April 3rd

April third two-thousand nine Was the worst day of all time Could this possibly be a sign? A sign of danger that I can not define? My heart is sore Sore to the very core I know there is more in store But I don’t want no more Sometimes women can be so cruel Cruel enough to drown your soul in a pool Of your own blood Or slam your face Into a puddle of mud I’ll never forget What you put me through I’m not perfect And neither are you So why do you try to act Like you are so big and bad My life would be a lot less painful without you So if you want to leave I’d be glad To escort you out Do I think you are girlfriend material? That is something that I highly doubt You keep sending me mixed signals That I can’t even translate They are so difficult to figure out That I have to concentrate But now I see that You are not the trustworthy type I’m out of toilet paper And you could make for a spare ass wipe By Glenn McCrary © 2009 Glenn McCrary (All rights reserved)