Tattoos in Mayberry

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Such an angry young man shuffles down my street.
Flat nothin to say to everyone he meet.
Folks try to help him get out of the heat.
He mopes along in filthy torn rags
with ripped,moldy shoes casings
over crust-blackened feet.
Offer him spare change
He will throw it in the street.
How'd he get to be that way?
Won't somebody,please,
put a hit out on his miseries?
Town folk say he'd be much better off dead.
With a bullet to the head.

Got no friends
tellin' you no jokes.
Won't let you offer up one of your smokes.
Run down, hustled, jacked, took down, beat.
Flattened like a pancake on crackdown street.

The game's to put on for the you
a crazy show
Who's lovin' my babies?
I don't know?
What a shame
you've forgotten my name.
How'd things get to be this way?
Won't somebody,please,
put a hit out on my miseries?
Town folk say I'd be much better off dead.
With a bullet to the head.

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Buddy Bee Anthony


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