The Sony Poet

He liked to flash the Queens head about,
and roll it into a tube.
Brand new Nikes and a hat to match.

Colour, not the label.
Signed by Sony!
Oh those walkmans,
So robust.

Looking for the ears that pricked
his French accent twirled about.
“I rap you see.”
Another poet! Urban too.
The legion did you say?
Racking up lines on the outskirts
of the modern courts

I’m touching fame

His scaled legs dipped in dye
to match his hat and trainers.
“Boy meets girl.
And girl.
She meet boy,
That IS what’s important!”

Oh. The Red, it offends me.