Hidden sprinkle

Yeah bitch I’m dope sick,
I ghost write for old wives in folk tales on ghost ships,
Smokeless fire you already know who I roll with,
Hopeless liars apparently I sold my soul to it,
By the orchids in the courtyard next to the Hellenic cross,
I spit game to the lesbians, trannys and the rebellious lost,
I don’t think this life was ever worth it
My spirit is built upon broken bricks where the cold wind fits me perfect.
The penny drops when Mary Poppins drinks Scotch
Victorian hard knocks covered in forget me nots
This is my face there is no way you can escape me,
I’m drunk in the winehouse, burlesque spirit like Amy.
Oh you like the night life living on the edge, I’m with frank in the corner getting ready for Minnies wed.
Boy I got words for you. You like those flickering lights on the premise.
Thick black frames, fedora with a blazer with a dog tag shinning dennis.

That was sick. Well done