Oh muses!
Oh rap-battle in the sky!
you are the woodchuck
in my dump truck
