Memoirs of an American Frogman by Tristan J. Colvin (first ebook reader TXT) 📖

What it should be.

Fag and queer was all I used to hear,
Up until the seventh year of school,
Then I started poppin' mouth
So those dudes could only drool.
You probably think I'm angry,
I'm really just kinda crazy mixed with a little bit of lazy.
I guess what I'm saying is I just wish these chumps would be nice to me,
But that's just a dream.

Stumped.

I've got writers block,
My mind is blank,
My brain is locked,
And I can't think.

Get a new idea,
Write it down,
Scratch my ear,
Sribble it out.

If I could think freely you know that I would,
instead of locking it out,
I'd do all I could,
To write every thought down

My oh my, and oh gee, what I'd give to no longer be,
The roots of a tree.


Dirty, a Jimmy Smith poem.

Where do I start?
I have something to say,
I’ll make it sound smart.

I’m always scheming, every night and day.
Participating in criminal activity.
Snatching purses while old ladies shout “Hey!”

People soak up all my negativity.
I’m like a villain,
While I make fun of my enemies.

You’ll never see me chillin’
That’s too easy!
I’m sorry about your cat, I didn’t mean to kill him!

Yesterday I strangled Chester Cheesy,
For looking at me,
Like I was sleazy.

Speaking of me,
Have you heard the news?
I’ve started to behave a little more atrociously.

Still packing all the same tools,
Still strutting a thong,
Stealing all your family jewels.

So maybe it’s a little wrong,
So what?
It’s just words to a dumb little song.

So for the moment,
You can kiss my big, white butt.
Because you’ll never be able to stop my manly strut!


The Doctor, a Jimmy Smith poem.

“Mr. Smith, it seems that you have herpes.”
That sucks, probably from humpin’ Donald Trump’s hair piece.

The Doc tells me “At the moment there’s no cure”
I start laughing and tell him what I did to that fur.

He laughs too.
And says “You’re one sick dude.”

Talk about spoutin’ the obvious.
So I strangled him for now being courteous.

Mangled him, and threw him in my truck.
Drove it off a bridge and blew it up!

It’s not my problem, I stole it anyway.
Whatever, I do it every day.

Go home, get cleaned, and shaved.
Dig up a grave.

Jump in.
Hotbox until my eyes turns grey!
Start blasting a track by Marvin Gay.

Anyway, what was I sayin’?
I think life’s a game and I’ll never stop playin’!

But this ain’t a joke, I ain’t playin’
I’m the most ill rhyme sayin’,
Cold flow creatin’,
Cretin who can’t stop screamin’!


My Boxers, a Jimmy Smith poem.

Words fall out of my mouth like boxers showin’ my South.
Makin’ me run funny.
Faster than the Energizer Bunny,
Breakin’ down the door sayin’
Honey, I’m home!
Don’t acknowledge the rackety moan,
It’s just the neighbor I locked in the stove!

What do you mean “we should call the police”?
So they can bust in here and tell us to freeze?
Sorry ma’am, it ain’t happenin’.
And you’re a witness, so it looks like I’m straight kidnappin’
Then it’s backpackin’ from here.
You’re quiet, how queer?
Damn it, where are you going?
Get back here!
Well, looks like you wanna fight,
and that wasn’t very bright,
because I’m the only one with a knife
and I’m about to squeeze the life out of you,
like when a champagne bottle goes, pew!

Welp, now I got another body for my collection,
right next to the funny lookin’ guy with a butt chin,
Speakin’ of butt chins and a potty mouth,
Didn’t I start this about my down south?
Man if I had a quarter for every time,
I was told I’m out of order or out of line,
I’d be super high!
Oh, you thought I meant money?
Nah, I meant drugs to make you feel funny,
Strange, and all out of whack,
and never comeback because that hit you took was crack!

Ah man, now my audience is dead,
Screwed in the head
By a damn hallucinogen.


Uncoordinated, A Jimmy Smith poem.

Oh damn,
A pretty lady with a man,

Just walked by
And I’m so damn high,

That I’m willing to fight this dude
But he must be like eight foot two
With one bicep the size of my two

I run up and punch the guy
Right in the eye
But he shrugs it off like I’m a fly

So I sock him in his fly on his pants
All of a sudden he’s no longer a giant

So I go up to the babe
Ask if she wants to go to a rave

And she asks “Why would I go with you?”
So I tell her “You’d love to,
Watch me go into a backroom to do mushrooms.”

She tells me I need to beat it,
So I meet up with some Koreans, find a dog, and eat it.


Fearless, A Jimmy Smith poem.

Am I fearless?
Or am I just dumb?
If I am, maybe I shouldn’t play with guns.

Tristan’s dad made me crazy,
But bullies and mean teachers are what really make me angry.
And I laugh, every time I get stomped on by that dumb kid Justin,
Who thinks he’s from Compton.
Now he’s stepped in doodoo,
Because I’m farther on the Dark Side than Count Duku.
I lift him up with my force powers,
Smack him around with a ripped off shower head,
until he realizes he’s white, not packin’ lead.

I’m a villain with a top hat and monocle,
Destroying the city in a giant bionicle,
Breaking down every obstacle in my path,
Screaming “You may all fear my wrath!”
Tristan doesn’t want to be a super hero no more,
I’m a villain, and I’ll kick in the door,
Just to feed a mogwai at midnight.

So am I fearless, or just dumb?
I dunno,
Till then I’ll just keep hitch hiking with a broken thumb.


Dear Dad.

Dear Dad, I don’t have many fond memories of you.
Probably because you left when I was two,
And I didn’t see you again until I was thirteen.
Before I had any wit within me.

Now let’s see,
If I can make a discrete,
Way of describing you without getting thrown out of school.
You’re a dirty bum,
You stink,
And you’re just plain dumb for doing what you did to me,
For all I care, I ain’t even you’re kid,
But I can’t thank you enough for giving me the inspiration to do this little bid.

Man, you got dark hair and dark eyes,
And they only want me want to help you meet your demise,
See, what you did is make everybody tell me lies,
Like you were good,
Until I started using my eyes, then I only wanted to watch you die.
You’re a crook, and I’ll smack you with a book,
if I ever see you again,
But now I got a new friend whose a better father than you’ve ever been.

Now I’m done,
I give up, you’re gone,
At least I got lyrics to sound good in a song.

Sincerely,
You’re favorite super hero struttin’ a thong.


Things We Eat.

We eat our food in so many ways
From oysters and scallops to cakes and flambés
Boxed macaroni to hotdogs of phony
Green eggs and ham
Or fried egg noodle spam?
There are many things that we people eat.
Like Jell-O made of horse feet.
From spices of few, to spices of many.
When it comes to things to eat, we have plenty.

Packed.

Everybody run, get out and go.
Somebody standing with a gun and it’s cocked.
There’s a desperate man screaming “This place is gonna blow!”

But oh no.
The doors are locked.
Everybody find a way to get out and go.

These men just ruined the show.
Got every door blocked.
There’s a desperate man screaming “This place is gonna blow!”

There’s a bomb with a thirty six year old
Man, whose mad.
Everybody run, get out and go.

People wishing they were where the flowers grow.
They’ll be there in an hour or so.
Everybody run, get out and go.
This place is gonna blow.


A Day’s Work, A Jimmy Smith poem.

I try to make rhymes in lines
That make mom’s faces look like they took a bite of a lime,

With 40 year old mold.
I love pretending to be cold and heartless,

Only makes me laugh until I’m crying and breathless.
Jokes about gross sex and angry dicks are just in my nature.

So what if I write it on paper,
That I’m a naked crusader who beat up Darth Vader,

All I am is an ill rhyme sprayer
Shootin’ my catapult at John Mayer.


Laid Out, a Tristan poem.

Runnin’ and gunnin’, without any bullets
Chasing a dream, with nothing on me.
So let us,
Discuss,
The shit just,
Laid in front of me, makin’ me think maybe
I could be,
The person who sees my world scene for scene,
Please release me from these dreams,
It’s just too real, and it’s going to kill me.
I want to leave,
Please just take these demons away from me.

I wish I could put it all behind,
But every time I try to it’s like
I’m stuck in a merry-go-round,
I’m not giving up,
this is my life now.
And fuck anyone who wants to disagree,
Suck a dick,
Lick some balls,
Lick three clits, bitch,
Sorry for the swears, it’s a Tourette’s itch.

I can’t change my mind,
It’s just how I feel,
It’s all that’s mine,
And all that’s real.

It’s all I am,
It’s who you see,
And if it makes you hate me,
Let it be.

Because what I see
Is a weeny straight complainin’ from eight to three.

And three to nine is my free time
Away from all the people trying to climb

On my back for writing more rap
People say “Tristan’s this Tristan’s that!”
Where am I at for all that crap?
Looks like I say what I like and people just get mad.

C’mon people don’t believe it,
Don’t ostracize the demon
Schemin’ on switching your mayo for semen.
Leavin’ a toilet paper trail, down a path you shouldn’t follow
Or you’ll end up having to swallow liquor until you drown in your sorrow.

Cause my mind is like a fire hose,
And when it stops no one knows,
But I know fo show,
If I take the blow,
I won’t be held accountable.


Tristan And Jimmy.

Fuck it, kid.
Relax, watch my bid.
My attitude is no reason for you to flip your lid.
All I wanted to do was have a little fun,
I say a few things and you say I’m done?
Ha-ha kid, that’s a good one.
See, you made me to be the evil against all