Saturday, March 19, 2011


Whoever stored fish
in a can without a lid
n knew not that it'd
never be served a dish
had to be a rich man's kid
Oh the rich man's kid
in a blaring car
downing his pain
in an lavish bar

The pain of having less
Less being relative,
nothing short of a mess
ten pairs of swank shoes
for the eleventh
got nothing to lose

His wallet's a legend
blessed by dad's sweat
that appears on his brows
when he evades tax
or takes some bribe
In his circles
he can take pride

sweat shop cater
to his loud taste
he binges on colours
in a brazen haste
The only thing
he doesn't doubt
He must stand out
walking in the crowd

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