I know my poems are just da bomb

I know my poems are just da bomb

It’s true, sez poetscam.com

They spam my rear with news I won

In guise to sell all ‘neath the sun

I shall not fail this test of poem

Else I shall lose my only home

Oh wait, I fear I just misspoke

For rhymesters earn no bucks--they’re broke!

So even if my verse be tops

Repossessors may bust my chops

And throw my butt upon the street

To freeze each night, sans any heat

So do I craft this art in vain

Or might the ends be worth my pain?

I shan’t be sure, till reaper shows

And I’m forever comatose
 

For then the Lord shall judge the worth

Of all I’ve done upon the earth

If judgment says I’m in the black

Then your opinion don’t mean Jack

So I’ll continue to create

Though two days passed since I last ate

I’ll write and dream that I get rich

But until then, my life’s a #@*&%$

Of poetry, they don’t care none

Their scam is spam, to sell, and run

So when I try to claim my prize

They wave invoices in my eyes

They’ve taken gall to brand new heights

Which shows their business model bites

Though prey they do on rookie hopes

My heart tells me they’re gutless dopes

To prove how clueless these fools be

I fake this faux literacy

To see if it may win their test

And they proclaim that I’m the best

Then I shall know they’re all e-crooks

Who prob’ly keep two sets of books

One for themselves, one for the Feds

How is it all straight in their heads?

Boo Boo ba Boo

Dis poem is coo'

Don’t pay no bills

From Owing Mills