Sunday Morning

by KevinReed


She was, easy as Sunday Morning.
Thanks to my weekend sinning...Linda had me trapped in her gift.
The one that keeps on giving, my present its presence.
Caressing my linen, spinning my mind, spending my time, got me dying, one blink at a time.
See usually I'm, excusing Susises out they bras, draws, all undergarms...Hit them walls no regards.
Been a student of her frame, photoshopped away the flaws,
iAint gotta leave the country to be studying a broad.
Been a dog with no owner, alone in a corner.
Had these poodles off the chain, biting, barking, for a boner.
I'd loan 'em a couple inches, some minutes, the ambition, and the stick shift equipped with the whip for her transmission.
She transmitted, me with this sick, and iCant kick it.
From which could null and void, If iSaid that "We can't kick it".
Took her higher than a ladder atop of a cliff drifting, with hand-stilts, posted on shoulders of Scott Pippen.
Was not pimpin'.
"Pimpin" was flipping that last script, which had been flipped from the get, when she fell in love with my Diction!
The Charles DICKens iGave her, encapsuled, captured, enslaved her, all before we had sex, she felt like iWordplayed her.
"You're so Player"...Correction my darling, I'm so Slater.
Cool as "AC" with the AC pumping on cold days I,
fell for the Okey Doke when iFound out shorty was stroking, whom iThought to be a fella who had it like Zack Morris.
Sure it's, cheaper to keep to keep her.
But payments, iCant keep up.
This whole damn time, My Linda was licking Lisa.
iLeased her.
Unleashed a beast to the streets.
But used my sheets, as the means being a leash, just to keep a Keisha close to me.
See Keisha was cold. But Kiesha had a cold.
But iKept Keish around, cuz she blew me like Keisha Cole.
Now I'm deifnitely deadly, risking my neck for Neck B.
My South turned tour, that sh!t got ugly as Neffy.

That Franky did things for stanky, now daisies what I'm pushin up.
Her need for Doobs of that dank, supplied her with a High, that my PHLI (clothes), nor my fly, free of zippers, couldn't produce enough.
Now I'm just a memory, iPray that iLook good in tux.
Inducing her labor, this just a revolving cycle.
She was diking, iWas piping.
Took my life, iGave her life then.
She's pushing to push my son out, til' early morning, when sun's out, as the doc reaches under the pillow to pull a gun out.
Proceeding to dump the pump out, it jams, he tries to run out, as a Band of Bad Boys with Choppers, begins to Kung-Loa.
It's jumping like playin "Kriss-Kross".
Knocking my little Sweets off.
Lead rickashayed from the bed, and took her teeth off.
The screeched off.
My seeds all, crying
Alone in his bassinet, after seeing his mommy's face pummeled, peep what he seen ya'll.
Left a hole in her dream ya'll, 7 shot squez to her head, but not them shots type drunk.
She's Martin King gone.
Now he's all, alone in the system, with foster parents, who's faulty caring would foster him parents, via the streets.
Caused, him to get a hold of the block.
See by 11, he'd mastered Tetris, had flipped more bricks than 9/11.
But homies present, was haunted, by memories, so majestic.
That he couldn't help but do math, put 2 together.
A dead Papi, Mommy was promptly victim of hommie (Homicide), and the doc pulled a glock and his homies evicted hollies (Hollow tips).
The Doctor's posse, ended up being a couple uncles, who stumbled amongst some papers, disclosing the room's location, commenced to turning that labor room into room for some laser tag, plus he had the same sickness that his father had.
Hardly had the strength needed to keep addressing them demons, stemming from the Sunday Morning which had him mourning his peoples.
Evils, had 'em dying, just as the folks before him.
For him, here's a Lauren.
Easy as a Sunday Morning


released April 13, 2012



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