8 months ago

The lyrics are all mine.
The image was generated using Leonardo.ai.
The voice and music were generated using Suno.com.

Find my original entire book of rap here:
https://www.amazon.com.au/Sales-Pitch-Matthew-Vandenberg/dp/1685830749

Here are the original posts, from 2016:
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/17s3BZntoL/

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AERIAL

The pilot's a guy; gent; fella, like there's a manned rising aerial station/
There's intelligence and insemination/
Are they any bit real?, like some aerial sensation/
I guess I'm picky when it comes to bedding a prick for an examination/
If this test is on free love or having kids, can it be taken alone,
because I'd prefer masturbation/
I'll use AI on my phone, if there's a plan,
so to make mine cellular enough to be like tubes that are fallopian,
but I still can't pretend I'm fucking a whole chick-on-call if I'm knowingly blowing a man/
Not only that, but he's a principal principal,
and only one in command/
I enter a Taiwanese, Chinese, or is it Siamese?, cockpit/
Do I even want aerial twins?/
I don't know how and where I got myself into any of this/
The plane's a place for some conflict/
On one display unit's a letter to a chick I dig/
The pilot asks me if I'd like to deliver it to the woman I'm sitting with/
And now I know that he's the bro with ambition who digs the chick that I'm wanting to kiss/
Yeah, that is so hard to miss/
And this dude's so hard to diss/
This guy is flying a fucking plane,
while I think I was trying to take a piss,
but now, in time, I think I might try to take the piss out of him/
But I see yellow text,
and it says here he's serious,
and I see green text,
and it says here that she is/
He says: 'That's the altimeter setting/
'Yeah, my girlfriend is on high/
'The other green text implies I'm positioned by her thighs like jets'/
I say: 'Okay, I'm out'/
'That's what I said,' he says/
Forget a bout,
because I've seen his pecs,
and I'm a lover, not a fighter,
but still fighting for a place in the affections of another lover/
How the fuck can this guy work out while he's flying fighter jets?/
How the fuck am I to work out how to impress a chick best when the fingers of the competition are this deft?/
Replace the cockpit with a cunt or clit and he'd def make the chick wet,
coz he knows how one can go down,
but would he ever do this best?/
I don't know what to think next,
coz this ain't Romeo and Juliet/
He says: 'we're right above Bermuda/
'How do you like different angles?'/
I say: 'So, is there a problem?/
'Let's discuss it from a right angle,
and handle it respectfully'/
He says: 'Sometimes when approaching triangles,
you may find no fine right angles/
'Just deliver the letter please'/
Okay. I'll disappear/
I think I'll jump into the bitter breeze and sea/
He says: 'I've got a parachute for you too/
'On it are more love letters of mine,
which she'll read when you leave,
coz I'm a poet too/
'I write like you wouldn't believe'/
I bow my head in shame/
I know of no refrain,
and I'm covered in pee/
'I can be warm,' is all I say/
But he's doing forty push-ups after helping me escape the plane,
and in a way that won't lead to my fate/
Arrgh! He's a suitable date!/
Still, maybe he compensates a small penis with massive planes/
Oh wait, that's not a lever that I'm watching him shake/
Why can't it be a woman pissing on me this way?/