Burn a 100-dollar Bill

Avishek Sahu
October 21, 2016

Creeping up to freedom, from the bitterness of blight
When the gossip of the gonners, had me scrambling up for light
To shine upon the greyhounds so silly from the fear
You want a leash around the muzzle to strangle up their rear
Ain’t going to the movies, a struggle of a kind
When the heinous tits of treason, want you in a bind
How then do you profess, that you saw me in the night
Tearing up your cherry, with you putting up no fight
Now that you see my rhymes, send tickles up your dress
You’d like to see me flashing, in the pages of your press
But it’s not you in your pinkies, that bores me up to retch
It’s the blinkers that you put on, to pride you on your fetch
The fetch that gets you giggly, with your arms around the muck
Wouldn’t prod me for a second, to no cuddle nor no fuck
So don’t ask me why I lie low, don’t ask me why I till
For me success is no success till I burn a 100-dollar bill

Leafing through the offers, I can’t just help confess
That heat is in the knickers, of the sweetest tongue to press
The madness of a writer, into a sinful daze of might
That comes from seeing the ocean, in the crucible of spite
With her honey dripping merry to spruce me up a bit
I yearn for her sweet juices when I become a hit
When the tales of your sad story, get spread in every post
In every piece of lowdown, on the hustings and the roast
So wake up in the morning, I thank her for the chance
For that devilish desire, to swing her into trance
With the pucker I’ve been saving, for the choicest sting to sting
The daylights off your hubris, and the nonsense that you fling
So caper up to show-time, and buy yourself some rouge
And think of me as geeky, with a penchant for wild booze
But don’t ask me why I lie low, don’t ask me why I till
For me success is no success till I burn a 100-dollar bill

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