Poetry

Dear love, for nothing less than thee

Would I have broke this happy dream

As virtuous men pass mildly away,

And whisper to their souls to go,

Whilst some of their sad friends do say

The breath goes now, and some say, No

 

• 
  The men that worked for England,
  They have their graves at home:
  And birds and bees of England
  About the cross can roam.
  
  But they that fought for England,
  Following a falling star,
  Alas, alas for England
  They have their graves afar.
  
  And they that rule in England,
  In stately conclave met,
  Alas, alas for England
  They have no graves as yet.
  

 

Billy don't like it living here in this town
Says traps had been sprung long before he was born
Hope lies in the dust behind all the closed doors
And pus and grime ooze from its scab crusted sores
Screaming and crying in the high rise blocks
It's a rat trap Billy ... and you've been caught.

 

There was a cow
Upon a hill
If it's not there now
It must have gone

 

There once was a ****.

 

There once was a man from Nantucket

whose dick was so long he could suck it.

Wiping his chin

He said with a grin,

"If my ear were a **** I would **** it."

 

That's not a poem.

 

This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian:’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

 

It was on the bridge at midnight ,
My heart was all a quiver ,
I undid her suspenders belt ,
And her leg fell in the river .

 

Some proper woofters In here

 

In Reading gaol by Reading town
There is a pit of shame,
And in it lies a wretched man
Eaten by teeth of flame,
In a burning winding-sheet he lies,
And his grave has got no name.

And there, till Christ call forth the dead,
In silence let him lie:
No need to waste the foolish tear,
Or heave the windy sigh:
The man had killed the thing he loved,
And so he had to die.

And all men kill the thing they love,
By all let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

Oscar Wilde

 

He was a massive bender too

 

I never knew that

 

It's a shock to most.

 

mind you if he was banged up it's bound to be a temptation .

 

Wait til you see his nose.


Its disgusting

 

Sucky isn’t at home to Mr Sarcasm

 

We cause tragedy, erratically
Systematically, in your house without a key
How ****ed up that'd be
Gat'll be near your anatomy,
my form of flattery
Assault and battery,
cause we coming with that street mentality
Straight west coast rider academy
Concrete ni**ga, that's my reality

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You can sniff me, cut me, I'll turn you to a junkie
I'm the number one seller in the whole ****ing country
Wall Street niggas, they cop me on the low
White boys don't call me coke, they call me blow
It's time to go, on the bus, the train, the plane
I'll smuggle, I'm nothing but trouble
I'll make your money double, cook me in baking soda
I'll turn your Hooprock into a new Range Rover
I'll pay all your bills and fill your 'frigerator
Feed your family, turn your man to a hater

Put me in your door panels or your stashbox
Put me in your Nikes, Timbs or Reeboks

If you cop three and a half, you hustling backwards
Cop a hundred grams, you moving forwards
You trying to move more birds
In PA all day, on the corner of Third.

T. Yayo

 

I like to eat bananas
'Cos they got no bones
I like marijuana
'Cos it gets me stoned
Put a seed into the ground
Wait for the sun to come around
Nurture it with love and care
Give it sun and rain and air
There, oh there
There, oh
You gotta let it grow
Let it grow
Come on, wait for it to sprout
Then you get your Rizlas out