https://old.reddit.com/r/guns/comments/1ijw9ep/i_put_a_glock_in_my_clock/
clock glock
/h/random
lankyhands
lan/ky
good morning
5hr ago
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clock glock
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Huh
I'ma need a bigger bag for the cohort
Tryna make a millionaire out of slum dogs
Bet that, head crack, blunt force
Cozy with the east Africans up north
Where seven make a three, turn a ten by law
Crescent moon wink, when I blinked it was gone
Left the crib, smacked, no sheath on the sword
Made it by the skin of my teeth, thank God
'03, momma rockin' Liz Claiborne
Had her stressin' up the wall playin' Mary J. songs
Rainy day came, couldn't rinse the stains off
Long way to go, we already came far
Story stayed the same, it was never madе up
Threw me loose changе, look at what I made of it
When the mood change, I'ma poker-face 'em
It's a new day, who got all the aces?
Who be foldin' late? Who know when to play dead?
Who sit up straight when the roof caved in?
Had a full plate, you ain't wanna split it
Tell it to you straight, you ain't wanna listen
Cup runneth over the brim
Bust open, there's no closin' the lid
Drumroll, here go my lil' entrance
Gung ho, I'm the one that go get it
Five O's on me like the Olympics
Pure gold, somethin' told me, "Don't mix it"
Caught a feelin', momma had me out Temple
Not religious, we was really out Philly
Livin' on the fly tryna wing it
We got us a fire to rekindle
Redirect the fight where it's meant for
Triumph over plight and immense loss
Ride alone at night, I get clear thoughts
Caught a couple slights and I veered off
Saw another height, had my ears poppin'
Walked outside, it was still gorgeous
Sharp incisors reveal slowly
In the dark inside, we was real hungry
On a seven of the five, we was real hungry
Uh, niggas still drummin'
Foot shook ground when I stepped on it
Didn't look back when I broke soil
'Cause every time I did it would hurt more
In the dark inside, we was real hungry
On a seven of the five, we was real hungry
And I didn't look back when I broke soil
'Cause every time I did it would hurt more
Alright
Yessir, this nigga spittin'
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In a house on a hill, not far from the dock, Stood an old, quirky, and curious clock. With gears that would tick and tock with a rock, And something inside gave a jolt and a shock.
"Oh, what's in this clock?" you might wonder aloud, "This clock has a secret, hidden and proud." Inside there's a tool that would make a thug balk, For snug in the gears is a shiny ol' Glock.
This Glock in the clock wasn't there to chime, Nor strike at the hours—it just bided its time. In the clock it would nestle, as snug as a sock, Guarding the house with a ready-made shock.
Now if a home invader should creep through the door, With his sneaky intentions and mischief galore, The old clock would tick with a mischievous clack, And with a swift motion, it'd give them a whack.
For this wasn't a clock of your everyday flock, It housed something more—yes, it housed a Glock. The intruder would freeze, in mid-sneak, deadlocked, By the clock's stern reminder: "You've picked the wrong block!"
So if ever you visit that house near the dock, And spy the old, quirky, and curious clock, Remember this rhyme, and give it a knock, But beware what you find, for inside is a Glock.
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Did you write this yourself?
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No it was copilot
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