Susan Sarandon's Son

by Mike Writes

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The rhymeplay ditzy, dumb, ridiculous
This is Bob on Highway 61 Revisited
Rappers get floored if they get all militant
With this master of war who won’t let an idiot
Win, nope. Kinfolk, the written’s slick
But he leaves blood on the tracks even when he’s freewheelin’ it
The rhymes they keep a-changing, but he keeps a-bringing it
All back home. You cats know who you dealin’ wit’?
Maybe it’ll click the fourth time around
But don’t ask for my crutch. It’s enough I write it down
You just need to type around, search for
While I search for, a girl to lay me on the floor and make me her surfboard
Surfboard, yes, this is my first porn
But been a born star since the elevator’s first floor
Drag ‘em to the ground, if they try to start a turf war
Or make comebacks like, well, the jerk store
The rhymeplay ditzy, dumb, ridiculous
This is Bob on Highway 61 Revisited
This is George Costanza, with the chips, double dipping
Zip competition. Bae wouldn’t catch me slipping
I said I zip competition, might Saran ya, son
Can’t stand ya, son. I’m Susan Sarandon’s son
Ah, here’s a bit family fun
Wanna hurt Mr. White? You’re gonna need a kitchen knife and a gun
You will need a million British bobbies and a billion crooked coppers
And a trillion little Nazis, and those little minded cocks
Always policing women’s bodies, like she’s skinny, fit, or sloppy
‘fore you try to come and stop me
Watch me, I’m beautiful
I’m a cutie cuter than Kate Micucci’s musical ukulele-plucking cuticles
He’s got an unusual booty hole
The pole is totem tall, and the scrotum is inscrutable
The rhymeplay ditzy, dumb, ridiculous
This is Bob on Highway 61 Revisited

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released April 13, 2014

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Mike Writes Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Winona Writer

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