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Jester Of My Wrath

Here's just a little figment. Just a little.
Just a little less, like a jester with a laugh.
But rest upon this mat, for I jest you not,
Divided as we are only in math. Jester of my wrath.

April Fool's Gold

Shitty little poem, for April Fools.
Shitty little recording, to make these fools.
Sit a little straighter in their shitty schools,
Sip a little tater juice - maybe taste a fruit.
It's been so long since I put something on tape.
So long I feel I shook my greatness away,
Don't know where I put it. I know I own it,
But you gotta hone it or it's prone to get bony -
Like your legs! Arms! Muscles you're weak!!
I gotta get out! Get out on them streets! Beef!
There's something out there, something I seek.
I don't know what it is, but I'll know when we meet.
I'm back on track so: simmer up a feast.
Aint got no backhone but I'll get it piece by piece.
Can't say I'm back Holmes cause I don't feel it at all.
I feel I'm knee deep in demons scheming to hit the wall but I -
I won't fall till I admit defeat. The wall is tall, and my list is deep.
But I'm a do it I'ma get shit done.
I'm recovering, hovering, revving for a one mile run.
Ey, and that's ten kilometers.
I'm a do it and I won't take painkillers either,
I'm tired too wired but lying here won't fire me up,
I'm going till this fire - can't wire me up.
I'm going tough when the going gets tough cause you know when:
The going gets tough, the tough get going!
My poems my fist and fuel.
They don't teach this shit at school.
Better get my hitlist I got shit to do.
Here's a quick hit for fits and fools. I'm moving through.
April Fools.

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