The Conservative Cave
Current Events => The DUmpster => Topic started by: landofconfusion80 on August 19, 2014, 11:20:56 AM
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http://www.democraticunderground.com/10025409828 (http://www.democraticunderground.com/10025409828)
littlemissmartypants (5,186 posts)
A poem for Michael Brown.
For Brother Love
I watch you sleeping
As UNC KD broadcasts super readers
The thunder outside warns me
Begs me
Warns me
Don't be calm
The lights flash lighting
Like the flash of the gun
That left him on the ground
You groan
You not grown
You sweet little man
My baby brother love
Skin shining from the cocoa butter after your bath
The boy died.
Dead as
you alive
Still
You sleep
He
gone to his eternal rest
The flash as bad as a lightening strike
He was struck
But not once
again and again and again and again
Again you say to me as we get to the end of the
Book you love
That says I love you...
I wash your little black feet
And super reader says
"when something seems bad
Turn it around and find some good"
Brains
Something seems bad
Feet
Turn it around
On the streets and running
You chase the cat and squeal
And find something good
And say
I love you Mi woksee baby
And I say
I love you too brother love
And your precious little black hands
Hold up your sponge bob bookbag
Mi woksee baby
I don to stool ma wah
That
Sweet Baby speech
victim
of those missing front teeth
That smile
Going to school.
Oh God if you are there
Tomorrow when his hand leaves mine
I will stand outside and scream.
Tonight
While a dead young man lies cold
His brain removed by gunfire
The thunder rolls
And
I
weep.
~~~~~~~~
All rights reserved. Littlemissmartypants2014
In Memory of Michael Brown
Maybe it would be better with a tamborine and rattles in the background?
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I'm thinking she brought it to the DUmp, so that CalPig could apply s/h/it's expert ministrations to the piece. Kinda polish it up a little... :runaway:
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This might be more appropriate for Mr. Brown:
Images by Tyrone Greene ...
Dark and lonely on the summer night.
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Watchdog barking - Do he bite?
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Slip in his window,
Break his neck!
Then his house
I start to wreck!
Got no reason --
What the heck!
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
C-I-L-L ...
My land - lord ...
Def!
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This might be more appropriate for Mr. Brown:
Images by Tyrone Greene ...
Dark and lonely on the summer night.
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Watchdog barking - Do he bite?
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Slip in his window,
Break his neck!
Then his house
I start to wreck!
Got no reason --
What the heck!
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
C-I-L-L ...
My land - lord ...
Def!
H5, milady! :blowkiss:
Also, to the OP, this is about as far as I got . . .
I
And I knew it was going downhill fast.
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This might be more appropriate for Mr. Brown:
Images by Tyrone Greene ...
Dark and lonely on the summer night.
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Watchdog barking - Do he bite?
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Slip in his window,
Break his neck!
Then his house
I start to wreck!
Got no reason --
What the heck!
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
C-I-L-L ...
My land - lord ...
Def!
Get out of my head!!!
:rotf:
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That is just pitiful.
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That is some horrible CalPeg-level drivel.
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The littlemissmartypants primitive is from NC. If I find her, I will dispose of her, unless BadCat beats me to it.
.
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Let's have some words of rhyme from Michael Brown, dead thug.
I’ll be counting money by myself
I’m a rich nigga so I got that wealth
I f*** three [???] hos by myself
While I’m smoking on this [!?!?]
When the sun goes down
You in trouble now
Smoking on this dope, till I choke
Motherf***ers
Motherf***er, f*** you and your opinions
Do you do smoke weed, keep doing what you do best
Every time I call your bitch I make her cum
And when she comes I’m cumming all over her tush
I beat that ***** up
I’m smoking purple
I roll fat blunts they look just like my thumb
While I bless him with a d*** on his face
With this Glock in your face
And you betta not make a sound
And I only like white men on my money [???]
Those who are last shall be first,
Whites on the bottom
He musta walked up and unloaded because there was no stopping him
Somebody else layin’ across the street, must be his partner
Damn.
http://moonbattery.com/?p=49330
Yeah, he sure sounds like an innocent kid waiting to go to college.
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Bainesbane ode to Brown:
-ahem-
walking on the street at night
the streetlight shines bright
car drives by driver looks at chest
body will get no rest
stranger brings friends
this night knows no ends
say nothing man is safe
thighs are chafed.
-end-
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That was so bad my seeds ache.
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Well... that sucked.
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Maya Angelou is that you? That is how bad that was.
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Brown Haiku:
I love my thug life
Who gonna stop me, you dude?
Bang! Oh, maybe that.
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This might be more appropriate for Mr. Brown:
Images by Tyrone Greene ...
Dark and lonely on the summer night.
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Watchdog barking - Do he bite?
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Slip in his window,
Break his neck!
Then his house
I start to wreck!
Got no reason --
What the heck!
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
C-I-L-L ...
My land - lord ...
Def!
H5 :hi5:
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Brown Haiku:
I love my thug life
Who gonna stop me, you dude?
Bang! Oh, maybe that.
:hi5:
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The dead Mr. Brown's poetry is reminiscent of CalPig eroticism:
Such strength
The masculine facade
Sharp flashing eyes
Tender fingers and tongue
The man dominates me.
His body, his mind
Overcome me.
He strokes, and licks, and drinks me.
And then he enters
I open and yield myself
I surrender to his strength, his passion.
My mind is overcome with what I cannot tell...
But it’s wrong
I dominate him.
For at the last–who yields?
At the peak of passion
He empties the aching seed
Into me...
The CalPig and the dead Mr. Brown are to poetry as NJCher is to soup.
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The dead Mr. Brown's poetry is reminiscent of CalPig eroticism:
The CalPig and the dead Mr. Brown are to poetry as NJCher is to soup.
You're a statistic bastard, GoBucks. :puke: :-)
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littlemissmartypants needs to stick to her day job if she even has one.
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littlemissmartypants needs to stick to her day job if she even has one.
Is "professional leech" considered a job?
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My poem would be along the line of Saint Mike the dike don't like kikes and rides a bike like dear leader not Ike.
....and officer Wilson poked holes in his argument.
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I still think the dead Mr. Brown was a quasi-homo.
He was eighteen and had only fathered three bastard children.
In the 0bamaite community, by age eighteen most girls have had that many.
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Is "professional leech" considered a job?
Probably to the DUmmies.
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The dead Mr. Brown's poetry is reminiscent of CalPig eroticism:
The CalPig and the dead Mr. Brown are to poetry as NJCher is to soup.
Where's the 'blink, blink, blink, blink?' :whistling:
:tongue:
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This might be more appropriate for Mr. Brown:
Images by Tyrone Greene ...
Dark and lonely on the summer night.
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Watchdog barking - Do he bite?
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Slip in his window,
Break his neck!
Then his house
I start to wreck!
Got no reason --
What the heck!
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
C-I-L-L ...
My land - lord ...
Def!
Needs the visual
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hZ0up_MjsLk[/youtube]
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Something for the fans of the New Black Panthers
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ArtQku7QBI[/youtube]