This is the result of me listening to a Soulja Boy song.
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Pretty Boy Swag, three and a half minutes of cling,
A whole bunch of talking, not ever saying a thing.
I don’t understand, how these clowns are surviving,
While all they’re doing, is tuggin’ their crotch and high-five’ing.
Not an ounce of talent, resides within them,
Give me a notebook and pencil, and watch me spin them.
I can talk about rims, I can talk about chains,
I can talk about how swagger, runs through my veins.
I can talk about worthless crap, that’s repeated in all of your tracks,
And I can talk about how my money, is sorted into stacks.
I can talk about how all of the above, is false and exaggerated,
And I can touch on your lyrical content, and how I’ve become very exasperated.
I’m tired of hearing about the ‘honeys’, and the gold that wraps around your tooth,
I wanna hear about real things, I want to listen to a little truth.
About how life is hard, and nothing comes easy,
About how women are beautiful, and not referred to as sleazy.
About the day to day wonders, that life does posses,
And how one minute it’s perfect, and the next it’s a mess.
The struggles, the pains, the accomplishments and joys,
The ups, the downs, the silence, the noise.
About friends and family, the ones that you love,
The ones that you miss, looking down from above.
The ones that are there for you, until the very end,
The ones that you lose, and those that you amend.
I wanna hear from people, that have something to say,
Not about how many bullets, you’re intending to spray.
Not about the ice, the Cadi’s, or the weed,
But about how life really is, outside of the greed.
