Just something I made up at university. This is my first one so yeah.
Introducing first; the number one contender
Reactions slurred by the stirring of the Bartender
From the ghetto, his name is Alexander
And his opponent, from the area of obsessing
Heavyweight Champion of the world Chronic Depression
Now the time for trash-talk is over
He’s gotta straighten this shit out before it’s all over red rover
He’s picking at the grass looking for that four leafed clover
Isnt that ironic how it also applies to his state of health
He’s wrestled with this shit, but it’s come
Now the grabbing, he lifted him up and slammed it down; a thunderous suplex
But he’s unsteady and cannot fathom that equilibrium,
theres always a fucking shade of grey; a paper duplex
He’ll spill his heart and emotions out on a piece of paper
But she won’t accept it, so he’d get his chainsaw and turn all his shit into sawdust vapor
His motherfucking heart is dichotomised, don’t even bother trying to use superglue, he’ll vilify his neighbor
He’s fucking grappling with his emotions, theyre swinging like a pendulum, nowhere to stop
It’s a swing from side to side but it’s also as shaky as a seesaw , he cannot find that straight line
He’s fucking grappling, playing a primitive game of mercy
The shit will straighten out if he screams “mercy”
But that word Is not in his dictionary
His hands are trembling, he’s yelping out in pain, hes conquered
But now the words are engraved
Permanently in the middle of his sweaty forehead.
He’ll never forget the embarrassment; get the meds
and maybe Morse code God’s angel to tranquilize him by decree
And inject him with fiery ember that used to be everything he stood for
But now they’re inscribed on a cave wall and part of bush folklore
He hasn’t given up
the referees called ropebreak, giddy the fuck up.
Oh it looks like depressions winning; he’s got him in the piledriver
And already, they’re taking his measurements, for his premature casket
All the haters out there just wanna put the nail in it,
after piling it up with cement, like the dagger though the heart, it’s a perfect fit
But Just make sure you engrave on the words on his tombstone,
That cortes never walked the cold streets alone
but he was just too fucked up and stagnant to realize that his family and friends
love him, they were his panacea, they’d look out for him; but on the weekends
he’ll isolate himself and argue it’s for solitary reasons
but after the fast-forward of the heavy seasons
winter struck down, he was hibernating, but fucked up coz he was still cold
Now he forget that the game was over and done with; they all fold
And the bullshit hands he was dealt with; a seven and a four
He’s drifting out to sea on his burial dingy and everyone else was left ashore
They lit up an arrow and tried to fire it at him, for a burial at sea
but no, he was just frozen in the freezer
but the frozenness still ages him as time goes by, he’s now an old geezer
He’s gone looney with the tunes, a symphony in his head
Ahh Shit what the fuck is happening.
Oh it’s a near fall
Now it’s a submission hold, we think he’s gonna tap out
He’s in a chickenwing, maybe he can choke him out
His lungs airless, head bloodless, stomach gutless and now it’s a guttural shout
Does this signal the end of the bout
No way he’s a stalwart, he’s try and maneuver a reverse of his life, its tough and its getting even tougher
But those shopping bags under his eyes are getting even rougher
He’s getting premature wrinkles resembling the structure of the shopping trolley
The alcoholism and sleepless nights are turning him into a dolley
Those bags are filled with tequila and vodka, he shouldn’t do it, but lucky for him those bags are breakable
His eyes are fucking salt mixers, its fucking shakable
You’ll shake it and the shit will only trickle out
It’ll take time and practice to get rid of these motherfucking demons
These walls are closing in on him and the demons are forming fucking legions
Suffocating him, he’s forgetting everything, he’d tried to counter the submission
but now the keys out of ignition
and he’s on a quarter of a fucking tank.
Once again, the ref calls ropebreak
His body is convulsively contorting like a slithery snake
He’s always managed to get his way out of shit
But he was groggy, it’s crunch time, make it or break it
He stood nose to nose with his demons
and remembered that saying by his favorite rapper, Eminem
“Elevate your middle finger and let it linger”
It applied perfectly to this situation, but he thought he might add
to extend his ring finger and slip on the crown kinger,
Coz now he’s married to the devil, he’s not an advocate
They’ve both spoken their vowels of undying love for each other
He must’ve forgot the words of his mother
“Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t”
just remember the devil finds work for idle hands to do, so he won’t
fuck everything and ask for a divorce
Coz the devil will run circles around you like a fucking racecourse
Now everything comes crashing down, its tremor-inducing
His personal affliction has sucked the life out of him through the seducing
of his feeble mind. And now he’s down and out, a knockout
the crowd around the ring begin to chant and shout
His eyes are misty,
And the ref counts, one, two, three.
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