I Call It Swagging Poem by Michael Eziudo

I leave my bears and they stand straight tall like the emblems of the he-goat
With my half chopped hair made under the watch of my parents
And I call it swagging

I leave my shirts unbuttoned
With bony structured chests left bare
And the sleeves of my shirts left to bray
As I hate with passion to stock in and I call it swagging

I buy and wear pants that fall off my waist when I walk
And show off my dirty unkempt boxers
And I form bowlegs I wasn't born with
Just to stop it from falling off
And I call it swagging

And while walking I get me disfigured face and drag my body like drunks do
Of course a sheep without Shepherd I am
A local champion and a baby at forty
Without focus I stay with no future ambitions
And I call it swagging

I aim to be admired by her
But I do not know that she cares less for irresponsibles
For guys that parade aimlessly seeking them gals
Guys still spoonfed by their mummies and oh, daddy's pets
And I still stand and claim and brag
And time passes me by I didn't know
While I'm here gingering my swagger
And I call it swagging