you're floppin', don't you think you're rockin',
you're just fuckin' sloppy, that ain't robocoppin'
ain't gon' get it poppin', can't you see it's droppin'?
an' you think your floppy way of makin' storage's
gonna quench the thirsty pain my SSD's supported;
you're just playin' dirty, ain't that payin' homage(?),
y'all just freakin' stompin' on the neck of commas,
that ain't killin' softly, that's just flat out comedy,
you're willingly moppin' the flash out of poetry;
think you're robocoppin'? you're just causin' trauma,
an' all your fuckin' drama tells you're robofloppin'!
you better call your mama, sell her ass your noise,
she may have the spells that give a little poise,
or maybe just poison, seeds that freakin' blossom,
then extract some colors from its leakin' fossils
to repaint the horrors left on faces north from
clautrophobic corridors where the sound disorder
reigns with boundless torture, borderlinin' murder,
there ain't no lightnin' thunder at the end of tunnels;
remains the tidy wanderer fightin' thru the jungle...
