My rhymes make niggas rebuild like water damage…
Meyhem Lauren, “Typhoon Rap,” Self-Induced Illness, 2011
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I hope you get a paper cut on your tongue
From a razor in a paper cup.
I hope every soda you drink’s already shaken up.
I hope your dreams dry like raisins in the baking sun.
I hope your titties’ all saggy in your early 20s.
I hope there’s always snow in your driveway.
I hope you never get off Fridays…
And you work at a Friday’s that’s always busy on Fridays.
I’m just a bastard with a bad habit,
Bad back, in a black Volkswagen Rabbit
…Shit, I gotta have it.
Black magic woman put a spell on me;
Fuck around and win a spelling bee.
I could walk under ladders, still win the lotto.
Ten minutes flat: built a boat in a bottle.
My new shorty got a gymnastic back,
‘87 emerald green on a classic Jag.
She had the cleft palate, I ordered chef’s salad;
She had the club foot, with that little arm,
I couldn’t help but laugh…she ordered Chicken Parm.
City lights shine bright on my complexion,
Self-reflection…red hairs flashing at the intersection.
Life is a green light, one star, no script,
Supporting actors…fresh peaches, no pit.
Shoot eagles on the Jack Nicklaus course,
Porsche with the triple exhaust,
Seats soft like a midget’s cough…
Linguine linguistics that left my verbal essence saucy,
Send a message, leave you sleepin’ next to headless horsey.