THE COFFEE SHOP
It's early morning and I'm yawning with my coffee and cream,
Sitting in the corner of the shop trying to work on a few things,
But the observer in me starts to observe what he sees,
Taking notes of the sights and all the troubling things.
There is a man, bags in hand, having trouble to speak,
To be honest and not modest he probably aint washed in a week.
He takes some pills from his bag and he pops a few ,
He starting to nod off but he fights it he must refuse,
Cause he done seen the news, and knows how that plays out,
Being black in a coffee shop can get yo ass laid out.
What shame, whoa who's this dame, she out here dressed to kill,
I love a corporate sister killing it in a skirt and heels,
I wanna flirt for real, but I respect her skills,
Being black in corporate america, the double tax is real.
As she blow slowly the steam from her latte,
I can't help but imagine but every inch of her body.
Here come the hipsters, there go the rock punks,
There goes the kids chasing after their bus.
There's the homeless man that everybody avoids,
Because he's yelling and he's cussing and he annoys,
Here goes Mr. Big Shot, suit looking top notch,
Smiling ear to ear as he looks at his gold watch.
Time is money, and I know he got both,
Standing in the middle of all these people that are broke.
This lady been sipping her coffee so long I'm sure that there aint none left,
But I'm thinking she need that sip like she need her last breath.
Then again and better yet, that might be true as it gets,
Looking for life in her eyes and I don't see nothing left.
And as I'm writing these lines,
You know I'm typing these rhymes,
Out the corner of my eyes,
I can see the one time.
So let me finish this up,
Let me wrap this blog up,
Before they throw my ass out,
Just for holding this cup.