13800
Imagine how I feel inside just knowing this is it,
perpetuated myths and sh!t; I’m blowin’ ‘em to bits,
these words are meant to go below where most men won’t admit,
to going with their lips so here’s a poem to your clit.
The little man inside the boat is known to row away,
but luckily for me he has nowhere to go today,
we’ll sit and chop it up ‘cause I won’t let you lock him up,
a twenty minute palaver to me is not enough.
I need at least an hour so he’ll hear my spoken words,
we’ll sip a little Henny; mix it in with smokin’ herb,
and I’m no homosexual but lady damn the sh!t,
while off this cannabis I want to give that man a kiss,
or how about a kissing lick combined with lick and suck,
I know the feeling is intense but I don’t give a f*¢k,
let’s push it to the precipice of when to live it up,
my diction comes in more than two packs as I hit ‘im up.
Assaulting all your senses as I orally barrage,
the bed resembles flooring from an oily garage,
I think the convo’s going great but what is this on me?
Your little man is nasty yo; the boy just spit on me.
I have to wipe my mouth but some of it’s gone down my throat,
not only do I kiss the man but all around the boat,
this frequent mental masturbator’s showin’ who’s the sh!t,
‘cause only T.C.L. can write a poem to your clit.
©2017
