Bad to the Bone
They do it automatically
I’m in the air, there goes gravity
All over the floor
Higher than a nerd’s test score
Getting in trouble
Doing dirty work
Putting good last, evil first
They’re walking coke bottles
With high throttles
With the capacity and the self assurance of a size 2 model
Tiny and arrogant, your lab’s worst experiment
Better block them off with some orange cones
They’re in danger mode, deadly zone
Get loud without raising your tone
Cold flesh, warm blood
They’re bad to the bone
The End
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
Bad to the Bone, which
was posted on May 4, 2011 by
mariahdances.
This is a solo poem.
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This poem is filed under:
Simple Rhyme
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