Tagged in: Bragging Poems
I‘ve made more tackles than a mom n pop fishing shop
with more excessive force than a Caucasian cop who doesn’t know when to stop.
I’ll give you more hits than your mother’s crack pipe
and I’ll use my pipes to crack your skull like when a melon’s ripe–
you’ll need help to just to have your crack wiped,
your player card should list your favorite liquids and your blood type.
I’ll free your uniform from its stripes,
til you’re pooping corn through your nifty tights.
I’ll wrap you up tighter than a mummy in a straight-jacket
and drop you like a bad habit or a rotting eyeball full of maggots.
to me, you’re an Armani vest–
it’s not till I’ve put my shoulder through you that I look my very best.
Soon they’ll be using your face as a Warshak test,
and I’ll be etching this poem on your coffin’s crest.
I wouldn’t lie and I wouldn’t gloat
but I’m gonna wear you out more than my favorite coat.
you’re gonna go down like a drunk spelunker:
with the sound of thunder and sickeningly asunder.
if i break each one of your bones, you’ll be up to 412,
and it’ll look like your body is crawling with elves.
I could make Barry Sanders look like Ned Flanders,
and when i speak with such candor i live up to the standards
you could tie yourself up with a series of lanyards,
but you’ll still fall like Montezuma in the face of the Spaniards.