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A reprieve from reality you see but I don't drink,
the alcohol effects me to the point where I don't think,
now all my life I've been a pretty level headed dude,
'cause Hennessey don't take me where The Devil's Lettuce do.
That salad looks so pretty sitting right inside my bowl,
I take a bite and feel its presence right inside my soul,
that vodka and Courvoisier will make peeps wanna fight,
The Devil's Lettuce hits my brain and makes me wanna write,
and be that cunning linguist flipping words like patty melts,
to beat your childish ass; vernacular like Daddy's belt,
the city brick of Newark, NJ signed across my heart,
my face is notebook paper; read my life from off my scars.
The transference from brain to paper? Smooth like baby ass,
existence is the one true test I think I'll maybe pass,
my 40 dash ain't quick but still my mental waves are fast,
I'd rather be a poor man free than be a slave for cash.
The Devil's Lettuce opens up my mind; it's healthy too,
the advocaters say it's dope and see that's never true,
it's funny to me; drink until you vomit passes law,
but smoke until you're way up high like comet gas is flawed?
That logic don't make sense to me and prob'ly never will,
a blunt way trumps a drunk way and it's even better still,
excusing all the laughter as the red selects me eyes,
until I pass away, The Devil's Lettuce gets me by.
©2017
The Cunning Linguist
