Tattered foreign objects have been
Thrown at me,
Help me survive.
No, you step on my fingers as I
Lay there on the ground,
Pleading for your help
Yet it is you who throws stuff at me.
Slamming vases into my legs,
Crashing lamps against the wall,
Expecting me to explain
The fourteen shades of Suge,
Ranging from dark blue to dark red.
Alas you choose not to help me,
For you are too busy
Trying to find something else
To throw at me.