You citizens of the great city on the sea; all you can do is attempt to disparage me, the others of my ilk, and the ones who are free. You sit around moaning and whining, never doing anything productive with your timing. Yet, you wonder, why nothing ever comes, of the talented people, in your puddle of muck.

No talent, no skills, mindless zombies shopping for thrills. Tear down the artist, block the musician, cause hatred in the hearts of the kind, and push anyone away who might know a good rhyme. Never engaged your own mind, never had a revelation of any kind, sitting in your shit, you stew and bitch.

Cock blocks of the creative, leeches and parasites of the mind, bastard offspring of the ill inclined. Drink your booze, fear the shrooms, never know what lay inside, except darkness that blinds. Pathetic groupies, mindless whores, you have no sense of what is yours.

And you wonder why nothing comes from your city, why nothing ever is produced, except by those who escape your reach. Bitches be trolling, and hating on all that is good and can shine. You want to hang on to those ahead, but can't help yourself from tripping your friend.

Worthless scum, horrendous in your scope, nothing ever stops you from running your mouth. Fear those who are different, who don't dress like a Much Music video, who don't fall into line with your fucking emo grind. Hipster fucks, stupid cunts, you make a child spit venom, and hate their brethren. Your life is sad, empty and clear as glass; you hold no light, nor do you understand the plight that you dump on your peers with your mindless sneers.

With this said, I am glad to be rid, of the city of my birth, which I love with the Earth; I have travelled far and wide in my life time, and am saddened to see the reality of the citizens that be in my city of trees. Close minded fucks, you will never give up, your attempts to stop the creative from reaching their goal.

May you reap all that you sow. —Some Guy Who Just Wants To Do His Thing But Every Turn Encounters More Stink