He was runnin' fast as hell, in his baby-blue Timbos
The kicks fresh, but out of air, gaspin' lookin' for help
But nobody around except for Crackheads and himself
The streets he grew up in, filled with Junkies
Prostitutes, Childporn-Stars, PlayaHataz and Drunkies
All the shit he was scared of, over all his life
Now they all lookin' down on him...but suddenly his cell phone played a polyphonic sound and...
The creatures started to dance and got their baseball-bats out they backpacks
Now they were beatin' Jimbo down till the ringtone crashed
What a bunch of freaks, invading his city
His bloody face and messed up shoes looked fucked up and shitty
Now he got mad, "Nobody fuckin' wit ma boots"
He was yellin' out while lookin' for guns on a dog-house's roof
It's obvious that last line just came to mind, cuz it rhymes

Back to the story of Jimbo, the brave
This motherfucker didn't know he was diggin' his own grave
Fuckin' with the monsters, that's a no-no player
Didn't believe in god, so he didn't know prayers
To save his crappy little soul, from going to hell
and burn there forever and longer, like his fucked up cell
..PHONE, it's a fact, I'm back, on ma' poetry throne
The Smashman
The king of randomness is back
KIDS! Poetry's Cool, Don't fall asleep
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