Email Poem

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Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
Folks think I'm a nice guy, to a fault I guess I am, if 
those folks only knew deep down I just don't give a 
d@mn,

I'm tryin to keep my language clean like crispy 
Franklin notes, I am that cunning linguist spittin nifty 
antidotes,

that cross you up the Hardaway and leave ya ankles 
broke, hot feces exits out my mouth, I got a stanky 
throat,

that exhales dragon fire but believe this aint a roast,  
there's too much jumpin off and I'm afraid it aint a 
joke.

Like women nowadays, I often wonder if it's me, that 
sees how some are free to divvy up the wizard 
sleeve,

then they don't know just how they came to get the 
hivv disease, deny and keep it sweet to give it up to 
Nick and Steve.

I get up on my soapbox when I have to drop a jewel, 
the niceness gets mistaken like I still won't drop a 
fool,

for comin outta pocket, I aint talkin poppin tools, I let 
go of the knowledge cause this dude can drop it 
smooth.

I'm Harry Belafonte but don't call me Mr. Tibbs, this 
poetry just flows in me and what a gift it is,

you may not think my skill's correct but I insist it is, 
I'm so unlike the others, verbis not ipissimis.

Confused on what that means? Well I advise you 
look it up, vernacular's like stir-fry in a wok; I cook it 
up,

and dish out healthy servings, I won't let your brain 
cells starve, in executing verbal warfare, yes I am 
well armed.

My aim will blow ya head off like Bin Laden, picture 
that, the YouTube vids and image will confirm this 
vicious fact,

don't need Marines and choppers flying into distant 
lands, I'll do you like Waist Deep but they won't find 
the missing hand. 

My adjectives are ravenous but that's just certain 
ones, my scarface resonates of how I kill these 
words for fun,

to crush the competition and I do it big like Pun, then 
ride off in a Matrix, cunning linguist, I'm The One.
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