Let it go, let it snow, the Saint Nick says, "ho, ho, ho."
Upset, intact, a white man who "acts" black.
With facts, and stacks, the morning dew sits nicely.
By my Will, and my Guardian, God is real feisty.
Unload, then caught, we strap em when hung.
Shoots himself in the head and relies on reincarnation, like "come."
Come out of her My People, you're alone in your head.
And Michael prays to Satan and says, "Tuck me in bed."
A fed, so upset, a creep all together.
Hurricane rounds, like God upset the weather.
Light as a feather, we find gold, yes treasure.
And Michael knows Satan is the one who is much better.
Need help? Visit our Support Group for help from our friendly Admins and members!
Visit The Temple