so once you see me posted on a curb, on the corner of Shattuck and Hearst with a notepad and a pen. you'll see me again backstage at a show, with a bloody nose and a lip just the same with only a mic to blame. you'll see me again at the laundromat, bobbin my head to the beat of a dryer swooning over a girl putting up flyers for a punk rock show. you'll see me again at the goodwill, out of money, askin for 10s 5s and 20s risin the selection of the ugly sweater section. you'll see me again asleep on the bus, or atop the bandstand with a backpack to my side, or a mic in my hand whether dreaming on mass transit, or manhandling the stage it's all for the best, my mind's in the right place -------------------------------------------------------------- 20 weeks ago i started stabbing syntax, shunning linguistic swordplay, thesis foreplay for four days of metaphors that paid me to slay lyrical content with big words and over-priced verbs and two-thirds of incoherent blurbs, traveling in herds, quote unquote juxtaposed when they step on eachother's toes, call eachother names, use put downs quit horsing around, im trying to rap for my friends cus i have two cents on sorrow and a nickle on regret. i put a dollar on tomorrow and assume all my debts. with a loan from self worth, having paid off self pity, with a fistful of mic, and a mouthful of city