If my mother knew I did this for a living, she'd kill me. She thinks I'm selling dope.
quote by Henny Youngman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Dope never helped anybody sing better or play music better or do anything better. All dope can do for you is kill you - and kill you the long, slow, hard way.
quote by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Everybodys Selling Something
More 4/4s in the neighborhood
Banging on the same guitar
Dreaming of living in hollywood
Puffing on a big cigar
Prima ballerina in a magazine
Call her on the telephone
Tell her that youre sending up a limousine
She say: I dont know...
I know where to go!
Now 4/4s in a different mood
Thinks hes gonna change the world
Making all the money that some others should
Guess its cause we dont deserve
Meet a lot of people in a magazine
Tell you where not to go
Tell you that Im living out a fantasy
You say: you dont know
They play me on the radio
You gotta walk before you crawl
Remember everybodys selling something
You gotta talk before you know
Remember everybodys selling something
Theres like a racket on the ball
Remember everybody wants attention
You gotta rock before you roll
Remember everybodys selling something
Sell me something
Sell me something
Sell me something
Now!
Now 4/4s into mother earth
Hurry up and wait t.v.
Funny how your lifell take a different turn
And how you get to dance for free
See a lot of freedom in your magazine?
Does it tell you what you want to know?
Tell you once and maybe twice and maybe three times
Thats all right!
Were coming out in stereo!!!
You gotta walk before you crawl
Remember everybodys selling something
You gotta talk before you know
Remember everybodys selling something
Theres like a racket on the ball
Remember everybody wants attention
You gotta rock before you roll
Remember everybodys selling something
Sell me something
Sell me something
Sell me something
Now!
Sell me something
Sell me something
Sell me something
Now!
song performed by by Men Without Hats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Boyscout
He was a friend
of a friend.
A dirty undercover cop
that would set you up
and then bust your ass.
Selling drugs,
or guns,
or minors,
and then,
once caught,
for a price,
let you go,
and sell it
all
elsewhere.
I met him again
in his bar
doing a choke
kill all
hold
on a fat child
selling peanuts
He was drunk:
I knew
as he had left his gun
behind. Him
having the urge
and the tendency
to fire it
when drunk.
I didn't’t like what I saw,
but him being a friend,
of a friend
and a man
you:
living on the edge
in the gray zone
of the written law
didn't want as your enemy,
let it slide,
having sold out
of morals for less
than that,
like a god lay
or momentary oblivion.
I left at five
having sampled
and tried
everything
but the minors.
poem by Carsten Thomsen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother In Law
(a. toussaint)
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
The worst person I know
Mother in law, mother in law
She worries me so
Mother in law, mother in law
If she leaves us alone
We could have a happy home
Sent from down below
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
Satan should be her name
Mother in law, mother in law
To me theyre about the same
Mother in law, mother in law
Everytime I open my mouth
Steps in trying to put me out
How could you stood so low
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
Come home with my pay
Mother in law, mother in law
She asks me what I made
Mother in law, mother in law
She thinks her advice is a contribution
If she would leave that would be the solution
Dont come back no more
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law....
song performed by by Huey Lewis And The News
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Close
Where’s the kid? Kirkehuse
asks. She’s in bed, she’s sleeping,
Mother says. About time; never
knew a kid to yak so much. She’s just
a child. She’s a yakker and she talks
too much. Mother cuddles up close
to Kirkehuse on the sofa as he sips
his booze. You’re too soft with her;
she gets away with things. When I
was a kid I kept quiet and did as I
was told and if I didn’t my old man’d
make sure I knew what’d happen if
I didn’t, Kirkehuse says. Mother kisses
his stubbly cheek. I try, she mutters.
Well, you don’t try hard enough.
The kid just yaks and thinks she knows
things she doesn’t. Kirkehuse looks at
Mother’s head of hair. He kisses her.
And what was that about the history
lesson, eh? She thinks we don’t know
about the Kennedys? Mother pulls at
the hem of her dress; he sips his booze.
She’s just trying to show she’s good at school,
Mother says. Kirkehuse pulls a face.
If she were my kid she’d know her place.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dope Beat
[KRS] I got a dope beat?
[all] You got a dope beat
[KRS] I got a dope beat..
[all] We got a dope beat
[KRS] I got a DOPE beat..
[all] You got a dope beat
[KRS] I got a DOPE BEAT!!
[all] WE GOT A DOPE BEAT!!
My name is at the top of all of those that mix
I'm turnin poetry into cash for eighty-seven
Some did it got paid
song performed by by Boogie Down Productions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Holiday
Holiday
Holiday
Hold it here boy is that your bag
In a small sneak and youve just been had
Is that your scene bin, been what have I seen
Well take a seat, feet, get your feet a seat
Put circle round this this and a circle round that
You put one in the front, and one in the back
Would you show it to your mother or share it with another
Slow down bitch
Oh bitch slow down
Im so good, Im so good, Im so good, man Ive been so good
Im so nice, Im so nice, Im so nice, man Im so nice
Holiday
Holiday
Im here to harass you, I want your pills and your grass you
You dont look first class you
Let me look up your ass you
I smell dope, I smell dope, I smell dope, I am smelling dope
I smell dope, I smell dope, I smell dope, I am smelling dope
Holiday
Were so good, were so good, were so good, man weve never been so good
Were so nice, were so nice, were so nice, man weve never been so nice
song performed by by Happy Mondays
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All dope can do for you is kill you... the long hard way. And it can kill the people you love right along with you.
quote by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All dope can do for you is kill you the long hard way. And it can kill the people you love right along with you.
quote by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Time Goes By
In our town there were many small shops, one selling
buttons the other socks; and a hardware store should
you need a hammer and nails to hang up a picture of
your mother -in- law, in the living room.
There was also a shop selling scarves, another selling
ladies hats, and a third one, quite posh, selling suits and
ties. I mustn’t forget the shoe shop, leather footwear
black or brown and white tennis shoes.
In our street of trade most shops have shut, those still
open are run by the Orientals where you can buy all
you need for a very small price. If your shoes wear out,
no point going to the old cobbler, buy Chinese instead.
Red lanterns sway in the fiscal breeze of decline where
wistfulness has no price tag. But you must remember
this, a shop is just a shop, yet, for us sentimental fools,
are remembered as a sweet memory of times gone by,
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wont Buy It!
if you're selling salvation
for a one time donation...
i wont buy it!
if you're selling comfort
at the expense of the poor...
i wont buy it!
if you're selling protection
at the cost of individual rights...
i wont buy it!
if you're selling love
bought with diamonds and drugs...
i wont buy it!
if you're selling truth,
but your version of truth...
i wont buy it!
if you're selling today
at the final cost of tomorrow...
i wont buy it!
if you're selling freedom
fed by guns and invasions,
i wont buy it!
get it through your head...
i wont buy it!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She Thinks His Name Was John
(sandy knox, steve rosen)
She can account for all of the men in her past
Where they are now, who they married, how many kids they have
She knew their backgrounds, family and friends
A few she even talks to now and then
But there is one she cant put her finger on
There is one who never leaves her thoughts
And she thinks his name was john
A chance meeting, a party a few years back
Broad shoulders and blue eyes, his hair was so black
He was a friend of a friend you could say
She let his smile just sweep her away
And in her heart she knew it was wrong
But too much wine and she left his bed at dawn
And she thinks his name was john
Now each day is one day thats left in her life
She wont know love, have a marriage or sing lullabies
She lays all alone and cries herself to sleep
cause she let a stranger kill her hopes and her dreams
And all her friends say what a pity what a loss
And in the end when she was barely hanging on
All she could say is she thinks his name was john
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Right On Mother
Right on mother youve really blow my mind
I never thought wed hit it off until today
Right on mother you know the way I feel
Now you know Im living with my girl and its real
I never thought you dig it so sure you hit the roof
And now you telling me you understand
That Im a man
Ba ba ba ba
Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Right on mother you know the way I feel
Now you know Im living with my girl and its real
Never thought you dig it so sure you hit the roof
And now you telling me you understand
That Im a man
Ba ba ba ba
Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Goodnight you born Ill see you in the morning
Me and morrow got a good thing on
Cos she thinks is grand
That Im a man
Ba ba ba ba
Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Right on mother you know the way I feel
Now you know Im living with my girl and its real
Ba ba ba ba
Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The greatest destroyer of peace is abortion because if a mother can kill her own child, what is left for me to kill you and you to kill me? There is nothing between.
quote by Mother Teresa
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The greatest destroyer of peace is abortion because if a mother can kill her own child, what is left for me to kill you and you to kill me There is nothing between.
quote by Mother Teresa
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Born To Kill
You are born to kill!
So kill and do think about us too;
And ask yourself,
'Which way is better? ! '
And living alone in this world or,
Living together with us;
Why was Rone built after all?
Why do you have hatred after all?
Then think twice before you kill all of us!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Virginity
My mother she had children five and four are dead and gone;
While I, least worthy to survive, persist in living on.
She looks at me, I must confess, sometimes with spite and bitterness.
My mother is three-score and ten, while I am forty-three,
You don't know how it hurts me when we go somewhere to tea,
And people tell her on the sly we look like sisters, she and I.
It hurts to see her secret glee; but most, because it's true.
Sometimes I think she thinks that she looks younger of the two.
Oh as I gently take her arm, how I would love to do her harm!
For ever since I cam from school she put it in my head
I was a weakling and a fool, a "born old maid" she said.
"You'll always stay at home," sighed she, "and keep your Mother company."
Oh pity is a bitter brew; I've drunk it to the lees;
For there is little else to do but do my best to please:
My life has been so little worth I curse the hour she gave me birth.
I curse the hour she gave me breath, who never wished me wife;
My happiest day will be the death of her who gave me life;
I hate her for the life she gave: I hope to dance upon her grave.
She wearing roses in her hat; I wince to hear her say:
"Poor Alice this, poor Alice that," she drains my joy away.
It seems to brace her up that she can pity, pity, pity me.
You'll see us walking in the street, with careful step and slow;
And people often say: "How sweet!" as arm in arm we go.
Like chums we never are apart - yet oh the hatred in my heart!
My chest is weak, and I might be (O God!) the first to go.
For her what triumph that would be - she thinks of it, I know.
To outlive all her kith and kin - how she would glow beneath her skin!
She says she will not make her Will, until she takes to bed;
She little thinks if thoughts could kill, to-morrow she'd be dead. . . .
"Please come to breakfast, Mother dear; Your coffee will be cold I fear."
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Random things about my Mother
My mother whose eyes were strained
By a sadness that stained her eyes
With grey and blue hue
My mother who never blew
Out candles on a birthday cake
My mother who never knew
The thrills of flying in an airplane
My mother who forever threw
Her pearls to swine
My mother who knew
No contentment in living
My who mother never lived
To be even seventy two
My mother who it is true
Stopped living long before she died
My mother from whose mouth flew
Words of disappointment and fury
My mother whose lips
Tasted bitter tears
My mother sat impatiently
In sorrow through her years
My mother who like Kunta Kinte
Was tamed by Diabets
My mother who was tamed
By my father
My mother who was captured by my father
My mother who fought with my father
The two them struggling false teeth piercing each others flesh
My mother who my father told to go and cook the mint
My mother who would beat us and cause wounds and bruises to our skin
My mother who love to walk about
My mother who gave a toe
A day away
My mother who kiked with her stump of a leg after she lost her foot
My mother who was a great dresser
My mother who could sing
Sang on the church choir
My mother who would be at the front of the church earliest every Saturday
My mother who insisted I be baptized and save by the holy ghost
My mother had beautiful handwriting
My mother who had nine children for five different men
My mother who tried to settle down with my father
My mother who could never swim
My mother who loved to sing
My mother who would tie us up on leashes and take us for long walks through the town
My mother who sought out hand me-downs – for our clothing
My mother who was active in the Welfare Society at church so she could cream the crop for her family
My mother who instigated many a conflicts with her numerous friend was left with only a few in the end.
My mother whom I so wanted to help evolve
My mother who I helped to live
My mother who I had to let die
My mother who lives in me
poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Boy Racer
Hes just too good-natured and
Hes got too much money and
Hes got too many girlfriends
Im jealous, thats all
Have you seen him go, though, oh ?
Have you seen him go, though, oh ?
Boy racer
Boy racer, oh
Were gonna kill this pretty thing
Boy racer
Boy racer, oh
Were gonna kill this pretty thing
Hes got too many girlfriends
He thinks he owns this city
He overspeeds and he never gets pulled over
Have you seen him go, though, oh ?
Have you seen him go, though, oh ?
Boy racer
Boy racer, oh
Were gonna kill this pretty thing
Boy racer
Boy racer, oh
Were gonna kill this pretty thing
He thinks he got the whole world in his hands
Stood at the urinal
He thinks he got the whole world in his hands
And Im gonna ... kill him !
Oh, no !
Oh, no !
Oh, no !
Oh, no !
Oh, no !
Oh, no !
Oh, no !
Oh, no !
Oh, no !
Oh ....
Boy racer
Boy racer, oh
Were gonna kill this pretty thing
Boy racer
Boy racer, oh
Were gonna kill this pretty thing
Boy racer
Boy racer, oh
Were gonna kill this pretty thing
Hes just too good-looking
Hes just too good-looking
Hes just too good-looking, and
And, and ...
Boy racer
Boy racer, oh
Were gonna kill this pretty thing
Boy racer
Boy racer, oh
Were gonna kill this pretty thing
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kawabata
No doubt
the crazy boy thinks
he's having his mother read
some sort of record
of his memories,
something that he wrote himself-
that's what he thinks
he's listening to.
His eyes sparkle
with pride.
His mother has no idea
whether or not he understands
what she's saying,
but every time
she comes to see him
she repeats
the same story,
and she gets better
and better at telling it-
it begins to seem like
she's actually reading a story
of her son's.
She remembers things
she had forgotten.
And the son's memories grow
more beautiful.
The son is drawing
the mother's story out,
helping her,
changing the story-
there's no way
of telling
whose novel it is,
whether it's the mother's
or the son's.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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