POETRY
“The joy of discovery is certainly the liveliest that the mind of man can ever feel”
- Claude Bernard -
Poems from my Teenages days
Comfort/ mass confusion
It may not be the best thing you've done by a long shot, But it was necessary.it helped.sometimes thats the point. Whatever gets you through the night,its alright ,its alright. Some characters want to run,to go to the airport and just fly away, And others could never be away from this.there is a lot of tension,a lot of rancor,a lot of frustration in that air. Betrayal,love,morality,spirituality and faith,betrayal came first. Maybe he was paranoid,on the other hand,maybe he was being pushed. Betrayal,it was in the air alright,especially when you realized that There is no one you can really trust,no one you can trust absolutely. You want to run,run and hide.Fear takes over when logic fails. Was logic ever there?where to run?where to hide?but can we really hide? There's a desire in there that is almost suicidal,desire to go over, The edge to experience what ever the other side might throw at you. The feelings are intense,that you cant express it clearly.Your thoughts Emerge in disconnected fragments.He repeats to himself I'm here,so he stays It's alright.Its alright.
The Old Man
The old man wanders his Drury home,
Lost and lonely in his own confines.
Nothing is familiar All is out of place,
Scared he finds his way back to his rocking chair.
Unsure if the chair is truly his,
Long since he's been here,
Longer since he has not.
He stares at the rooms dingy walls,
Never before has he had this fear.
A fear of displacement,fear of the situation.
He wonders how this has happened to him,
Or is this really happening or is all in him gone?
Again the old man wanders his Drury home,
Not being able to remember home.
The pictures on the walls are the same,
Of a time long past,but the walls not the same.
The old man looks out his window at a tree,
Remembering a tree bigger and grander not the same.
Insecure by disorientation he finds his way to his rocking chair.
He walks the house and looks upon familiar faces,
Those faces familiar no more.
The old man saddened by times lost past weeps,
His future no longer as clear as it use to be.
His past all but a faded memory.
The old man creeps back to his rocking chair,
His frail body settles in for his nightly rest.
He struggles to be comfortable before sleep,
But now the old man need not worry nor weep,for now he is asleep.
Misc Poems as an adult
Coward of a Man.
Yes as I sat by the gentle ocean breeze,
While smoking a doobie being at ease,
I noticed a beauty who was very pleasing,
Had to pursue her to make her my squeeze.
Oh, with no intentions of love or honor,
Only lust in me I came onto her strong,
No notions of settling down or relationships,
False scenes in a dance of deceitful courtship.
"The biggest coward of a man,
Is to awaken the love of a woman,
Without the intention of loving her",
Sang the Buffalo Soldier sincere.
With honey lies coming of his cunning lips,
Holding on to the gentle genial sway of her hips,
Promises of a dazzling future and radiant kids,
Never an intention, he'll break her heart like a twig.
Without a call or a trace he'll disappear,
Like an unseen ghost, vanishing into thin air,
He'll laugh about it to his friends over a beer,
Her emotions or affections were never a care.
"The biggest coward of a man,
Is to awaken the love of a woman,
Without the intention of loving her",
Sang the Buffalo Soldier sincere.
The Old Lady
I watched from a little distance just off yonder,
Within an aging cedar wooden row boat upon the lake,
As an old frail elderly lady gingerly wrought away.
Such wisdom held within her wrinkled framed eyes,
Her silver laced hair held back with a lapis blue rag,
Serenity showed upon her frame as she hence forth toiled.
A cerulean blue blouse adhered to the shell of her aging body,
Yet such pride emits from her enduring unfaltering disposition,
She so inspired me at how undaunted she was at the chore before her.
The sapphire blue of her bun neatly fastened in place gently swayed,
As her head lifted towards the arctic blue skies with her load in hand,
Decades of repetitive labour still she is not yet ready to give it over.
Lost in the hustle and bustle of my own life selfish comforts,
This declining grandmothers steadfast illustration makes me wonder,
How much I miss all around me and do not stop to simply appreciate?
The Flood
The waters rising, flash flooding, a city in a disheveled state of emergency,
Homes devastated, families torn from their roots, all lost.
A few days later I drive by, heading to the liquor store,
I must slow down with the flow of traffic creeping at a crawl,
I watch the families as they drag the ruin remains of their lives to the curb.
What if that was my family?
What would we do?
Where would we go?
How would we be feeling knowing all that we loved and worked for was gone?
Is the trip to the liquor store as important as it was half an hour ago?
Should I stop and give the money I have to spend to the needing families?
The pace of traffic picks up, but I am moving slow enough to keep noticing the devastation of the flood.
Do I stop?
The pace of the traffic again picks up, I pass by those who are less fortunate than me, I continue on for my coveted bottle, trying to push the memories now becoming etched into my mind, stuffing the guilt down that tries to surface.
Fragmented Thoughts
Black Gives to Blue,
A Rainier Fog
its Facelift Dirt
in a Jar of Flies.
No Code to Vitalogy
Riot Acts Yield,
Ten vs Binaural
Backspacer to a Lightning Bolt.
Blood Sugar Sex Magik,
One Hot Minute of
Californication in
a Stadium Arcadium.
By the Way
at The Getaway
I'm With You
Freaky Styley.
Nevermind,
Bleach is in
Utero From the Muddy
Banks of the Wishkah.
Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk,
You and I
in Grace
Songs to No One.
Early 30's - Part 1
Running out of the bank
in my pinned stripped
tweed three piece suit
and grey Homburg on my head,
sliding into that old
tanned Model 18 Ford
just like if we were
Bonnie and Clyde,
the hum of that
old Flathead V-8
singing in my head.
We better get out of here
before we die beside
each others side or
doing hard time like
Machine Gun Kelly
'cause those G'men
will surely be coming
my crimes know no end.
Running hard for that state
line with only one thing
on my mind, cant get caught
and I'm running out of time.
Lit another Camel's cigarette
Ma Bakers house in sight at last
I can relax and get my old two-tone
shoes shined at the local five and dime.
But the life of a gangster
is always quite predictable
a Chicago overcoat waiting but
startled I thankfully awoke in my bed.
Early 30's - Part 2
Woke up in some dame's
bed, no clue how I
even got up here but I
have a feeling I need
to get the hell out
of here really quick.
Grab my three buttoned
tanned trench coat,
and jump into my
wine '34 coupe.
Got Purvis hot on my trail
got to get him off my tail
heading out of South West while
there's still time, I'm not
giving that stash of loot back.
Like Dillinger I got
out of here, the Windy City
now my destination as
coppers are said to
keep out of your way,
but thing got out of hand
now doing time like Capone.
Hoping someone will bust
me out like Baby Face
did for dear ol Johnny
several years before,
cause doing hard time
isn't for this cool cat
robbing and bootlegging
hooch is for me instead.
Hiding out with Pretty Boy
Floyd as we heisted another
Federal bank, I swear
I'm not doing to die.
Gonna do time for crimes
from my past, like Karpis
now sending me to Alcatraz
proving to me that the
rules still apply
Hoover smiles as he
finally got his guy.
Grasping for air as I wake
It was just yet another
chance dream that I
happened to have again.
Old Playground Memories
The laughter of kids hanging thick in the crisp morning air,
As they rolled down a sloping hill, no worries, never a care.
Bodies stiff as fallen logs upon soft emerald green grass they had flatten,
Eventually leveling out they bound to their feet, arms outstretched flapping,
Filled with eager joy and high spirits, they sprinted across a sparse clearing,
There just ahead in their sight, the playground appearing, oh such an awesome delight.
Metal poles angled like upside down V's, upon them supporting a sturdy metal beam,
From it two sets of linked chains hanging, ignored are the plastic seats of the baby swings swaying.
Of forest pine green, its peeling paint revealing dull gray metallic,
As children quickly scurry up it with their hands full of calluses,
Its cold steel bars supporting youngsters as they clamber ever higher,
Or swinging across from ladder to ladder of the spider monkey bars, oh the joy they inspire.
On either side of the glaucous blue arch they start making the ascent,
gangling arms of one with his crusted scabbed knees bent, reaching the center his only intent,
Blond pigtail's twirled as she let out a giggle as they eventually meet in the middle,
There wasn't a quibble, nah no angry chatter, just two kids playing on a crescent bar ladder.
Off to the side corroding and rusted, once a bright color red now faded mellow,
beside it a mate snaking, trimmed sides with old paling golden yellow,
a pair of kids slides with children on standby, as the kids went down together they let out such a bellow,
As the sun heated its smooth shinny belly of metal, they landed on upon their feet on pocket sized pebbles.
Tilting from side to side quickly swaying, swatches of dynamic colors speedily obscured,
With death-defying potions assured, their vision a blur, children testing their mettle,
Flying off one by one where they were nestled into a slot, the last one holding on winning a medal.
Getting up from off their faces, about to fall back into their places, familiar shouting echo's are heard.
Each one can hear being transmitted over the air, the sound of their mothers calling,
No thoughts of pause for they would not dare, their mother Sternly forewarned them of stonewalling,
Their grilled cheese laid out with delicate care, their cold apple juice she was nimbly pouring,
Ravenous they ate, completely purging their plates, as thoughts of their playmates danced in their head.
An English County Fair
A gentle breeze blows, stiring the smooth stalked meadow grass,
A rustling of the leaves as they sway to the touch of the wind,
A beautiful glow of the sun from above, radiating it's heat below,
within the confines of a barrier wall.
The sound of the creaking steel of the Ferris wheel,
The buttery rich smell reaching his senses as popcorn explodes,
A hustle and a bustle, a clatter and a bang echoes around in vain,
Not a person around him pays attention to the sounds.
Clip-clop, clippity-clop the mare announces as she completes her course,
Clip-clop, clippity-clop echoes the sound as he makes his circuit,
Towards vibrant blues, reds and purples of the canvas circus tent,
He smiles as he hears the ring master practice his announcements.
In a booming commanding voice within, he hears "ladies and gentlemen, let's begin",
Though no one is around to hear him, only the patches of stars painted above him,
On the roof where aerialist will be swinging, captivating their audiences attention.
Acts of daring defeat, without ever touching their feet.
As he continues there's a man bound with muscles, not too far from the entrance,
Where there is quite the commotion, he's ready to help let the guests in, the fair is about to open.
Excitement and wonder is about to explode, as the children rush past their parents, Cotton candy their goal.
Shining smiles, how those beam on their faces, now that they are ready, ladies and gentlemen please take your places, the show is ready to start.
Standing Alone
Alone he stands on his own,
He ignores the echos he hears,
Not a care what they say or think,
He already knows what they feel,
They may call him a fool,
They may think he's not all there,
In their eyes he may be odd
But he knows his own way,
his inner happiness worth more
than their words or actions may say,
He knows they are the fools,
Happy standing alone is his wish.
Rolling A Joint
From the baggy I
pick out a bud
gummy to the touch,
into the buster it goes
to be all busted up,
emptied unto the table
it gingerly flows.
Now that it's ready
out comes the Zig-Zag
to be carefully rolled,
spread out along the paper
with a professional flip
rolled then sealed with a lick
pressed between the lips
lit with the flick of a Bic.
puff, puff smoke clouds
into the air so proud
making ringlets of halo's
philosophizing like Plato,
now relaxing into the couch
an art perfectly carried out
something not learned
when you were a boy scout.
My Lava Lamp
Coin grey hourglass figure
flamingo pink plasma enclosed
preparing to transfigure
it is only opposed
by glass as it flows.
An illuminated blob forms
at the base as is the norm
starting to give birth
to beads so uniformed,
wafting as they quickly warm.
Within an unbiased chaos
collisions by mere chance,
simple amusement it grants
time gets lost in a trance
watching stragglers advancing.
Like tentacles they extend
cloudy nebula's commence
with no obvious intent
unusual patterns invented
such an extraordinary event!
Scout Who Got Boo'd
On a hot summer day
in Maycomb Alabama,
A young six year
old Tom Boy named Scout,
about with her brother Jem
fussing over some drama,
of who had been leaving
gifts within a tree
in front of the Radley's.
Much speculation about
the person known as Boo,
really Arthur a reclusive,
never leaving his house.
Why he's hesitantly mentioned
by those older folk in town,
children keep asking around
trying to discover the riddle,
but no one willing to speak the truth.
This summer had been
jumping with excitement,
a trial of horrid rape
of a poor white woman.
Tom Robinson accused
of the evil misdeed,
over it a Finch to oversee.
Without a burden of doubt
Atticus proved Tom's innocent.
Convicted due to his color
even though it was Bob Ewell
once again too drunk to mutter.
Dill, Jem and Scout upon
the top of the balcony looking out,
disgusted with the outcome
so unjustly handed about.
Ewell was lurking about,
stumbling upon Jem and Scout
drunk a confrontation he started,
Jem's arm had got broken
when out of the dark
a tall figure appeared
their hero Boo Radley was there.
In a flash the children disappeared
Ewell later found dead,
Boo retreated back into his house,
never to be seen again.
Pieces of a Puzzle
He may seem different when you look at him,
but such an amazing awesome person within,
autism may be his special challenge,
yet watch him dazzle you with his knowledge,
of things that he finds interesting.
He is not spoiled or throwing a fit,
sensory overload going off in his head,
something he has no control over,
please don't step in and try to take over,
going out at times is something I dread.
ASD isn't some disease so
please don't feel ill at ease
when you are around him.
Give him a chance and he'll
show you his charming grin,
while spinning a tale for you.
Many a development delayed,
nothing for him I would trade
using tool's to overcome challenged
though we do eventually manage,
coming out saving the day.
He may have autism
it's much like a prism,
beautiful colors on display,
blues, yellows, reds and greens,
the whole world he means to me!
Pieces of a puzzle
autism may truly be,
it makes life a struggle
may bring you to your knees,
but love conquers all
We'll pick each up when we fall.
S. Bruce Nadeau
Achtung Baby It's Zoo TV!
A chord's note delayed
as in a rhythmic echo,
a sense of exhilaration
at the radiant sound emitting,
under a knit cap The Edge plays.
Powerful ardent vocal's sail
across a sea of eager fans,
forceful imagery painted
in dynamic poetic lyrics,
Bono holds us firmly in his hand.
Harmonic syncopation perfected,
a consistent rhythm that stresses
Motown and reggae influences,
Described as "forward motion",
Adam Clayton cool behind his bass.
Delivering heavy martial beats,
A sound of his own so unique,
a master of fills and rolls,
an added floor tom to his sound,
Larry Mullins Jr heart of the band.
Starting out as only Boy's,
surviving The Unforgettable Fire's
from singing Songs of Innocence
to mastering Songs of Experience,
U2 will always be the ultimate band!
The Lost Sound of Music
"I've got you under my skin",
feelings of melodic vibrations
rushing into my beating heart,
"I tried so hard not to give in"
but no matter what, the music always wins.
"I'd sacrifice anything come what might"
just to hear that old sweet music play,
holding it so tight inside of my body,
"In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night".
"But each time I do just the thought of you",
sends tingly shivers up and down my spine
as I listen to those solid guitar and bass lines,
And the crooning of such a hypnotizing voice,
"Step up, wake up to reality"
music is just no longer the same,
no originality or soulful passion,
"Makes me stop just before I begin",
wishing we could go back to that time again.
Vengeance
Hypnotically she gracefully swayed,
captivating holding their gaze,
as she waltzed in without question,
they never realizing her real intention.
Pirouetting beautifully adorned,
to her true motives not warned,
from out of nowhere appeared a sword,
slaying them to her accord.
For these men had stole her lands
unaware of the fires they fanned,
going unpunished could not be had
to her death toll she shall add.
The Tool Used
His words,
so soothing,
the melodies,
crashing --
down on me,
not alone,
in this reality,
a slipping mentality,
shared for all to see,
full of agony,
torment not often seen
living inside of me,
played out in dropped tuned D's,
inviting me, sharing our suffering,
played out angry misgivings.
The Nipple
Beautiful nipples are known to cripple a man's resolve
bringing him down upon his knees to beg and plead.
The desire to explore and caress molded mountains
mouth rippling over succulent hard nipples,
the ultimate prize a feast upon to nibble.
The Parody
In this life,
such a parody,
portraying false illusions,
for all to see,
dismal in your skin,
oppressive constraints,
set in by yourself.
Individuality,
such a parody,
population of communal commonalty,
everyone all the same,
claiming idiosyncrasy.
Oh what a parody,
ringing false melody,
follow the majority,
loss of identity,
life's the parody.
Depression a sin,
such a parody,
locking it deep within,
"ok to let it out",
in self doubt.
Social perception,
such a parody,
dictates our basic needs,
essential extremities,
we're lead to believe.
Oh what a parody,
ringing false melody,
follow the majority,
loss of identity,
life's the parody,
the parody...
The Night
Late nights, static screen
clicking of the remote,
nothing's on, adverts only,
you pull yourself out of the chair.
Jerking on your jacket,
walk out into the cold nights air,
aimless directions, you don't care,
Two o'clock in the morning,
not many around to stare.
Dusk approaching, early morning,
you somberly drag yourself home,
out of the darkness of the night,
heavy curtains drawn in tight,
safety from absorbing leeches,
prying eyes, the human species,
withdrawn back into the recess
of your own insignificant life,
intentionally ignorant of the strife.
My Luck
God I'm so single I make single look taken
I'm sure of that I am not mistaken,
be rest assured and heed my word
hired a hooker who asked for a refund
imagine that and me looking so dumb,
may as well sit on my thumb
because I am so screwed,
single must be in a mood!
Misestimate
Deep we fall,
deep we shake,
until time ends,
until time
stands still...
The ocean's waves
come crashing in,
washing over
suffocating us,
cutting pain...
Crushing weight
pushing down on us,
demanding of...
wearing us down,
we're descending under.
Tell me now,
When this will end,
Tell me now,
please take this away,
this bitter pain...
No more hallucination,
ending misapprehensions.
Still The Same?
Looking back at the past
reading questions I posed,
views that I held,
feelings I had bled.
16 years of distance
seems a life time ago
but where was I then
to where I am now?
The same old life,
the same lost dreams
nothings really changed
continuing in misery.
The shadows that once loomed
still hang thick overhead...
of today, what about tomorrow?
When they lay me down to rest,
can I say I gave my best?
Faltering Turning the Page.
Seems I have the page half way turned
but just cannot seem to let it fall over,
am I hanging onto a toxic chapter
or am I afraid the story's now over?
Holding on to the thrill
from paragraphs of love
to paragraphs of sorrow
unable to move on to tomorrow.
My ability to flip pages back
are more than easily sufficient
yet impotent attempting forward
even knowing life will not be over.
So why is it I cannot turn that page
then finally start to look away?
Malleable is the heart,
despondency my bitter state,
dejected viewing the last page.
It Doesn't Matter Anyway!
I'm not going to let anyone get in my way
I've got a plan and I like it that way,
without a care of what you fucking think
do it my way because I'm truly unique
so what do you have to say?
Fuck you it doesn't matter to me anyway.
yeah fuck you it doesn't matter anyway
yeah fuck you it doesn't matter anyway
yeah fuck you it doesn't matter anyway!
Hey man does it look like I fucking care?
If it does I swear to you it's not true
because I'm truly really unaware,
I promise you I really don't fucking care,
so what do you have to say?
Fuck you it doesn't matter to me anyway.
yeah fuck you it doesn't matter anyway
yeah fuck you it doesn't matter anyway
yeah fuck you it doesn't matter anyway!
I'm not going to let anyone get in my way,
yeah fuck you it doesn't matter anyway!
so what do you have to say?
Fuck you it doesn't matter anyway!
The Glass of Wine
Its graceful agility,
a resolute stability,
magnificent to see,
encompassing embrace...
Merlot predilection
essence of affection,
sweet taste, perfection,
significance in the glass.
Blush signature contour,
left behind and forged,
savory crack of a grin
sugarplum skin with a spin,
flushed, inebriated in
your intoxicating substance,
the nucleus of friendships,
Brought together by the glass.
Mirthful notes resonating out
making memories that lasts,
even when time must now past
her lasting aura unsurpassed,
garnet honey cup filled
its bold body complexity,
a high class Chianti,
reminiscence of the glass.
The Prodigious Flower
The flower smiled though
it thought it was weak,
many will firmly disagree,
strength comprehended indeed.
Sturdy it swayed in the rage
of the fury's tempest,
it never giving in,
persevering until the end.
Acid rain from above
seeped in as discussed,
execution of its cells
yet it still prevailed.
unyielding to fates desire
it fought back though tired,
never bowing to the brutal attack,
its beautiful pedals remaining intact.
With the seasons passing away
the sunflower slowly decaying,
yet its beauty it does endure,
its radiant memory assured.
Sun golden peddles spun
songs of remembrance sung,
though it thought itself only a flower,
it shared with us everlasting power.
Trailer Park Boys Inspired
Ricky
Alright Heisenstein
Don't judge a cover of a book by its look
so can you give me a bit of credjudice?
For the gooder of us all I'm
getting like Hank at this boys!
Hang your horses because I have a plan,
getting two birds stoned at once
fuck Layhey and Randy the fucking cunts!
When the two piss him off
He'll ask them with a scuff,
"Knock knock, who's there?
Two idiots who can't mind
their own fucking business
wasted all the time is what".
Ricky flipping the middle finger,
as he walks by letting out a stinker,
It's clear to see who makes the pants here.
It doesn't take rocket appliances
to know that you keep your friends close,
but your enemies toaster.
Long stories get short boys
Looks like we need two turnips and heat,
If there's a chance they rap they'll beat.
No things attached
A small job to be had,
stealing barbecues and such,
One man's garbage is another
man person's good ungarbage.
I don't know who but someone
selling me under the bus
just sent me back to con college.
Survival of the fitness
Bootlegging drugs and cigs
Supply and command
Only money in hand,
Take it and leave it,
Because I'm not going to
swallow my prize.
Where there's smoke there's wires,
know what comes around is all around
Worst case Ontario,
he's a work in process
Who's this idiot think he is, Snoopy Dogg?
Bubbles
In large rusty orange glasses
if they don't like kitties
he'll kick their arses.
He's one bad motherfucker
loves to play his guitar
with the Shit Rockers.
Keeps getting pulled into things greasy
he'd rather be fixing shopping carts
rather than breaking the law sleazily
gets dragged in being coerced
by Ricky and Julian of course.
He rather launch into space
or rock out with Rush on stage
than run drugs on model trains
or sell stolen meat for cheap change
he's more likely to tell you decent
over something cool that happened recent.
Whether it's repairing barbecues
or ripping through the park on his go-cart
trying to avoid Bo Bandy and Layhey
driving around drunk in a battered car
you can always count on Bubbles
to help you out with your troubles.
Jesus Murphy that sounded like
a real poem there boys!
Julian
Black fitting t-shirt
rum and coke in hand
a criminal "master mind",
never worry he has a plan.
Though he's more often in jail,
How he got there is quite the tale,
doing "jobs" that are sleazy,
according to Bubbles they are greasy.
Riding in his Monte Carlo,
king of the trailer park,
dealing with Sam Lasco,
he's always the man to show.
Repeatedly taking care of Cyrus,
plaguing the park like a virus,
the residents can rest earlier knowing
Julian will be there to take care of it.
Often you can hear him saying,
"Don't worry Jim, I've got this",
Without him there is no trio,
Ricky, Julian and Bubbles.
Jim Lahey
Crumples khaki worn uniform,
thrown off the police force
on claims of being drunk of course,
a 40 ouncer downed
before he's out the door,
a showdown he is looking for.
Jim Lahey, trailer park supervisor,
don't push him he's an equalizer
ready to send one back to clown college,
video taping you he fails to acknowledge,
how far down he has really fallen.
Driven to be a raging alcoholic,
a relationship with Randy far from flawless,
both into mild forms of bondage,
between two consenting adults,
tall tales of "community plays" the result.
He loves the park more than you'll know,
trying to clean out the trash it's time to go,
Ricky, Julian and Bubbles,
J-Roc, Corey and Trevor,
causing all the troubles
to evict them always the struggle.
I got you now boys! Randy call it in!
Randy Bo Bandy
Once known on the streets as Smokey,
saved by former officer Jim Lahey,
12 years ago, now assistant supervisor
seems like he'll never raise any higher.
He'd rather not be found in a shirt,
cheeseburger gut revealing his girth,
if you want to fight him,
beware off comes his pants.
Always worried about Mr. Lahey's drinking
never able to grasp what he is thinking,
even though himself addicted to burgers
For them he'll do any kind of work.
It's said he ate 15 cheeseburgers in a sitting
Most likely why his pants tightly fitting
will only smoked Ricky's weed permitting
that he pays mall price god forbidding.
realized that all he wants to do
is get high and mow lawns within
the trailer park and that’s okay
it's not such respectable pay.
Associate Park Supervisor he has tasted
his relationship with Ted complicated,
his ability to do the job often debated,
Living a life completely complicated.
But Mr. Lahey, he wrote a freaking poem about me!
J- Roc
J to the R - O - C
Yeah you all know me
stealing others rhymes
'cause I'm to blind to see
I'm white and not a homie.
Living in a trailer park
it's plain to see
dropping mad lyrics is my art
never call me Jamie
ya knowwhat-imsayin'?
It's J-Roc in Sunnyvale playin'.
Pimpin' out skanky hoes
"From Russia with the Love Bone"
just one of his many failed porno's
he'll sell ya a bin of food he stole
or clothes he ganked from the air port yo.
Watch out for the microphone assassin
criminal mastermind with dope plans
need something in the park just come asking
one thing he'll be remembered for by his fans,
"Turn that shit off, motherfucker I was getting changed!"
J and the Rock Pile out yo
ya knowwhat-imsayin'?
Corey and Trevor
Where ever in the park they may be
just whistle they'll come like puppies,
not a brain between the two,
side by side stuck together like glue.
Known as Snoopy The Fuck Dog
and Astronaut Cock,
Ricky and Julian's lapdogs,
jail bait ready to take the knock.
Pale like a skinny alien
video games Trevor will be playing
on the couch Corey is a laying,
any remaining brains quickly decaying.
Burnt out on pot and hash
fucking up in a flash,
white trailer park trash
when they see Ricky they dash.
Duped by Mr. Lahey once again
and how is pretty plain,
Julian may take it with a salt grain,
If Ricky gets them they will be slain.