the grapes of rant

Don’t stand so close to me while I’m writhing and breathing
This just in – Atlanta traffic is absurd and has me seething
She’s chewing with her mouth wide; maybe she’s still teething
The public education system in the United States? Okay, I’m leaving.

Scantily covered bodies with scantily clad brains are not my tone
Is this guy yelling at me in the grocer or is he yelling at his phone?
Four-year old baby with hips and lips simulating as if she’s grown
Won’t settle for the hopeless dating games, no wonder I’m still alone.

Hip-hop culture is bleeding from a mortal wound rendered last night
It was MTV or BET or something on E! that talked trash and pulled a knife.
How can a preacher teach the gospel when he’s never seen the Light?
Politician’s got diarrhea again, opened his mouth but didn’t wipe.

Pull your pants up, dude, I can see the region that forms your crack
Or the selection of your bureau and the entire appendage that you lack
Don’t you hate when a promise is made and you never get a callback?
Or when a friendly hello is mistaken for you only trying to tap that?

Deadline looms like an anvil midair while peers and friends want to have fun
Deadline clears, no friends or peers; poems as love songs for no one
Don’t give up on the good ones, I hear that there are still some
It should be what you’re doing and where you are, not based on where you hail from.

Don’t drive so close to me while the transmission’s in drive
Don’t speak to my children and not me; they’re doing just fine
Hip-hop’s label of slavery is not my brand or kind
I may write a part ten to this one, when I have the will and time.

Until then, eat these grapes and play these tapes and feel my aches
And eat this cake or keep this cake, I rant no fake, just moans of ache.
I think I’m done now. Break.