Not Poetic

The one thing my star sign got wrong,
Is that I'm not poetic,
I know I could never see myself,
Ever trying to neck it,
Sitting down and thinking of words that rhyme,
I've never even tried it,
Never had the time,

I could never be a poet,
Sitting down and thinking,
When I'd rather be drinking,
Getting out the bong &; listening to tunes,
2 hours later we'll be talking about balloons,
And when I get into my natural state,
I know I'd never be able to rhyme,
I'll be a fucking state.

On to writing stories,
Ok I can do that,
One day in Scarborough,
There lived a cat,
Sitting down and thinking,
Of what he can do,
Should I try a poem?
Nah, that'll never do,

Up he got and walked... over to the gate,
Out in to the street,
As though he was running late,
Walked round another bend,
But never got far,
He got hit by a car,
The End.