Traitor Jo Rap

Honesty is the best policy, but your pathology had you chronically lying to me, now you come with an apology for the distorted and twisted chronology, but it’s not genuine, much like reverse psychology, time to clean up that shit, call it a cleansing colonoscopy

No hard feelings or bad blood, bet you can relate
You tried to prey on me like you were the master and me the bait
But I’m in a state not sour, you had me in happy hour at a point, painted a pretty picture of destined fate in which I was your divinely selected, sassy soul mate
Genius? Not gifted. No Mensa. More like autistic or trisomy 21, down syndrome
I won’t be cryptic and depict it with a hieroglyphic, to be explicit
ask Santa for Christmas for a dose of testosterone

Go back to the hood, chase girl goods of a quality much like your properties, section 8
Dishonesty, improprieties, abject moral poverty, out of MoMo, mistakenly but not maliciously, tryna make a mockery
Momentarily, I was downtrodden, but that fuckery ain’t stoppin’ me from droppin’ you, you’re rotten and soon you’ll be forever forgotten
Back to your ways and your so called skanky spottin’
No more for you of this high thread count Egyptian cotton
You postin’ prayers to Jesus, the only son begotten
You got something in common, surrounded by prostitutes and THOTs, sin
But Jesus healed them, you’re playing victim, cue the world’s smallest violin
You’re peacockin’, walking around with a snarky grin, but you belong curled up in not the recycling, but in a rubbish bin

To catch a predator, my girl Hansen deaded ya, picked out your tomb, a stone, but not Rosetta, she had a vendetta, played detective shot you down like she was equipped with the biggest beretta, it was all for the better, you tried to game me, how could she let ya? These sentences are true; self-referential, meta.

Briefly had a hottie boom body, but you’d rather toy with thotties, got bodied by your own boy, thought you were invincible Illuminati, your lies and your past kicked you in the balls like some Billy Blanks, tae bo or karate, tried to flex on me, yoga palates, but your boy Uncle Tommy outted your dirty salami, up in roast beef disfigured, diseased, misshapen origami, bringin’ hos up in your house with you and your mommy, you fucked with the wrong G, now I’m comin’ at your full force like a tsunami, burstin’ your bubble like poppin’ some salty edamame, you acted like you were the Clyde to my Bonnie, had me euphoric like I was rollin’ on molly, but now it’s time for you to calmly get the fuck up out my lobby, your lie game and hobby was whack and super sloppy, you lost like you were 2012 Mitt Romney, now you say you’re depressed, feelin’ melancholy, you were out for my booty like a pirate Somali, but you got out done by this diva dolly

Now this Princess Mo is basking in the afterglow glistening off my soft skin cuz I dodged a douche bullet better known as Traitor Jo.

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