Lentz pens poem to Penn

BJ Penn and Nik Lentz have been going back and forth in the media but tonight Lentz took trash talk to a whole different level, penning a poem:

Hey Beej,

It seems you’re mouthing off,

and making some cracks,

about my boy Mike Dolce,

because he can’t get back.

As you distort all the facts,

and reinterpret the past,

when he worked so hard to save you

from your own fat ass.

Then after you took your beating

instead of being a man

you pointed at him

and said it was his plan.

As you flailed around,

eating jabs and hooks

you didn’t blame yourself

you blamed your cook.

Which is really kind of like

the bully you are

You hog glory when you win

but from blame you stay far.

When a better fighter beats you,

not once, not twice,

but the same amount of times

as those little blind mice.

You got three chances to beat Frankie E

and he mopped the cage

with your legend

for all to see.

Now you sit in Hawaii

contemplating your doom

or beating up your friends

in hotel rooms

But nothing keeps you happy

so you persist

in seeking out glory

you’re a narcissist

All you are is an image

so now you must try

to reacquire the spotlight

narcissistics apply.

By calling out a nutritionist

or me, his friend

to try to suck more fame

before it all ends

But look at it from my place

as you light another joint

Me and you fighting

what’s the point?

Leaving you for dead

won’t move me up the ranks

in your last dozen fights

you absolutely stank

You’re defense is downright awful

So’s your attack

You haven’t looked good

since we invaded Iraq

You can’t knock me out

with a sock full of dimes

and like Frankie from New Jersey

I can beat you three times

But what vacuum in my career

can it possibly fill?

To tool you up standing

or take you down at will?

See, fighting is my present

and fighting is your past

So calling me out

makes you look like an ass

Like the videos on YouTube

I’m going to watch later

You’re like a cranky old man

offering to fight a bunch of skaters

A rusty old destroyer

that can no longer sink ships

Who gets beat up all the time

like a World Star clip

So save your idle chatter

This poem should let you know

I’m on my way somewhere

you can no longer go

So pack the bong and take a rip

Spend your money’s money

but stop your boring blathering

you fat old dummy

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