The Fatal Sting

a poem by Shaunda Yvette, USA - poetry writer, author, poet

Da mystery of chessboxing...
Can it be all so simple...?
We all incarcerated scarfaces; yet you've been warned...
The punishment; execute em and their co-defendant.
Only the rugged survive...
O' lyrical swords to the rescue,
No mistaken identity of a widow's tears,
Yet she lives through death...
One should never feel this pain; the cobra clutch...
Hold the heater for what?
Woodchuck, before you bring da ruckas
I think you may wanna send out ya S.O.S
This campfire
Can be seen above the clouds
Get ready for fragments...
So run bastards you in trouble,
You ain't hard to kill
You're dancing with wolves..
Doe Rae Wu in the 4th, 7th and 16th chamber,
Life changes.....

Crushed egos, ain't life unpredictable..?
On the strength
Nothing moves but the money
Shame on a nigga in the hood,
Little ghetto boys;
For Heaven's sake protect ya neck
Cause when you come home,
Its gonna be a cold war that's what
And I'm Black Trump
Be ready to rumble in this concrete jungle.
Never again, cause this the fatal sting....

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