The Squeeze of an Agent Provocateur

Avishek Sahu
November 20, 2017

The shoes that I bring turns the knob on the people
When the shrink and the dink want to sob with the steeple
For a bipolar disorder that went past the finish line
And a new world order they had waiting in clound nine
If only they had known that the bungalow isn’t the source crime
But the harsh black letters begetting cash through the dirt and grime
Spilt while I chase down every single non-sequitur
So what if I missed being the squeeze of an agent provocateur

Every move here is calculated on the charts of the real biggies
Lining up at the bungalow for a piece from the elder’s thingies
The elder that was born to read up on every single disorder
That the gatekeepers of the white world can record on a camcorder
But then if they needed chances they had more or less all eternity
With me growing up in their stares and the love of their fraternity
That says they can’t wait to see the other side of Martina
Damn you if you say there could be help from that patina
Waiting for a move to seal every single non-sequitur
So what if I missed being the squeeze on an agent provocateur

Now the elder’s back yard is even more of a nemesis
Having dabbled in the art of nailing every psychosis
Concocted with the shit of the chief air-marshal
And the dime from the source that was always so partial
If only these arms could bring in the God of the natives
Or a tryst with the smokers and them jet-black fugitives
There wouldn’t be no need to chase the next silly non-sequitur
So what if I missed being the squeeze on an agent provocateur

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