If you want to make a point, you should put it in a poem,
delivering messages to your mind, warping you brain without you knowing.
I opened up this journal, to scribble down cRAP,
but I’ve already written in it, as I scrawl on every paper scrap.
I said as a baby, yeah that’s right I could talk,
“when I’m older I’ll go to prison, or be crazy”, then I learned to walk.
Even as a kid, I loved to make them laugh,
totting around on all four limbs, I thought I was a giraffe.
I was always the one laughing, even if manically,
baldy head both now and then, a one way ticket to insanity.
Being a geek in my school, I needed melons just to do it,
but bullies never stood up to me, they were busy playing truant?
Always fighting for attention, but I never got detention,
aced every test, but my brain lacked retention.
One teacher marked a poem I wrote, with a red pen,
“A+, well done Chris, I hope you didn’t copy it, I’ll catch you if you pull that shit again!”
I never missed a class, even when I had a cold,
never slowing down, just speeding up, it’s killing, me now I’m getting old.
I’m not one to complain, or stick a needles in my veins,
hacking any weakness into strengths, when I reformat my brains.
It’s an unfair battle, as I was a nerd from birth,
so you will never win, I grew up reading books on pulling girls to pass on my brainy genes, and repopulate the earth.
When this rhyme is through, you’ll think you know who I am,
am I serious, am I joking? . . . I’m both and a don’t give a damn.
When I have a Son, I’m going to name him Ted,
push him down the stairs to brake his bones, then drop him on his head,
spike his food with psychedelics, mash up the fuckers brain,
I’ve made it work for me, winning all the games insane.
Student of life the universe, and everything in existence,
sifting through information, and meshing it with my opinions,
spitting out my knowledge, to anyone who will listen,
when I’ve got the facts, redundant are the opinions of my minions.
If you lack self-regulation, your thoughts poor out to a nation,
the more success you earn, you’re bound to get some haters,
Steven Fry removes his social media, when times got tough,
he’s a pro, a champion, he knows when it’s time to recharge the batteries, and strap on his fighter gloves.
Every word I say and post I make, I deliver another joke,
I love you because you get me . . . . . if you feel me give me a poke.
delivering messages to your mind, warping you brain without you knowing.
I opened up this journal, to scribble down cRAP,
but I’ve already written in it, as I scrawl on every paper scrap.
I said as a baby, yeah that’s right I could talk,
“when I’m older I’ll go to prison, or be crazy”, then I learned to walk.
Even as a kid, I loved to make them laugh,
totting around on all four limbs, I thought I was a giraffe.
I was always the one laughing, even if manically,
baldy head both now and then, a one way ticket to insanity.
Being a geek in my school, I needed melons just to do it,
but bullies never stood up to me, they were busy playing truant?
Always fighting for attention, but I never got detention,
aced every test, but my brain lacked retention.
One teacher marked a poem I wrote, with a red pen,
“A+, well done Chris, I hope you didn’t copy it, I’ll catch you if you pull that shit again!”
I never missed a class, even when I had a cold,
never slowing down, just speeding up, it’s killing, me now I’m getting old.
I’m not one to complain, or stick a needles in my veins,
hacking any weakness into strengths, when I reformat my brains.
It’s an unfair battle, as I was a nerd from birth,
so you will never win, I grew up reading books on pulling girls to pass on my brainy genes, and repopulate the earth.
When this rhyme is through, you’ll think you know who I am,
am I serious, am I joking? . . . I’m both and a don’t give a damn.
When I have a Son, I’m going to name him Ted,
push him down the stairs to brake his bones, then drop him on his head,
spike his food with psychedelics, mash up the fuckers brain,
I’ve made it work for me, winning all the games insane.
Student of life the universe, and everything in existence,
sifting through information, and meshing it with my opinions,
spitting out my knowledge, to anyone who will listen,
when I’ve got the facts, redundant are the opinions of my minions.
If you lack self-regulation, your thoughts poor out to a nation,
the more success you earn, you’re bound to get some haters,
Steven Fry removes his social media, when times got tough,
he’s a pro, a champion, he knows when it’s time to recharge the batteries, and strap on his fighter gloves.
Every word I say and post I make, I deliver another joke,
I love you because you get me . . . . . if you feel me give me a poke.
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