Well I guess I need to start picking out a dress for this season's pageants. Isn't there more to life than this? Isn't there more to life than looking beautiful and sexy on stage while gawking judges rate my performance? I know that now that I'm four years old, I have to start figuring out my future. I can't be a kid forever.
Last night I recorded my thoughts in a rap, which I would perform if my mommy let me listen to rap music:
Dropping a rhyme
like a pantomime,
all in due time
what's my crime?
I'm only four,
and nothing more,
shut the door,
life's such a chore.
Living and breathing,
always deceiving,
then comes grieving
no more believing.
[10 minutes of beat-boxing and jazz hands]
And now I'm tired,
of being inspired,
when everyone's wired
and fully perspired.
Dropping that rhyme
like a pantomime,
all in due time.
That's my crime!
~I'm Crying For Help
