I plan a reverse commute
and fiddle sweet tunes to a mute
[awkward silence]
tasteless, I know
lacking in pepper and salt
like liquor without malt
like Washington DC, it's not my fault
Massively dynamic, I buzz buzz through the chapters of Sun Tzu like a saw
in awe,
never daring to doubt
I carry an imposing clout that gods atop mount olympus admire
I inspire, nothing.
Back in '84, I was born with the DNA of the proletariat
nowadays I rest my head at the Marriott,
and order Peter Luger prime steak
tasteful, I make reservations at the corner booth,
leave space for my sweet tooth,
and sip on Vermouth.
Like a calculator compounds masses of data points,
I'm buried under an avalanche of white noise,
at GPS coordinates 6584.87.7463.
