This is my verse
swinging its bat
right upside your head.
And . . .this is my pen choking off
your influence on me.
Yeah! . . .this is my mutinous escape
from the prison walls you built around me.
These are my psychotic thoughts
Not allowed in good company.
This is the force of my indignation
I’m too dignified to pour on you.
These are the shots
you will neva hear fired
from my smokin’ gun.
This is a Poet’s Murder
And YOU . . .
YOU . . .
YOU . . .
Are the victim!!
