RAW POETRY

Friday, March 13, 2009

You Fuckn Up

You fuckn up
Call me at hour that’s decent
Not the hour for creepn
Textn me on the weekend
like whats up with this freakin
Speakn like you got the ill fire to get me leakin
Im tired of yo porno preaching toes curln fingers reachn
To the heavens like yo shit is godly and you like you some kind of sanctified dick deacon
Beacon of bitches
But speakin of bitches
This missus aint ya mistress
Full of gummy raindrops and chocolate kisses
I know you feening but I don’t give fixes to tweakers that be weaker then white folks koolaid mixes
Just how you don’t even PAY attention to boujee trixes
I play you on your own ish like movie flixes
You fuckn up
And im over here bustn up
like this bruh must think I’m dumb enough
Dick aint love
Don’t get it mixed up with lust
Because pretty boy aint the one to trust
I’ve been there done it and you will get fucked
Just yo ass will be the one left in the dust when dude busts
Don’t catch feelings because I found out a long time ago feelings don’t mean much

No comments:

Post a Comment