Her name was Smith

Lyrical beautiful genius

Had a body to die for

Has a mind of an architect

Mouth brimming with filth


A singer, poet, author, leader

A black sheep, a whore, a rock and roll nigger

Dancing barefoot pissing in the river

With middle fingers held high

On the courtyard’s steps


The true god-mother of anarchy

Punk’s dream queen



I love a woman who can rhyme

The greatest wordsmith I’ve seen

Since I was a teen

I watched you

Outside of the politically correct bullshit

Outside of society, looking in

At the game they play



I’ll hold your works close

Till you’re gone, buried, and rotted

To nothing but ash


Pumping my fist in the night

Because of you

… Smith




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