Poet 8: Eloosive

The Black Sheep

Momma spit me out
In an abandoned car;
She cleaned herself up
Then went back to the bar.

The youngest of eight,
I was not needed;
With total disdain
I was always treated.

I didn’t shed a tear
And neither should you,
Cuz I found a home
With this town’s best crew.

They raised me righteous,
They showed me the ropes;
I learned it all and
Started dealin’ dope.

I’m just a little boy
Who’s reachin’ for fame,
And I strongly suggest
That ya don’t test my aim.


Gunshots, gunshots,
Three body bags full.
Yer not, yer not,
Pullin’ any mo’ wool.
My eyes, my eyes,
See so clearly now.
I rise, I rise,
While you punks just bow.


The deal turned real sour.
Master’s made me cower.
Is this my last hour?
Will my grave have flowers?
Or just my dame’s tear shower?
Where is all my power?

That I never heard
Freed me…
To fly like a bird
Though my...
Breath is too soon done
Will come

The End

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