i found out some truly awful news this week. i will explain it to you in the only way i know how. through the medium of poasion. thats what happens when poetry and fashion collide.
lies deciet and treachery
like black on the runway, its deathly
i feel betrayed my heart is slayed
like a record (right round baby right round)
i've been played.
i saw him across the room,
his look was classy yet urban
i was drawn in by his beaded beard
his dark skin, his funky turban
he took me by the hand (actually the hair)
and said 'listen sugar tits,
you sit ryt der'
he told me all about his religion and his tournaments
i was totally blown away, took him back to my apartament
i got down on my knees, and he got down on one of his
we made plans all night long, even named our kids
and then on wednesday, full of woe
he packed his bags, said 'a got to goe'
turns out he's married, got a wife called musaflar
he's not a sikh, it was a wig..
he's not even a wrestler.
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