409

You will always want the classic cherry colored chevy
like I’m a DeLorean
Or the prototype of a concept car that was scrapped for being too boring
I’ve got more false doors than words
This white boy could rhyme whores with
I got more shtick than you could shake a stick at
an orange grin on my face
I’m so full of those rotten eggs
The basket keeps breaking my back
And I’m not done yet
I’ve barely endured
I’m a misassembled kit
I’m merely adored.
I’m missing parts under my lid
I have been told, I’m an incomplete idiot
You have always wanted the finest marble in fresh, home grown beef.
It’s human nature, unfortunately.
I’m just a meek little treat.
Something you think about but, only in brief
At night likely, when you’re about to sleep
And you only exist as a fleeting dream.