Black Poetry : In The Club #1

MADDRAPPER

Well-Known Member
REGISTERED MEMBER
Apr 1, 2001
2,093
7
In The Club #1

My dome pack with known facts stuff a waste if it’s rough
To the taste sour or harsh power enough to squash and buff
Your taste buds drink wine and don’t think blind or tuff
Hustle for action but experience muscle contraction
Cloaked in mystery smoke coke in my history for satisfaction
Now I sip risky whisky out glasses
Girls’ lips look kissy with round *****
This club fort is divine like port wine has to duck court sometimes
For DWI gee that could trouble a guy a verdict can abort minds
DJ on the microphone blaze like the Stone Age in an
Unknown phase of funk dome daze on some junk man
Slow dance seem to flow romance like painted images
So complex and tainted blemishes of sex scrimmages
In love games as the club flames like candles and replenishes
The old fashion soul passion that run through veins like blood
DJ appointed and anointed as mix master, fix any disaster
Perform tricks with plaster even send a Twix through a Ghetto Blaster
DJ fixing and matching while mixing and scratching being thug
But its legal art cut into equal parts like slices of lemons in a water jug
Hors d’ oeuvres are served juice trickle produce pickle pig feet
In vinegar leave your wig in heat after dinner so dig the unique

MADDRAPPER PEACE
 

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