The Man with a Gun

The Man with a Gun

You runnin
with the
pot of
crime

You always
thought

It was
honesty

And perhaps
a bit
of kid
in you

Smashin a
few skulls

On the
way

And the
stash

In your
blue jeans

You travel
light

Into the
night dreams

With pink
satin and
flowers

To every
party

Of the
rich man

A day
comes

You into
yourself

Wonderin about
your shoes

Dirt on
them

From your
past crime

You must
go away,
bad man

Nature beckons
you to
hell

Caution: This might be all theory

 

 

 

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