The man who jogs
He sat for a while
He pondered and wandered
About how his life
About how his wife
Was sold for a dream

The man who collects stamps
He left for the states
Left him in ruin
And left him in chains

For now he had a job
A job slicing meat
The man who jogs
Now stands near the line
He chops at the tenders
He thinks of his wife

And one fated day
That man with the stamps
Came by his butchery debauchery
And whispered in his ear
This fated verse

'You cannot jog from what
Ails you in time,
I can only send you
This endearing rhyme

You work for the meatman
You sell off your soul
My bars do come swiftly
My tongue, they do roll

Our love was for real
My heart you did take
Imagine how much money
My rapping could make

Good luck with your slicing
My condolences too
Drive up on my lambo
Their rhymes will not do.'