A poem for my boyz

A poem for my boyz

Roses are red

Violets are not blue

I want to go back to bed

Before Sindy pees in my shoe

Bethy’s real name is Ned

Mattie B’s real name is Lou.

 I overheard Mr. Conner say

TJ looks like a pile of Poo.

Speaking of TJ, Karlee plays softball.

I want to hit Bethy in the neck with a golf ball

Because her name keeps auto correcting to Betty

It kind of reminds me of a wap of Fetty’s

That I once saw roaming the east

Looking for a feast

Harrison thinks that 2012 JB is a sexy beast

Where was I?

Oh yes

Mr. Conner gave Mattie a kitten

Her name is princess

I hope she gets bitten

Not the kitten but Mattie.

She tried to follow Mr. Conner into the boy’s restroom

She really looked like a loon.

She tried to use the urinal

Or as Bethy likes to call it the “yernall”

I don’t have a male reproductive organ

Unlike some people named Morgan.

Although I do have a weenus.

That is another name for elbow.

I don’t know where I was going with this.

It’s funny how mutts sound like butts.

You know like a puppy?

This poem is very sucky.

I switch topics like it’s no one’s business.

Can you catch a terminal sickness?

Like you catch the flu

It could turn you blue

And then you would die

 Say bye bye

Wow this poem took a wrong turn

When am I going to learn?

You can’t kill what’s already dead.

Silly mommy I will eat your head.

Woah that’s dark

Do you think Lady GaGa has a dress made of tree bark?

My boy Faith is really pretty

Although she has a dumb kitty

It’s name is silver

It tried to claw out my liver.

I hope when I die I resurrect

I hope I’m not in the casket wearing a turtle neck

I pop out of my coffin “surprise I wasn’t successfully lynched!!”

Someone screams “she’s a witch!”

I told them they can’t kill what’s already dead

But still they tried to but me to bed

This is not how this poem was supposed to go

Oh but what do I know?

Brittany T is a cool cat

 But don’t make her mad because you don’t want none of that

Don’t even start on the talking of smack

Because you might end up in a black sack

She has the moves like Jagger

Tick her off and you’ll get stabbed with a dagger

Speaking of daggers have you met Jo Baker

She is definitely not a faker

She punched Dillon B in the back

Told him to stop smoking crack

I only smoke weed! He cried

We all know he lied

Just like the hair that belongs to Haven Rob

We all know it should be styled in a bob

Kim Wilson cannot be real

What about? My lips are sealed

Hattie Mill can ball

I hope she takes a tragic fall

Off a balcony

Onto a sharp pile of rocks

Mattie says, “That doesn’t even rhyme you jock”

I don’t even play sports; I just have the IQ of a rock

Samantha Lyles thinks she can sing

I didn’t want to tell her she sounds like Ling Ling

She can’t hit a note, high or low

Unlike the dashing fellow Gabe Poe

I wish he would grow his hair out long

The only rhyme I have for that is bong

That was almost bad

Now I have to go

Goodbye

SHAILEY L. WOOLDRIDGE