Overkill

Chillun'
I'll tell you something...

When the Muse begins,
She just don't stop.
She talks her rhythm
Until she drop.

She moves to the rhythm
Of the poetry beat,
Beating out her rhymes with her
Poetry feet.

Some rhymes come and
Some rhymes go.
Some just stop but
Some just flow.

Her flowin' rhymes,
They make me feel,
That this, her poem,
Her poem is real.

But, when I hear her voice
Real shrill,
I know that it is
Overkill.