It’s a form of control
it’s a tax, a toll
a yes or a no
but relax
it moves slow
Thirty days to pay
to find a way
to reach an agreement
that won’t let you fail quite yet
I feel like time poorly spent
fresh wine
more bitter than sweet
all my credit’s been lent
x dollars =
the illiterate and the scholars
debating the new cba
in meetings and court
a reply, a retort
concessions before the temporary stay
It’s one last lunge with my last gasp
body weary and voice a rasp
this flush is fading to bust
it’s up in the air if i’ll last
Drove myself deep down south
chain of cigarettes tethered to my mouth
I got lost on a road overgrown
but I fucked up so i can’t go home
(note: the image is from hickoksports.com)
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