"Take six quarters out of the pocket
And drop it in the box, hop the 48.
Off to pay homage.
It stops often.
I jot my
watchin' citizens walkin' off the Joe Metropolitan.
Proletariats and wayward sons,
With old Filipino men speakin' in they native tongue.
And the day is just begun
Greeted by the smell of a bum,
smelling something like beer, bar, and dung.
A brother in repose in the back,
Marinatin' in a pair of half-broken headphones.
Muddled in Rhymes...
...The Northwest fills my lungs, kills the pain in my chest."
-Joe Metro, Blue Scholars