Monday, Friday
Every day through the week
Working, writing
Never hanging with the weak
Paying, my dues
Those that came before me
Same grind, same time
Time off? Please that bores me
No sir, no ma’am
Sure, I talk politely
At night? All night
Writing, it consumes me
Let’s take a break
A break from what, Matt?
That rhythm there
Oh, you don’t like that?
Okay, no way
See what I did there?
Symmetry, those beats
Flip it over still the same thing
Hold up, last verse?
No the one before, damn
Oh shit, that’s right
What’s this poem about, man?
Who knows, I don’t
All I know is writing it
Has been, no joke
Fun as hell and now it’s ten
Sure is, turn in?
Bitch you must be playin
No chance, next glass
Man Baxter is sleeping
So what? Wake up
All these tasks on my hand
Right now? Yes now
His ass can sleep at work, man
True that, no doubt
That dogs my dog, see
No joke, I know
Little guys my world, B
Okay!
Lets hold up
Time to pause for a cause
So I can fill my cup
Okay!
For real this time
Tomorrow imma read
Laugh my ass, this rhyme
Okay!
Time for bed, for real.
Cmon Mr Baxter. Seriously. Come on.
How the World Should Work 