Dear Letter Poem

Dear Tears of a Tiger,

I’m not ready to go six feet under but my name claims I am.

The dude who made me is six feet under but smoked so much marijuana I smell like it.

The dude was real fat and burped a lot. He and his friends made me in like a year.

My producer is now one of the richest guys around. I’m a triple platinum copy. At least I think I am but you have it easy. You were made by a woman.

I constantly get played and sold. Two years ago I lived in New York, now I live in Costa Rica. The guys who play me, constantly wipe me down, they call me old but I still play well.

I have beats, lyrics, and women, lots of women. You have words on pages. You have no pictures or excitement. I have stories of my childhood, my girl, I even teach teenagers lessons about growin up in the city and the problems of the projects.

See I’m one of the original cds, I came out in 1994, brand new. These past few years I’ve been in more computers than actual cars. I get copied over and over again. I shed scratch marks and occasionally stop on random sometimes just for fun. These youngies think I’m broke, nah I’m doing remixes,

                          Sincerely Ready To Die

PS: Sorry but this is a rhetorical question