supposedly, i'm conscious
rolling with the pompous


holding something golden
in control of all my monsters


knowing what an ankh is
growing into com sense


soaking what is spoken,
nothing golden in my chompaz


but maybe i ain't awake
cuz sheikh
lately, i've been dreaming

of acres of that paper
getting graded
by the seasons


of ranging on them haters
catching vapors
while i'm skiing

and ladies like the lakers
baby, lay ups
when i lean in

ugh.