It Took Me An Hour To Catch A Yellow Cab In Midtown After Rush Hour.
I Guess I should consider myself Lucky.
I suppose I'm Lucky It Only Took Me Sixty Short Minutes.
Danny I Feel You.
The Guy Down The Block At The Other Corner Had His Thumb Up So Long
I Nicknamed Him Fonzarrelli.
Black Leather Jacket, Baggy Jeans,
Double Sole Yellow Timb Boots My Weekend Look.
Laid Back Nah Mean?
Do They Have A Class for Whom Not To Pick Up?
Cuz I Had On A Suit Y'all. Hair All Clean Cut,
Conked up Shinny And Wavy.
Waves Spin' Like Water Blend.
Platter Toe Italian Shoes Look Like Black Puddles,
I Could See Up My Nose If I Look Down at The Right Angle.
Leather Briefcase Strapped To My Shoulder, You Know How Us
New Yorkers get down.
Stainless Steel Designer Watch Peeking Out From Under My Agency Blue Shirt
Sleeves, With French Cuffs
Sterling Silver Cufflinks
Reflecting The Remaining Sunlight On This Fall Friday Evening.
Rockin' a Kenneth Cole Charcoal Pinstripe Sports jacket
With Sharply Creased Pants To Match, But Not By Cole
His Pant Were Made For Little Short French Dudes Modestly Endowed.
I'm Six Foot One, Size Ten Shoes And 194 Pounds.
Ladies You Know What They Say?
You don't know if you could bahleed dat, not my concern, Anyway.
A Whole Gotdam Hour It Took Me To Catch A Yellow Cab!
My lady friend Probably Found Other Interest While she Waited For My
Non-Punctual Black Ass At The Bar. I invited her to the Hottest after Work
Lounge for Black folk in NYC.
Fuck This, Imma Do A Countdown 10-9... Please.
My Luck I'll Wait Even Longer To Catch A Yellow Cab
Who Do They Think They Are Anyway?
Foreign em-other ef- uckas.
No Deodorant Wearing, Smelly Breath Havin'
Non-English Speakin' Princes Of A-Rabs.
If Not For My Ancestors That Spilt Blood
before Ford or GMC Thought of Turbine Combustion,
We Said Fuck Them!
And Fought For Our Freedom.
Now Here Comes Some Refugee Who Probably Fled From His Native Country
To Drive A Yellow Taxi In My Town And Deny Me?!!
A Whole Hour, Damn. I Counted The Cabs
As They Sped Their gold tone Chariots By me.
Nobody Inside. 65, 66, 67, 68. I'll Be Damn Seventy.
Fonzy still thumbin' it.
They Rear Over To the Other Side of the Street when they spot me.
I'm On The Left Side, From Two Blocks Away Their right Blinker Goes On.
I Finally Arrived At The Lounge, Like I Said She Was There.
Talking To A Bunch Of Thirsty Negroes At He Bar.
I Saw Her From A Far, short shinny Black Hair With Brown Streaks
A Fitted Corporate Jacket Short Skirt To Match it.
Equip With Those Round Thighs Crossed Attached To The Rest Of Her Mahogany
Toned Curvaceous Body
She Was Sippin' On An Apple Martini, I Put Her On To That.
Justin's on 6th Ave Makes the Bomb Apple Mar
She Saw Me and Waved Simultaneously Dismissing Those Other Gentlemen.
"Whassup Sweetie? You're Late."
She Said Waving Her Finger Like A Hand On a Speedometer.
"I Know, Sorry. But I Took The Train Shorty."