Ripped the college sticker off its back and drove it to another college.
North / South.
Heaven / Hell.
Or so they say.
Angled off at 125th, swung past the port market, and prayed for greens.
Halted in front of the Mc.
Turn your back on the past -- Nah.
Can man crosses, looks into and eye fucks the reflection of the yellow ass.
He would cum blood anyway, or they say.
**Turns up Sam Cooke**
Tires domestically grip road.
Waffles, fried chicken, pizza all on a curve.
Rear view mirror, check.
Passing just to fail.
Left, right, left, right.
A yellow coat, maybe?
That suit would fit tighter — this is for sure.
Up and down the paths: Alfonso, Cameron, Jay-Z.
Hey, it would fit in with the right earrings, or so they say.
Shift, shaft, shit.
Rainbow leaks, slippery sneaks, sweaty cheeks.
This spot is for the big boys.
There will be money to pay, or so they say.
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1 comment:
nyc takes westchester cars and digests them into diarriah, or so they say.
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