Romantic Cheapskate

I’ll read you poetry, I’ll tell you what I know to be true.
I’ll make a sentimental observation about the moon.
I’ll kiss you so that you could think that kisses are sublime,
but I won’t spend a penny
‘cause all that you’re worth is my time.

I got this relationship with Song Fight. We go way back.
And we never broke up but months’ll go by when I don’t call back.
And Song Fight’s on my answering machine crying, drunk on a weeknight,
begging me just to sneak by.
I keep bypassing the fashionable titles,
unbridling beats this thick plus dope recital
only once per blue moon, coincidental with a typhoon
of votes in my favor, and doom
for any rival of romantic intent.
No matter how I treat her, Song Fight loves me best.
Even though I never once took her someplace nice,
all I’ve ever got to do is look her deep in the eyes,
open up the trap, let the romance flow,
and MC Frontalot has got her good to go.

I come from the old school of the Song Fight where you must win.
It wasn’t polite back then to talk about what band who’s in.
Just get in the ring!
And it had better sound a little like you know how to sing,
or else what you wasting my time for? I don’t get, like, “free internet.”
My bandwidth’s limited.
I mean in stead-d-d of this, I could be fishing for pr0ns with my dick out.
All kinds of opportunities stick out
in my mind when I consider not clicking
this list of your lame ass eight times cause you’re that tricky.
And nobody clicks twice on these songs that you tape
except by mistake, and hit escape.
Then again, I love every single worthless last one of you.
You’re like a bottomless drain for my invective to funnel through.
And you can call her every week, you won’t win the heart.
Song Fight was Frontalot’s (when?) from the start.

Now for the rest of you song fight types up long nights
trying to get the solo right, hope somebody on the boards is nice,
holds your hand, says it’s okay that Front always wins,
that your song isn’t necessarily shallow and thin,
like one of the rest of you said in the review thread,
hoping to earn Song Fight’s love and respect.
Nevertheless, the actual fact of the situation:
Song Fight is stingier than I am, and she’s patient.
She waits when she has to for Frontalot to come,
endures bunk songs that would knock many wooees numb.
But not my Song Fight, she’s ever vigilant.
I stick my tongue in her butthole and wiggle it.
Even though I call her up collect for phone sex,
MC Front jumps the line, comes next.
And all y’all with your big bouquets could wait out here
while I whisper sweet nothing rhymes up in her ear.
Never you fear, Song Fight, I’m holding you dear.