On a Four Poster Dead

LUXURY TO LAMENT When the temperature outside says you should be hot Except you’re mother f*****g cold in every spot When you’re laying in a luxurious four-poster bed Scoring some dope is the only thought in your head When my bones ache every time I move A body doesn’t need anything else to prove I feel the sweating but wet my body shouldn’t be While Bobby next door has dope but he ain’t giving it away free I’ve got holes in my pocket, my shirt and in my shoes But the body doesn’t need any other kind of clues You grow more uncomfortable in that board of a bed And your only option is to hit some old lady with a rock over the head But you’re shaking and your body is making you pay I’m only twenty three yet my hair is turning grey I’m lying on a lascivious bug laden bed And my only other option is the morgue………., home for the dead © 2011.…..Phreepoetree~free cee!~