He talks like he’s an old mannered guy,
He acts like he’s around on his twenty five.
He plays his game in a court of fame,
That rising star wearing shorts is so hard to tame.
He makes jokes and we easily get laugh,
He sometimes gets mad and he easily gets rough.
He forced me to write a poem about him,
All I can say is he is much better than a thickly rim.
I say, he is a player and sincere friend as well.
He never leaves you even if you are jumping in hell.
When he cracks his nuts, I can stop laughing.
That player with ball is terribly good in folk dancing.
He has this pink bag on his voluptuous back,
He runs crazily like he’s making his most famous act.
He sometimes gets out of his real focus,
Someday he’ll get things on his well locus.
