Bull
The illicit use of ********
Has reached a new plateau
It has fertilized the market
By the boys that run the show
The mush cannot consider muse
As the handshakes turn to hugs
The compliments are not small jokes
That get swept beneath the rugs
The best believe their own ********
They swear it’s not their game
You know that we’re all guilty
But some just know no shame
They all have shovels aready
Smiles packed with squirrels cheeks
Tarps are covering everything
As the dummy sits and speaks
“I came from a fluent ghetto
But I rose up from the night
To speak back to you a story
That I dreamed up late last night”
“The things I know are fantasy
As I rub your backs by day
They pay me like I’m useful
Because I know just what to say”
Copyright © Bill Smith | Year Posted 2015
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