Chains
by James Patterson

Chains are for slaves,
Rings are for kings
In a fat back pork-barrel society,
I’d rather live off of collard greens
It seems
Everybody’s working for the weekend—the “Freakend”
Twerkin
Jerkin’
Shakin’
Showin’ off they ass
but there’s no toilet
AND I’M PISSED
This
is to the penis-less poppas
who push-out playboy pin-up daughters and chicks
who push-up on sick-minded simps who sip
grey goose, treat them foul
and never look them in the eyes
cause’ they only want a chicken-head
for her breast and thighs
Still
they all leave the coop
and go back to dorm rooms
to do the do and wash their dirty laundry too.
The rinse cycle attempts to pour anew,
But their brains are already washed
and tumble dried.
Their minds are all crispy, golden, and fried.
And the cycle keeps going
on a line that keeps growing

Every girl wants to be a Queen
But some rather look for rooks than Kings.
Every boy wants to be a King
But gets played like a Pawn
Polished up and shining like a Knight ‘til dawn

Everybody’s stuck in bed sleepin
Too tired to listen to their parents preachin’
Everybody’s too hung over from the weekend
to make eye contact with the Bishops and deacons

BUT IT’S A SHAME!
People in the church and the club are looking the same
Women wearing short skirts, singing songs, and spitting game
While men on microphones spitting scripts with gold chains
AND I’M PISSED CAUSE EVERYBODY’S CROSSED UP!
Chains are for slaves
Rings are for kings
Free yourself from these material things.
Chains are for slaves
Rings are for kings
You keep the pork
Give me the collard greens.