Yo! Hang wit me and be my boo,
listen to the rap, ya know I’m true.
The streets and alleys’ full of deals,
lay back this ride’s rollin 22 wheels.
No need of sittin around them docks,
lookin at workers just punching clocks.
Cold water’s runnin in my shower stall,
they’re kicking out jams, down the hall.
Lyin on water beds filled by hoses.
What’s that pungent smell in our noses?
Your cap’s on backwards, jeans hug low,
embroidered back pocket, dead friend we know.
Don’t wear that wool, ya know it itches,
just wear tiny G-strings neath yer britches.
Fur-lined boots runnin to the knee,
cheap plastic buckles lookin fine to me.
No belt is holdin your stylish duds.
You keepin them cuffs, out the mud?
So if your feelin what I been sayin,
shack with me baby, I’ll stop playin.
Now the DJ’s scratchin, the joint is jumpin,
lasting till morning trash we’re dumpin.
If this rap represents what you need,
hang wit me baby, we’ll do the deed!
**This is a “Rap” parody of the 24 verse poem “The Passionate Shepherd to his Love.” A
complete version of the original work can be found on www.poetryhunter.com. The effect will
be enhanced if you read them side by side. This parody is reflective of present day life “PER”
the contest rules. Nothing else is intended or implied. JT