I must be sick… I must be ill… I think I came down with Dwayne Wayne fever Man it’s worse than West Nile Ebola and Sars combined
It has been a different world for some time now And I’m not particularly sure I can deal
And it’s not like there’s a training seminar on maturity There’s no lesson plan for aging, trust me
I looked at the brochures from my local Adult education center only to see no course offerings No spring or fall classes No relief in sight
I wanted to call the cops… To put out an APB On 1993 Or at least a milk carton…damn 19 has been missing for years I thought I looked everywhere Underneath tables…between the folds of the living room couch But all I could find are memories
Which leads me to believe that it’s over
Or maybe the fact that my wife and I argue Like my mom and her husbands did From 1981 to 1999 (even league champs retire sometimes) And where was the class on make-up “folkin’” -my favorite subject next to English…
But see, It’s that kinda stuff which reminds me I’m no kid I’m no stubborn rebellious youth With ties to the street Pumping fire through my veins I don’t even have Hip Hop to fuel my righteous angst My rage against the machine Because even that has whittled down with age It ain’t 1993 anymore
A different world indeed But this ain’t no pity party It’s a healing process ‘cause really, who wants to be 19 again? Who wants to deal with that mess? Hot, sweaty clubs where even the patrons are reusable Outfit pressure 9 to 5’s that go the same place as driveways Life loves changing like songs on the radio
Even Kadeem got cancelled…
Achoo!
I’m sick
I’m grown And I’m tired…
But at least it ain’t still 1993 And though I’ve traded my fat laces For hard bottoms My life on the mic For a life with a wife My wake and bake mornings For Golden Grahams and Arabica beans
I ain’t mad…
I just wish someone would have told me How different it was
>Hot, sweaty clubs where even the patrons are reusable >9 to 5’s that go the same place as driveways >Life loves changing like songs on the radio
> >I’m sick > >I’m grown >And I’m tired… > >But at least it ain’t still 1993 >And though I’ve traded my fat laces >For hard bottoms >My life on the mic >For a life with a wife >My wake and bake mornings >For Golden Grahams and Arabica beans > >I ain’t mad… > >I just wish someone would have told me >How different it was > >From where I came from…
...but I would actually trim it down some. Give your readers a little more benefit to read in between the lines. The less words, the more pwerful those words become. And maybe work the Different World metaphor in another angle at the end.
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