Get Outta My Car

By Stone Bryson

My friends’ve been hearing all the stories

‘bout your escapades,

just heard all about the construction guy

you both in mirrored shades.

So I must ask, if y’all jammed

or is he just another friend?

I’m so fed up with all your lies,

when will they ever end?

Your legs are spread for so many men

yet you want to be my wife…

I’m telling you, bitch, get outta my car

and forever, get outta of my life.

I see you come home, from one of your stints

too tired to make love,

If you saved a little, of yourself for me

your scream’d be heard up above.

But to ask you for this courtesy

is a question never chanced,

to give to me is, to take away from

the men you’ve yet romanced.

Your mouth is open for so many men

yet you want to be my wife…

For the last time bitch, get outta my car

and get the fuck outta my life.

I can imagine all your passion screams

echoing through motels,

for all the shit you’ve put me through

I hope you burn in hell.

Copyright © 2006 Stone Bryson.  All Rights Reserved.

Written July 1987

[Back Home]   [Back To The Poetry Vault]