Monday, January 4, 2010

Grand Theft Poetry


Pump up The tone, Im out of it distressed messed up in this poetry fluid in animation, picking up either you got it or you dont, just the same as those crab ships on discovery channel, fluidily, i may have cataplexy urges, or some kinda testicle testin me because i havent flone into the pussy disolved hopefully ant acidly drippin popped more tops off cans than teens with enegery drinks, 'cause all I do is drink pepsi, zone out alergic to volume damn sure aint stupid enough to take xtc and be homoeopathic like the next faggot next to me, dressing gangster, when i just wear sweats because merely a fatass that i cant have a enough stamina. so i take my life up out the bottom and try not to play a wannabe, when this aint no miss congennality, thats what i ment by bein social outkast, ill rise one day, and my lyrics still wont make sense as if a gta getaway

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