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The Tape Has Been Played: Side I
Folder:
One Slum Prodigy's Poetybook
This is the kind of tape that doesn't rewind'
It plays and plays all the way though
To the end until there is no note to find;
The words are soft, genuine, and true,
But each verse is filled with the truth
And a surprise that hurts worse than a lie;
As the tune of the song fills you with soothe
How everything's being said makes me want to cry.
This is the kind of tape that has bad tones;
That has upset yet gentle grooves;
They elevate from low to high zones
And the best thing is when it makes a tear move;
This is the tape of my lost memory;
Things that I wanted to forget, I recall;
It adds insult to my injury,
But I'm playing it all way and refuse to fall.
