I GOT SOME BAD THINGS TO SAY
You run like a hare and limp like a faggot.
That’s a bad word, Mr. David.
But didn’t blacks retrieve n***** from the stings
Of outrageous insult by using it like salt and pepper?
I mean I’ve just gotten over the bias against n*****
And it wasn’t me who used it,
It wasn’t mine. I couldn’t utter it.
It was the homeboys who coopted it.
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In the ups and downs of it all who cares?
Like all these anti-language freaks are good people.
Like you didn’t spit on your mother.
Like you didn’t punch out your brother.
Like you didn’t stab your neighbor and pull at her skirt.
Who cares what you said?
The incest of ideas is the cohabitation of intelligence.
Al Sharpton spits out his words but they stain his cuffs
And stretch out of shape like a bra of mispronunciation.
What’s happened to his face.
It’s like Bill Clinton’s.
It’s like Dorian Gray’s perversion of paint in the attic.
I disrespect our President.
Then again you can’t disrespect what doesn’t deserve respect.
Pride is the forthrightness to call stupidity stupid.
He has the intelligence of a burp repeating ideological gas.
I could have said “fart.”
I remain polite in the face of his destruction of the world,
Confronting his lies about Iran.
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