I balance words on my fingertips, letting them slip like a tongue to a kiss into your consciousness
Easily able to flow like this, taking a meaning and twissssst from strength to petulance
It's a fine line, this line of mine, this rhyme of mine, this find of time
To write a rhyme, blunt or sublime, whether it's dark or shines
I'm caught in the flow, and where it goes nobody knows,
Will it be about friends or foes? virgins or hos? Or erotic, starting with your toes?
Maybe a bit of history, racial bitchin' or personal tragedy,
Hmmm... let's see, I think that's all covered nicely on the tempest dream daily
Maybe, I could mix chaotically, railing despotically about everything from A to Z
But, would that take away from what I want to say? Abstract poetry sucks, and it already had a heyday
I'm just enjoying being at play, molding thoughts like clay, making statues of dreams from day to day
I'm just recording random whimsy, flimsy segués deliberately
Just to see how crypically sneaky I can be by rhyming obstinacy
Maybe the whole point of this flow was to see how far you'd go
Before you'd know that it was nothing but flash like a sideshow.

-Master Dingo (<-- Dingo rhymes, nice touch, huh? *LMMFAO*)