He has thumbs, but he ain't snappingMature

This guy,

He walks these streets

Like he owns the place.

Say otherwise,

He’ll rip off your face,

So, better to stay away,

From the arms that sway,

This way,

and that way.

Because if you give him a chance

A wrong glance is all he needs,

His vest is the color of all that bleeds.

Now they all say,

Make way,

Make way,

For the animal prince,

The gangsters have avoided him since.

He might be short,

He might pick bugs,

He might pick fights,

With all kinds of thugs,

But I’d rather take cyanide

Than give him a ride.

This little guy,

he’s straight forward and loose,

You get in his way,

There’ll be no truce.

Because well,

He’s a fucking chimp in a vest…

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed