Third tyyme'z a charmsicle

Alright so O-manor pulled tha icy one on my last two but he still gotz mad vision of a book by youth poets he can sell to Wired or Time Magazine (both madly important culture pieces, magazines, all). Hell of folks would get interested in tha youth thoughtzz if I could get my shizzler to concentrate up both ways and sing tha mad emotionzz and bleak future which pre-presents itself to mah guangdong (social set, allz). Another hundo in tha crisper and O-pickle had me praisin'.

Okay so here is try numbah three, sick old poems which rattle in you brainzzpanzz 'bout how tha shit y'all handed down to us be fucked up McDonalds bladder disease and no sense-havin societyzz.

Here we go:

THA POEM WHICH REPRAYZZENTS MAH SHAZZLED EMOTIONS

Curpeter (not his real name) hatezz his dad
Sucker wants to eat he piece
Curpeter wants to eat he piece
On a webcam chat with he daddz.

Damn. That B right? That B wrong.
Why Curpeter hatezz he dad?
Sucker never around. Workin'.
At what point Curpeter cash it in?

Befo' tha quarterly bonus, June 28.
Curpeter said so.

[EDITOR'S NOTE: THIS IS BETTER CHARLEY. I DID NOT CANCEL THIS ONE.]

I be tha voice of new youth, alls!

yo yo yo, O-dogg dropped another hundo on me this week an said Try Again, he still got the idea that youth of today got to write poems to represent they new stylezz and blend of life. he gonna compile a sick spine 'a the stuff and make it all into WIRED an TIME MAGAZINE an shit, major magazines of this day. so problem is, i got no ideas about new poemzz this week and i'm just gonna run ya down this old nasty from camp dayzz:

When you're slidin' into first,
and your butt just wants to burst,
diarrhea, diarrhea!
When you're startin' to round second,
and the toilet starts to beckon,
[EDITOR'S NOTE: POEM CANCELLED]