Pushing the Envelope

I need to force a line, and another; yet another...

I'm making poetry, ma! Quit sending cookies to my brother!

I'm a poet, goddamn it!

Where's my money?

Where's the honeys?

Where's Mos Def to assure me I ain't a phoney?!

I've lined up words; I've choreographed my stance; where's the fuckin' publisher? Send me my advance!

I'm pumping sentences into this void, hoping for return; I'm a rhyme scholar, but, I still have a lot to l(earn)!

I can't be a straight-up MC, y'all would smirk: I'm thirty-five, with four kids: two of them twin girls.

So, I can't sow my royal oats; No, I can't bust a nut, on some fly honey's breasteses, or across her naked butt.

Nah, that ain't me: I ain't that kind of guy; I've been with my wife for ten years now, It's beyond me to even try.

I haven't even approached the page in months, hell! Maybe years! However; Nevertheless; Furthermore; On the other hand,

I still posses a tad more moxie

than our good friend

Britney Spears.