Moon’s still falling, it races to the line Alarm app buzzing; a critic in the night The work’s never over, always on the cusp Jaw set tight, he’s already catching up He drafts a future in a spiral-bound bible Forged in fire, through action, his revival Pull-ups on patience that’s wearing too thin Reps as rosary, a penance for the binge He leaves too early, arrives too late Speeding through traffic, negotiating fate Gotta get to the grind, climb the ladder Don’t waste time; he’s got records to shatter He can’t tap out with his head unbowed, Can’t lose ground in a tightening crowd, Running on fumes and unfinished food, Stacking small wins as a bulletproof roof. Just call him the Big Dawg…Just call him the Juice. He needs to know (needs to know!) that his work bears fruit. He’s rising, and grinding, and has no idea, He needs a high 5 and the Bro’s Panacea: "What up, Big Dawg." He adds more plates though his wrists complain Veins like wires under tensile strain Numbers climb on a glowing screen Debt and doubt in a dull routine He fixes hinges, windows, and broken latches Tracks macros, income, and all the big matches He wants to live the dream like that guy at the gym So he pumps more weight, an Iron Temple hymn He won’t give in while there’s daylight to burn, Won’t miss shifts when there’s more to earn, Rise and grind is his solemn vow, Even cheat days can’t have him now. Just call him the Big Dawg…Just call him the Juice. He needs to know (needs to know!) that his work bears fruit. He’s rising, and grinding, and has no idea, He needs a high 5 and the Bro’s Panacea: "What up, Big Dawg." ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ © 2026 The Badfatler All rights reserved.
