I'll let this utensil
Speak on my behalf
And I have alot to say
So before I take my leave
I'd like to wipe that smile
Right off your Goddamn face
I'm telling you
To tell him
To meet me in the park
A quarter past two
If hes got the drugs
I've got the money
And nothing better to do
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem