Kill all humans, I don't want to live on this planet anymore.
Are you going to move to Mars?
I think so.
By yourself?
I think so.
You're talking about an entire planet, though.
What's the problem?
How will you know if someone lands on the other side?
original works of parts
Smoker 32 (workman's comp)
Eric B. and Rakim
is blaring from my car,
paid in full,
paid in full,
getting shopping carts in a parking lot and I'm thrilled
to be there with Jerry
and nothing else.
He's spitting it word for word and
walkie talkies are blazing and
it ain't got shit to do with him and I and
me, I? I'm good. We both gots lights and
lunch is an hour away.
Might as well.
Birthday Party
Tonight is beautiful. I can't believe we made it back.
Mango flavored beer? We should do this more often.
Today flew by. Flew by like it never happened.
Where are your keys?
In my pocket.
You ready to go?
Not yet. You got some squares?
Yeah.
You still got that back porch?
Yeah.
I've got some time to kill. You?
Yeah.
Pop the trunk.
Nice.
Don't get too lit, I'm taking some of those bad boys home.
Nice.
I know, right. The hell happened to birthdays
after 21? They used to mean something.
Something more than markers?
Yeah.
Birthdays go by like smokes.
No they don't.
No?
They go by like bad billboards for breakfast buffets
in third world countries.
Pass me one.
Can you see that?
Yeah, def. What do you want to do with the cans?
Pitch 'em. Crush 'em and pitch 'em. Happy birthday, dog.
Same to you.
Mango flavored beer? We should do this more often.
Today flew by. Flew by like it never happened.
Where are your keys?
In my pocket.
You ready to go?
Not yet. You got some squares?
Yeah.
You still got that back porch?
Yeah.
I've got some time to kill. You?
Yeah.
Pop the trunk.
Nice.
Don't get too lit, I'm taking some of those bad boys home.
Nice.
I know, right. The hell happened to birthdays
after 21? They used to mean something.
Something more than markers?
Yeah.
Birthdays go by like smokes.
No they don't.
No?
They go by like bad billboards for breakfast buffets
in third world countries.
Pass me one.
Can you see that?
Yeah, def. What do you want to do with the cans?
Pitch 'em. Crush 'em and pitch 'em. Happy birthday, dog.
Same to you.
Glitch Party
Class act, it's mass attraction,
can't get a grip when there is no traction,
never gonna be great without some practice, out in the woods
in the big city lights, in dark alleys to have some fightin'
she didn't say yes, but there was some "might be"
gonna get the flu fucking around with you and your
magic bags and midnight snow felled high heel shoes.
You and your "what you wanna do" moods.
Dead celled class acts like "when you gonna drive me back?"
We gotta both go to see a man about a horse
I'll wheel you where when this thing runs its course.
Take that off, take that off. Or no means yeah,
where's your twenty, getting funny, getting sunny street sided
where everything never begs a morning after "why did."
I don't care about your sonny boy, you got a new toy
unboxed. I got a key for every lock, I got a knife for every knot,
and I don't care if you fucking walk, I'm just tryin' to bear out the talk.
Due diligence and a little deal, I'll make whatever you wanna feel,
peal out to gods, peel out to blackberry fields while ya seal it up tight,
I'm a class act tonight in palms and animal songs between trees.
Downtown howling at the moon, taking two of these.
Keys in my back pocket and hands in the front,
trying to make some sense of shit, sucking on a blunt,
we don't have to live, we don't have to front,
I don't have a gun, but I do have wants
and if I'm made in the shade with my hands on a wheel and a deal
up ahead with a body in my bed starting to stop seeing everything red?
Then, I'm a classy motherfucker. I'll drive ya home,
I'll wreck your dome, I'll make you sing my favorite song
and we'll change hands and make grandstands and odd demands
blacked out. We'll take it up with the big boss and make gold
out of every loss and in the means and ways and gifts
we'll make our own out of the party we slipped.
can't get a grip when there is no traction,
never gonna be great without some practice, out in the woods
in the big city lights, in dark alleys to have some fightin'
she didn't say yes, but there was some "might be"
gonna get the flu fucking around with you and your
magic bags and midnight snow felled high heel shoes.
You and your "what you wanna do" moods.
Dead celled class acts like "when you gonna drive me back?"
We gotta both go to see a man about a horse
I'll wheel you where when this thing runs its course.
Take that off, take that off. Or no means yeah,
where's your twenty, getting funny, getting sunny street sided
where everything never begs a morning after "why did."
I don't care about your sonny boy, you got a new toy
unboxed. I got a key for every lock, I got a knife for every knot,
and I don't care if you fucking walk, I'm just tryin' to bear out the talk.
Due diligence and a little deal, I'll make whatever you wanna feel,
peal out to gods, peel out to blackberry fields while ya seal it up tight,
I'm a class act tonight in palms and animal songs between trees.
Downtown howling at the moon, taking two of these.
Keys in my back pocket and hands in the front,
trying to make some sense of shit, sucking on a blunt,
we don't have to live, we don't have to front,
I don't have a gun, but I do have wants
and if I'm made in the shade with my hands on a wheel and a deal
up ahead with a body in my bed starting to stop seeing everything red?
Then, I'm a classy motherfucker. I'll drive ya home,
I'll wreck your dome, I'll make you sing my favorite song
and we'll change hands and make grandstands and odd demands
blacked out. We'll take it up with the big boss and make gold
out of every loss and in the means and ways and gifts
we'll make our own out of the party we slipped.
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