Christmas Wrap

I’m the Queen of Queens the Brooklyn Babe
From New York to Seattle
I’ll take the crown I’ll take you down
In any old rap battle

And when fools see me comin’ well
They best be takin’ heed
Nickel and dimin’ for the rhymin’
I’m like Shakespeare on speed

There’s a kind of rappin’s got me down
It’s like a cold ass diss
That’s the kind of wrappin that is happ’nin
With those Christmas gifts

I’m foschizzle with the scissors
I’m a master with the tape
But it ain’t my fault the Barbie box
Has such a weird ass shape

One time I wrapped a Christmas gift
That was made for my mom
The FBI was at my house
They thought it was a bomb

I come to Christmas parties and
My gifts I don’t dare label
I be bookin’ when they’re not lookin’
And I shove em neath the table

And beneath your tree you’ll clearly see
My Christmas aberration
Like a little lad with really bad
Hand eye coordination

I don’t care the paper’s cut up so
It’s too big or too small
The wrap is crap they’re lucky that
They got a gift at all

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Who Says Real Men Don’t Write Poetry?

Now gather round and listen to a little ditty,
About the biggest, baddest poet of the century,
When you see him comin’, you’ll know without a doubt,
Cause he’s wears his beret backwards, and sometime inside out.
He’s got William Shakespeare quoted on his neck tattoo,
And if you don’t like it you can go take a haiku,
He’s sharpening knives for the poetry slam,
And he’ll meet you outside if your verse didn’t scan.
So you better be prepared and don’t be no amateur,
He’s a rocket in the pocket with iambic pentameter,
When it comes to writing verse he’s the silver tongued devil,
And he’s takin’ bustin’ rhymes to a whole other level.

All the girls they love him and they stop and flirt,
And they’re wearing leather panties under flowered skirts,
Cause you know he’s getting lucky like the Big Lebowski,
And he’s gettin’ more pussy than Charles Bukowski.
But you know he’s bein’ picky, he ain’t takin’ no rubbish,
And he likes them fast and loose and preferably published,
He’s the man with the plan and he gets down on it,
And he’s gone in the morning but he leaves them with a sonnet.
They go weak in the knees cause they know that he’s the leader,
Writin’ rhymes all the time with impeccable meter,
Cause when it comes to writing verse he’s the silver tongued devil,
And he’s takin’ bustin’ rhymes to a whole other level.

All you people step aside cause you know that he’s the boss,
And he’s gettin more quatrains than Robert Frost,
And no one is badder, and no one is meaner,
When he steps out with a tercet, tanka, rondeau or sistena.
So you best show some respect or he’ll go gangsta on your ass,
Cause he’s bringin’ more couplets than Sylvia Plath,
He’s a rockin’, outlaw cowboy, gets it on the down low,
Got the sweets like Keats, got the spooky like Poe.
They roll out the red carpet because he’s a rock star,
And he’s smooth like Byron and he’s Wilde like Oscar,
And when it comes to writing verse he’s the silver tongued devil,
And he’s takin’ bustin’ rhymes to a whole other level.

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