As sleep eludes me, you are my comfort, dear internet. Wait, I've just lost an hour of my life reading a barrage of incoherent flame attacks on punknews.org. What the fuck kind of comfort is that
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Always need a good boot to start me up in a rhyme Enter the system at root codin line after line When that Bios hits loot, all the OSes chime; I douse the firewall, all your bases are mine- ours - us - to whom do they belong? on a zero-wing bus after that fad has gone Am I shamed of the games that I played along? Fuck no! I came lame and keep geekin it strong. Got no tan, I'm suburban plain friends with the man, no urban pain never had a hand on the herb or cane but gimme pen, friend, i'll perturb your brain. Apostrophes? Not for me, who the hell needs em? Dropped on last line and one here, can you see em? You gradin a blog like it was a damn disseration But LJ aint known for precise punctuation. Take a look, son, fuckin comma-less nation. (took three out there, did it pass evaluation?) I miss the Sean, Miss the mighty Voltron, Miss America, dancin with a twirly baton Vaseline smile and a syrup-y song. American Girl, the Strokes done ripped off that song For a bland Plural jam, they sent us up the bomb. Petty? Fired up, someone notify Tom. Am I bitter, sad, pissed bout the things that I missed bout the middle east missles or the girls that I kissed bout explosive elections and these cancerous cysts that claim to be "real" making hand over fist? Fuck no. We mellow. Laid back not yellow. Cut slack to fellows and track the cash flow. I'm geekin J-side, just riding the quakes waiting for those fools to start correctin mistakes in for the long haul no matter how long it takes no matter the cost in blackeyes and heartbreaks. You in, son? We in. One. Unify. No division. Old school for life like intelli-fuckin-vision.
Enter the system at root codin line after line
When that Bios hits loot, all the OSes chime;
I douse the firewall, all your bases are mine-
ours - us - to whom do they belong?
on a zero-wing bus
after that fad has gone
Am I shamed of the games that I played along?
Fuck no! I came lame and keep geekin it strong.
Got no tan, I'm suburban plain
friends with the man, no urban pain
never had a hand on the herb or cane
but gimme pen, friend, i'll perturb your brain.
Apostrophes?
Not for me, who the hell needs em?
Dropped on last line and one here, can you see em?
You gradin a blog like it was a damn disseration
But LJ aint known for precise punctuation.
Take a look, son, fuckin comma-less nation.
(took three out there, did it pass evaluation?)
I miss the Sean,
Miss the mighty Voltron,
Miss America, dancin with a twirly baton
Vaseline smile and a syrup-y song.
American Girl, the Strokes done ripped off that song
For a bland Plural jam, they sent us up the bomb.
Petty? Fired up, someone notify Tom.
Am I bitter, sad, pissed
bout the things that I missed
bout the middle east missles
or the girls that I kissed
bout explosive elections
and these cancerous cysts
that claim to be "real" making hand over fist?
Fuck no.
We mellow.
Laid back not yellow.
Cut slack to fellows
and track the cash flow.
I'm geekin J-side, just riding the quakes
waiting for those fools to start correctin mistakes
in for the long haul no matter how long it takes
no matter the cost in blackeyes and heartbreaks.
You in, son?
We in. One.
Unify.
No division.
Old school for life like intelli-fuckin-vision.
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