You Are Not Your Job

The ink on my fingertips should be on my lips - it's a love bite

In sync like a lingerin' grip on your hips, it's such delight

In a blink my pen drips a script of this shit and I ignite

Fuck my drink, in the midst of sips it's eclipsed - I got to write

The rhymes shine in my mind like a flashlight behind a Lite-Brite

They incite my insight and I recite without rewrite

And it's high time that my hindsight lent its eyesight to my mind's eye

So I might find when it's my time and my fly rhymes have a byline

These terms have left me burned like the ashes in an urn

I starved while y'all got fat, well now it's my fuckin' turn

I've learned how to earn, it wasn't difficult to discern

But my quirks, my spurts of fervent verse? Too urgent to spurn!

My every day job makes me feel like I'm bobbin' on some slob's knob

While he lobs corn on the cob up into his fat fuckin' gob

It gets me madder than a mob, it gets me thinkin' I'd rather rob

I gotta stop, else I'ma go off like a bomb in a damn wigwam

I'm in shock how ill-got your big stock you misflaunt

A slick spot for your wristwatch that your bitch bought 'cuz you're a big shot

But tick-tock goes this clock 'cuz this crock of shit's not

Keepin' me distraught, I'll spit off with mitts off 'cuz I'm pissed off

Lift off from minimum wage, before I get caged until old age

Shift on to writing my rhymes every night 'til they soak right through each page

For this long, I've heeded to needs of the seedy, the greedy, left me in a rage

But now it's gone, the doubt in the clout of my mouth which can spout like a twelve gauge