Do not be dissapointed
when you encounter God
cruisin' past in his black caddy
with his bass so loud
it shakes the lightposts,
and he slows down just long enough
to roll down smoky windows
and laugh
with a hot piece of ass
on either arm,
all laughing and coughing
while the speakers vibrate
with that original commandment
to be fruitfult and multiply
translated into
the modern vernacular:
"Fuck Bitches, Get Money."
And he laughs,
takes a hit,
and tells you
not to quote him on that
before driving away
to leave you feeling poor,
light-headed,
and nauseously leaning
on some flickering lightpost.
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