stream this song | open this song in your browser | back to album page | back to homepage A House With a Wife Track 2 from "I.P.O.P.I.F." by proGrammar A house with a wife, two kids, decrepit granny. Ingrained in the seat is her rather flaccid fanny touching with sweet deception the very polyster flower print she had sewn. When younger she had sworn to live, learn, love, laugh to the fullest. Now she's oldest on her block, and far from boldest. Aspirations were dimmed by the thought of future whims, present hymns, past sins commited in the din of youth. Now she needed proof Hell don't exist and, as such, she gave up worldly possessions. Meshing in with the rest of the populace... We all feel it. Now, for real, she felt the clammy back hand of Death upon her cheek: frail and ruddy. Waiting for the bloody grave she smelled daily. Couldn't commit like Haley to the 7 5 'versary. Rehearsed in the nursery, where the nurse be. M ost would dub her attempt merely a cursory rendition of events DNA imprinted, negating the effects of the shit at which she hinted. She was a high-struttin' beauty queen -- small town -- 'til the age of 17 when wedlock she entered even ere she was hindered with child. Huh! One step above her momma for that one. Town joke, a fat one. Yo! Yo, yo! Pappa goin' broke payin' child support. He wasn't hanging around once her tits were hanging down. And while she's going down, her mouth's hanging a frown. Yo, fuck it! Pulled the dick out of where he stuck it. Embarrassment of knowing he'd rather leave than she finish suck it. Packed his bags and col' stuck it in reverse. She mistook it for a Hearse driving off with the corpse of her life. Figured she wouldn't be lucky enough to be a wife twice! Failed to entice herself with life's lights. Instead, viewed her life as a bowl of white rice without sauce, on the side, embellishing. Hellish fling led to polished ring punishing. Summers bring sad spring of tears to look back and think of all those years of fear... His nights were a mix of mad schemes and bad dreams. Sweaty fists; eyes dry spying the fad screens. Knew indeed he'd be glad to join teens and sport teams; leaving behind the fort scenes. Indians attacking!... Little sis latching on like plaque to his plans. In a backpack contained all goods necess' for survival: snack packs, pebbles and slingshots for rivals. Naps lack fun; putting head down on foam while the sun still shone was why summer sucked. Phone; starting to use it to chat it up. Favorite phrase uttered at a game was, "Batter up!" Buttered up toast. No notion of fuel to make most of the day. Kiss mom, he's ghost! stream this song | open this song in your browser | back to album page | back to homepage