Life has little meaning - Black Santa has moved on, or quite possibly the worst melange of poetic styles anyone will ever read.....
Tis' the morning after our Salemtown bash,
and hutchmo is bereft,
I've stooped to 3rd person,
cuz, Black Santa has LEFT.
he mumbled some excuses,
as he stroked his gray beard,
and then frankly speaking,
he said, "hutchmo YOU'RE weird..
your rhymes aren't as good as the great CLC,
and i've grown somewhat tired of your irascibility,
it's time to move onward from Chez de Hutchmo,
but i'm staying in Salemtown, not far will I go"
"My new home is swaddled in such gay apparel,
not clothed in jeans blue, and outdated Merrell,
there'll be fine dining, dancing, and deep-tissue rubs,
not sitting around in sweats, watching re-runs of Scrubs..
I'm looking for excitement, some Beam in my nogs,
not sitting around scratching and reading the blogs,
Quit yer whinin' hutchmo, it's not as if I've been Nicked,
some of the time,
I've got to formulate a plot fore I end up in jail or shot
Success is my only motha-santa option, failure's not
Mom, I love you, but this old man's got to go
I cannot grow old in Salem's lot*
With those oddly familiar words,
Black Santa was gone,
trailing P-funk along with M & Ms on the lawn...
'tis not dew that glistens upon that lawn,
it's the tears from knowing that Black Santa has gone,
and knowing that he will sup with another,
it feels as if I've lost my last brother...
oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in hutchmo-Black Santa has moved out.
*At this point, Black Santa apparently decided to channel Eminem copyrighted material.
