Delta40
07-12-2011, 06:37 PM
My Daddy notices the King James Bible leaning awkwardly on the shelf.
See son, no matter how you put it, the King will wait patiently without complaint.
What's another slap of praise on my back if he is pleased?
Inside the book my Christian journey is self-explanatory.
Years of rollie paper potential is taking its toll on the King
and whenever my papers go Tally-ho or some slag does a Rizzla on me,
I go to Him to be saved.
Morning worship begins with a pair of scissors
and I ask forgiveness that my body must be filled
with the coarse texture of Virginian tobacco rolled in an extract from the Good Book.
He speaks from the shelf with the calm of an ocean.
Don't do it, says the King.
I hear you already but you know my problem!
My son, I know it better than you think.
The King sighs between the folds of His leather jacket.
As a last resort I futilly ransack my apartment then curse Him,
Enough with the pity, and fling the King violently on the table.
He bursts open at Corinthians 6:20, each word gurgling out like brown phlegm.
You sly prick, but even tar-filled bubbles of cancer won't stop me.
The passages He reveals are no coincidence.
He does this everytime I need rollie papers as if one day I'll convert.
Well it ain't gonna be today after He b itch slaps me with this quote.
For you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.
I proclaim, Don't mind if I do old buddy.
We both witness my guilt dissipate like a fart in the wind
as I tear the rough tobacco from my pouch and roll it in my hand.
The cut out passage is lit up and I know when I exhale,
this is a smoke that only a King can appreciate.
See son, no matter how you put it, the King will wait patiently without complaint.
What's another slap of praise on my back if he is pleased?
Inside the book my Christian journey is self-explanatory.
Years of rollie paper potential is taking its toll on the King
and whenever my papers go Tally-ho or some slag does a Rizzla on me,
I go to Him to be saved.
Morning worship begins with a pair of scissors
and I ask forgiveness that my body must be filled
with the coarse texture of Virginian tobacco rolled in an extract from the Good Book.
He speaks from the shelf with the calm of an ocean.
Don't do it, says the King.
I hear you already but you know my problem!
My son, I know it better than you think.
The King sighs between the folds of His leather jacket.
As a last resort I futilly ransack my apartment then curse Him,
Enough with the pity, and fling the King violently on the table.
He bursts open at Corinthians 6:20, each word gurgling out like brown phlegm.
You sly prick, but even tar-filled bubbles of cancer won't stop me.
The passages He reveals are no coincidence.
He does this everytime I need rollie papers as if one day I'll convert.
Well it ain't gonna be today after He b itch slaps me with this quote.
For you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.
I proclaim, Don't mind if I do old buddy.
We both witness my guilt dissipate like a fart in the wind
as I tear the rough tobacco from my pouch and roll it in my hand.
The cut out passage is lit up and I know when I exhale,
this is a smoke that only a King can appreciate.