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Cyber Funk

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I aleardy composed one:

 

 

LeChuckie! LeChuckie! LeChuckie!

You smell worse than a monkey!

You stink all day long!

So I'll sing a song!

YOU STINK! YOU STINK! YOU STIIIIIIIINK!!!!

AND GUYBRUSH HAS A DRESS THAT'S FLOWERY PIIIINK!!!!!

 

Isn't my poem pretty?

PLEASE SUBMIT YOUR POEM HERE.

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Punks for Life

 

We just look different, I know

Our only crime is being us

We just do what we want to do

But thats not enough for you

 

**** it all: labels suck dick

Anyone different the preps call "sick"

And I guess we're punks for life

 

Theres a whole other sound

A sound followers refuse to hear

A sound that gives a message

A sound only we can hear

 

**** it all: labels suck dick

Anyone different the preps call "sick"

And I guess we're punks for life

 

Punks are a minority

And I dont know why preps cant see

That punks are just like them

We dont wear their cloths

Or listen to their tunes

But ****, why cant we get along?

 

**** it all: labels suck dick

Anyone different the preps call "sick"

And I guess we're punks for life

 

'Cause we're just different

Yet we're all the same!

So why do you do this? Why do you segregate?

Ah, damn: you'll never understand

Untill you do I say,

"**** PEOPLE LIKE YOU"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

not what u were expecting, huh? ....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WELL HA HA FOR YOU

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Cool one. Sounds like a song. Here's one on the spot:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I lay in a makeshift tomb

No one can hear me scream

As I lay my head on solid rock

My fate becomes sealed,

The path closes it's welded doors

And becomes an infinite wasted choice

Should I walk in circles

Or be killed on the spot?

I do not hold the key

But whatever envelop me

This simple phrase is branded

In my fortuitous head

As I walk away from past:

1-9-1-8!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

As I gently chant

The walls close in

The future is foretold

The paths opened once again

Please, take heed

In the mystery of failure

For the Boston Red Sox

Shall not win a World Series

Ever Again.

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