Such an angry young man shuffles down the street.
Flat nothin to say to everyone he meets.
He mopes along in filthy torn rags
with ripped,moldy shoes
over crust blackened feet.
Folks try helping him get out of the heat.
Offer him spare change
He just 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 is to put on for you
a crazy show
Who's lovin' this baby
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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