Smoke stack, smoking cigarette pack, gives off a smoke signal,
enter your lungs, you now start to choke and unable to giggle.
Smoke packed in your pocket hanging off your back,
your ass wants the space back and your lungs want its air back.
Tobacco barrels tightly packed, with the pack, it’s always given a pat.
Why? It hasn’t done any good, drop the pack
and I’ll give you a pat on the back!
Blazing the ground with ambition, call it a raising smoke stack,
fire under your ass, ego burned and up in flames.
Motivation maimed, with nowhere to aim, you decide life will stay the same.
What happened to the locomotion?
Burn the coal in that motivational train…