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A (New, Blue) Note on Tone
He was born with eyes harder than a stream washed stone
once was claimed to be the baddest man known only 6 feet from his skully to his big-toe bone would break into your crib if you were home alone spent two years in a cell with a porcelain throne dug Chris Webber, but hated Karl Malone fingerwaves in his hair, skin a caramel tone my Ace-boon-coon, I rolled with him alone had a thing for biscuits, never [censored] with scones he drank perfume, but farted cologne made pelvises sing and bed springs groan he knocked up Alicia who I wanted to bone was in love with Mary Jane, but married Joan his speech was melodious, never a drone preferred hot grits to cold corn-pone was red to the rods and callow to the cones played First Trumpet to my slide trombone is the first # listed on my wireless phone swung a bat quicker than Al Capone always played his man, never played zone wore satin shirts that were exquisitely sewn played poker alnight, slept while the sun shone rode a billion bulls and was never thrown died in his sleep before being fully grown was buried in a jacket that was purple and roan then stickied in a thread all his own. |
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