The White dog

The white dog is big boss of the road,

I ain’t got clue with my lover who is a better drifter than sheep,

I know her mood in a frenzy of sex,

Forgetting love not to wait with patience,

She aint got any red robe but a feminine hello to preach Christ,

I am not lucky with mime to tell her apart as mine,

I show her a ghetto and she keep running her white dog for votes,

Isn’t love is better on the beach,

keep running my hands through her bikni as fishes keep falling into the ocean

She stalks ghosts tripping on her flower scented paper,

sure I am out for her with a sunday ice-cream

 

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