Granny and The Sagger-a poem of protest to baggy pants and boxers
Standing in line bored and waiting
Man, I’m starved, cannot wait to taste.
Glancing around while the lady is plating
I spy a boy with his pants below his waist.
Call a cop! Quick before they drop!
Lawd, Lawd! Grab ‘em fast because I just spilled
my pop. I spy his buttocks spilling over the top.
I’m an old lady, my pacemaker might stop!
There it goes, I see him waving to all six of them
Oh me, oh my! Are they hip hop boys or that M&M?
I am proud to be drug free and cannot handle crack.
Why do they think I want to see that when I snack?
I heard someone say that they are called saggers.
And I think they all are lazy and will end up as beggers
But I see he just pulled out a wad of dough.
His pants are slipping and sliding. Stop! Whoa!
Where oh where are my glasses? Can I move closer
to see better as he passes? Surely this is not kosher!
My head begins to really pound and I look around.
Somebody save me. Now they are on the ground!
I knew when I saw his underwear like that
My heart would fail and now I am having an attack!
Look at him grin, his posse is laughing. He should be
punished. Take this I yell as he gasps at what I am grasping.
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