Their panties are on the line
Not to be dry cleaned
But, a line tied to their lives
By whom?
You may ask
Well, by bloodhounds
Hunting for sweet destinies
Plastered on fresh cottoned pants
Their thirst
Unquenchable
Poverty shall die
By all means
And riches must be made
Even if it comes
From the blood and cries
Of innocents
Flowing on the cold floor
These bloodhounds
Are tainted
Perpetrators of evil
Yet, they are carried on
Peddlestones; Princes
Protected by a kingdom
Giving them wings
To destroy
If only they knew
Frailing poverty
Is a curse in their mind
They ride; princes
But speak; beggars
Still some believe
Are myths
And bloodhound
Sniffing for panties
Spring forth
From the imagination
Of an idle man
Submitted by
Esere Gibson -dick
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