What's love? As soft as a dove? The Mary Jane or the Nick Chubb?
To love? The codependent, it's real, your sol indented.
To punk? The roc? The cream of the crop?
To chop? The block? With ounces in a sock.
To rock, to define, the Mario Party, the Shy Guy.
To sigh, to align, with the Secret Society, I sign.
To whine? Here's the truth, I rap in the booth.
This ain't band camp, the one with the flute.
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