• You got an uber mail,
    it reads "Go to hell."
    Say as You can tell,
    I will have to not only rhyme but spell,
    out how much I wish we could sell,
    you off to some kid for show and tell,
    that will cause the class to go pale,
    cause you stink and are stale,

    not even near your due date,
    but they can't wait,
    to throw you out the gate,
    filled with so much hate,
    about your new fate,

    for the weaker one,
    who killed his son,
    with a unloaded gun,
    and then would dare run,
    hoping for it to be undone,
    but he could of never won,

    cause this is a game,
    and the lame,
    quite so same,
    as their name,
    that always blame,
    the others for the fire and the flame,
    that would forever tame,
    them in shame,

    How sad you are,
    for thousands of mile far,
    with no job and no car,
    yet throw money around to replace the tar,
    of the street that you like to spar,

    Mr. America on,
    with the gnomes of every lawn,
    watching you with the dawn,

    coming down,
    then around,
    without a sound,
    and ground,

    you to the floor,
    and break open a new door,
    for you to explore,
    and exist never more,

    to your doom,
    in the waiting room,

    where you must be weighed,
    and never delayed,
    to either fly or have stayed,

    in the airport cell,
    getting handled by a male,
    and all you remember is,
    That mail,
    Go To Hell.