Idol I Mean Idoru

If she could make me laugh//

I can ignore the gays in drag// I wonder if Raven’s asked//

if I am some type of ladies man//

stupid enough to want her and crazy to think I can//

have my heart crushed by gays and glad//

and take her back//

the 80s passed//

and Cosby would put the drinks in glass//

at a young age she’d act//

I wonder if she knew she’s raised a fan//

that would fill a page with crack//

and if so how come she can’t relate to that?//

all I want is a thanks and damn//

maybe ass//

 I’m bugging- really I would be happy to shake her hand//

and say I’m black//

but she made me see race is wack//

like a basic tramp//

created plans//

to write until someone breaks my hand//

Ace exams//

in my baby’s class//

I told her paint the grams//

I’m blazing hash//

that make me feel like I am no longer a lame outcast//

her name is jazz//

I play the sax//

 when I rhyme audio dope I get paid no tax//

my pen’s the razor pad’s//

cocaine in slabs//

New Music From Jet Lee Jetson

Another love letter to Raven Symone over a beat by the genius Charles Hamilton.

Lyrics:

I wrote her so much// every letter became a rose bud// our relationship was dope love// with no trust// me and her spoke once// in a nightmare// she said I was too late to call her my dear// by a couple light years// struggling to fight fear// every thought in my mind scared// it’s like every love letter I writes weird// hoping one of my songs she might hear// maybe in a nice pair// of Gucci shoes like black face is a great idea// rhymes dared// her to come outside where// the ugly duckling flies fierce// as long as the skies clear// the wine scarce// but more than enough to hide peers// and their online jeers// she in my mind paired// with me Spike spared// death his life cherished// ice karats// for my imaginary wife yeah// I need her like air// in a city of Angels she’s the wise mayor// my eyes stare//

Head over heels// her heels// weren’t for Jack and Jill// her heart wasn’t for sale but I had a chance to steal// it’s like the death of Half A Mil// I wanted to die// then forever be ignored until my haunted demise// my ghost gone with my pride// but with every song I’m alive// I sought after mics// and such a gorgeous lost bride// her ring size wrong like advice// telling me log off and try// dolls that aren’t like// awesome sci fi// at the prom with spiked// punch Harlem and I// combine to slow dance with a thought of a fine// broad divine// she cost a price// my mind// insane I saw her blind// I walked her like// the bitch that told the world watermelons aren’t white// the Don that’s denied// a touch but witchcraft has me caught in the bind// hard to decide// what’s more important? The wall that I climb?// or the way I will fall of it high// so long I have tried// but to her I’m just applause still I write//

Embrace my mental illness// like a villain// I look at my insanity as a gift I will pass to my children// Pharrell said never have a ceiling// so as it rains I sit alone in my house still wet// drug dealing// addicted myself to this real shit// attached to her words stuck on her beauty until then// still rich// without the major labels// I set the table// shrimp fried rice, general tsao’s, and egg rolls// Philosophize like Plato// about how she never played a gay role// but wants me to separate the art from the stage though// all I ever wanted was a thanks so// I create oaths// I take stoned// cry tears from how the poetry immortalizes my pain hoes// say no// but my Idol let’s me write until the game’s code// makes jokes// like why cheat? Sonic gave me a ring toast// to the engaged know// I am a fan of all you do// life is worth living when I can imagine one day I can talk to you// 

I know I have been absent from the blog for awhile. But that is about to change. I am back and more focused than ever.

Thanks for your time.

Peace.