Twisted Tea bottle almost empty, lottery tickets scratched to no winnings, and a sketchbook with a drawn twisted tea and a poem about a bar. Long days slavin’, For the elite. You’ll find me, Non-discreetly, Sippin on a Tweea! Reminiscing with the locals, About how the so called “elite”, are nothing but cheap! A fraud in disguise, We all hope for “transplants” demise. A small slice of home, Almost no one knows about— And if they did, could they understand? The comfort, The vernacular, The rowdiness, The rumble of laughter? No frills, No scares, No surprises, Simple Syrup!
oh georgie o’s— an ode to you!
26.01.2025 03:18 — 👍 0 🔁 0 💬 0 📌 0
