I told her to take the American Dream and shove it up her crack--
Pipe then smoke it until she get high enough to know what it feels like to be an American living the dream. Instead of living on the streets; infected-ends disease like a dog in a third-world country
Or better yet, smoke that pipe until you get high enough to touch God. Then, come back to Earth and tell me what it feels like to touch something that doesn't exist; because if He did, you damn sure wouldn't be living like this
I remember when her beauty was more captivating than the sunrise when it sets in the moonlight. She was more beautiful than the sunrise when it sets in the moonlight, but the moon's light don't shine on her anymore. For it doesn't want to reveal the blisters and burns on her lips where the crack pipe sits
She keeps smoking to just reach that euphoric happiness. Just to go to that place where she doesn't have AIDS. She didn't contract the disease from a dirty needle like a typical crackhead cliché, she was 19 years old....and he was a street baller; and they were in love, so they made love. Although his body was warm from the heat their body was producing, he should've worn his glove. Now she wishes he was more like Magic so his AIDS in his Johnson would have vanish, but she wasn't that lucky
Her life has been reduced to supporting a drug habit by riding men like race horses, and always coming in second...When the race is complete, she sleeps with a dictionary from the grasp by her thighs, so the secret she keeps in between her legs will no longer go undefined. That disease is eating her alive
It's not her fault that medicaid has never medi-cared about her. She even wears a blue cross around her neck, but there is no blue shield to protect her. Her wants and desires will never come true. She would never be married in a church like she once dreamed. She would never have those 2.5 kids, but she'll always have that one she aborted. She would never own a Golden Retriever, but her mouth would always be a golden receiver as her lips kiss the heads of Trojans. She doesn't want to be on her knees; funding an addiction, but if that's the only way she could reach her dreams, she'll do it...
Last night, the pain was unbearable. She got higher than she ever have before. She got so high, her heart doesn't beat anymore. Last night, she died from an overdose of the American Dream
America
Are you listening?
Pipe then smoke it until she get high enough to know what it feels like to be an American living the dream. Instead of living on the streets; infected-ends disease like a dog in a third-world country
Or better yet, smoke that pipe until you get high enough to touch God. Then, come back to Earth and tell me what it feels like to touch something that doesn't exist; because if He did, you damn sure wouldn't be living like this
I remember when her beauty was more captivating than the sunrise when it sets in the moonlight. She was more beautiful than the sunrise when it sets in the moonlight, but the moon's light don't shine on her anymore. For it doesn't want to reveal the blisters and burns on her lips where the crack pipe sits
She keeps smoking to just reach that euphoric happiness. Just to go to that place where she doesn't have AIDS. She didn't contract the disease from a dirty needle like a typical crackhead cliché, she was 19 years old....and he was a street baller; and they were in love, so they made love. Although his body was warm from the heat their body was producing, he should've worn his glove. Now she wishes he was more like Magic so his AIDS in his Johnson would have vanish, but she wasn't that lucky
Her life has been reduced to supporting a drug habit by riding men like race horses, and always coming in second...When the race is complete, she sleeps with a dictionary from the grasp by her thighs, so the secret she keeps in between her legs will no longer go undefined. That disease is eating her alive
It's not her fault that medicaid has never medi-cared about her. She even wears a blue cross around her neck, but there is no blue shield to protect her. Her wants and desires will never come true. She would never be married in a church like she once dreamed. She would never have those 2.5 kids, but she'll always have that one she aborted. She would never own a Golden Retriever, but her mouth would always be a golden receiver as her lips kiss the heads of Trojans. She doesn't want to be on her knees; funding an addiction, but if that's the only way she could reach her dreams, she'll do it...
Last night, the pain was unbearable. She got higher than she ever have before. She got so high, her heart doesn't beat anymore. Last night, she died from an overdose of the American Dream
America
Are you listening?
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