In the city of Atlanta,
The simplest game of hide-and-seek,
Turns into murder
He asphyxiates underground,
He’s an unsolved mystery
In a city where no one has answers
Everyone knows southerners are slow.
We call it I-20 East and
Getting back to Conyers,
May just take all evening.
We don’t talk,
We barely breathe
In a sea of cars, no one speaks,
Sitting still gripping a leather bar
We have complicated the simple art of
Breathing by suffocating ourselves
And everyone knows southerners are slow.
ohhewwo wrote:I looked at this, because I hate it when people make fun of the South. Me being from Alabama, I've heard enough of it. Had you not been a Southerner yourself, Chevy, this crit would have been a jumble of cursing and ranting.
Eh, it was pretty good. Wasn't great, but it was amusing in my opinion.
You had some good stanzas and words, but it could use some work...
I understood the literal meanings, but, I couldn't tell what you were trying to get through here.
I looked at this, because I hate it when people make fun of the South. Me being from Alabama, I've heard enough of it. Had you not been a Southerner yourself, Chevy, this crit would have been a jumble of cursing and ranting.
But, yeah, I understood it, I just didn't ... unsderstand ... it ...?
120,203 Literary Works • 649,072 Reviews
Points: 6165
Reviews: 665
Donate