Somehow, I ended up writing a rap this thanksgiving break. I guess after a night of terrors and watching a homemade movie of old memories kind of made me emotional.
Coming home is meant to feel so good
Remembering the joys of childhood.
But we gather around this awkward table
just looking through distorted eyes and throwing labels.
You’re fatter, stupider more of a fag.
G-d maybe they should make like Grey and invest in some gags.
The Apple Cider will be flowing
And mom will be counting the hours till going.
But my concern is a lip-lock
so potent and dangerous like Socrates and hemlock.
I better not drink or I’ll die.
Don’t need to be another thinking they’ve been crowned by versailles.
My head hurts, I could be pregnant
With a peasant’s kid
Whose floated through my life like a cheap ass tenant.
Isn’t this shit supposed to be magical and pleasant?
Jesus Christ, provide this selfish fool with an exit.
Or at least something like on last happy remnant.
I’m too young to be tired and sick
vowed to never be like my mom, dependent on a redneck hick.
And yet I’m tired from a free kick,
looking for magic and hope from a broomstick,
measuring the time till death with a yard stick,
In awe by a candle’s light able wick,
And remembering the times I’d lick a dick
like some kept chick,
now just wanting it to hurt from more then just a flick.
Fucking men and their schtick.
I should of cut deeper,
lived my life cheaper,
and took more meds to be a sleeper.
Then maybe the Heaven’s score keeper
Will see me as a more then the mistreated door keeper.
I can be the victor of a game keeper
And avoid praying for the grim reaper.
If college and home don’t work,
Then maybe I’ll do more then drift through life like a lurk.
And be more then my sororities quirk.
Shit, Y’all. I’m tired.
And already dreaming of being retired.
Whose got the time to try and be desired.
It’s not like I have hope to be inspired
or someone’s heart required.
All I am is tied up and wired.