Details |
Eva Soup Poem
I come from the land of coffee,
plastic breasts and nonsense,
drugs and narco past,
very proudly they'll exalt.
Woman so pretty as blow-up doll,
got so many surgeries, you don't know what you touch.
Reality or banality,
inflatable, fillers,
makeup, extensions,
lashes and nails.
Got your complete package for the fair right price.
Blame society, men, the patriarchy, for the pancake in your face.
You put the make up on yourself, did you even reflect?
Extensions, bullets, reflection.
The lady with money shows butt and is uncouth,
yelling and swearing, sleeping around.
She is a holy saint for their eyes are blind for the money money right.
She buys approval of the masses, giving to charities. Reality or banality.
Morals are outdated, a thing for the poor. Look she is very hard working, no matter she's a wh.re.
With rosary on hand, they accept all the trash.
They prayers aren't flawed, they got the priests on their side, just give them some money and they'll look other side.
Fam is a sham,
get a cat and hundred boyfriends,
with his wallet for your whims, after all you're the queen.
You're the boss of your man, be as b!tchy as you want.
Show some skin, put some make up, show the goods in the mood, sell sell the babe in the 'hood for the likes and the drools.
Go to street, go protest against violence, no matter the hypocrisy, insolence, imprudence, indolence, impatience, when you get home
and hit your kids till the bone. Hey it's your zone, your dome, your throne.
Men are cheaters, pretty tongues, they want the boobs and the butts. They bear the always PMSed women so they eat here and there.
Cars crashing, take the gun, yell louder than the dumb. Show the balls, who is the boss? sit down and hear me roar. "Here comes the lady, I better stop. The tail between my legs I do as she says".
"Drugs cartels and lords are things from the past",
tell me from where comes the cargo they caught in Rotterdam?
Thief firing bullets for a dime and a watch. No rematch for the robbed, he's now a goner. He left three kids and a wife.
Go tell the world you're safer, the drug lords are "gone". Beg the tourists to come, they will have so much fun.
Football, and breasts,
money knows best.
I cut all the ties,
I'll let you in the past.
I was born defective,
with their blood in my veins,
I'll cut all my roots,
burn them to the lanes.
Don't ask me where I come from,
that was a strain
Copyright © Eva Soup | Year Posted 2021
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Details |
Eva Soup Poem
Once upon a time,
there was a little girl,
who liked to wear skirts.
The people in the streets
didn't like the view
of the girls legs hue.
"The sun is calling you",
"You shine in the dark",
"You're whiter than the milk,
"Your white hurts my eyes".
The girl hid her legs with knee long skirts and pants,
she was ashamed she couldn't afford a tan.
She dreamed about the wind blowing in her legs,
for more than twenty years she hid
until that place she left.
Now she lives with more whities,
her legs she can refresh,
everyone is whiter than her.
Sad story, let me tell you,
with guilt in her heart,
when she sees a girl in shorts
she thinks "she needs some sun".
White is ugly, the wrong color,
for her legs and your eyes.
Admire the tan, seek the gold in
your legs and whitey mine.
Copyright © Eva Soup | Year Posted 2021
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