Don't let the door
Hit you where the sun won't shine
We didn't invite you here in the first place
We don't want to hear you whine
Pay your parking tickets
And any other fines
We feel like putting on you
If that's not enough
We'll think of some others
All we know is you owe
Us our just due
The city runs on everyone's misery
Without it no feather in our cap
Our reputation precedes us greatly
We're the city that dishes out the crap
Millions are spent convincing people
To visit us because it's so fine
Once we got you in our vice grip
What is yours belongs to us so don't whine
Spend your money then get the hell out
There's millions more just like you
Who will innocently visit our waiting jaws
To pay us what we feel is due
~Moses~
© 2010 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
1 comment:
hey moz haven't heard from you in a while. hope you're doin' great. by the way, i love this poem. nice one moz.
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