Hood

A little political piece.

Hood raised,
Bat in hand,
Giving me that look,
I understand.

Your not to be messed with,
That’s right you’re ‘hard,’
You’ll win in a fight,
Playing your cards.

Jumping left and right,
Throwing many punches and kicks,
Fighting for the money,
Waiting for the fix.

Trying so hard,
To catch that dragon you chase,
Not looking back,
Not looking at their face.

They’re just people,
A means of money or cash,
Not to be taken seriously,
Not to do anything rash.

Until they look at you wrong,
And you call your mates,
“There’s something going down,”
Give them the time and place.

And you’ll rush him,
With a glint of metal and a thousand tears,
You’ll see his blood run,
And you’ll see that for years.

You were just an experiment,
Of the fabulous Mr. Blighty.
That quintessential Englishman,
F*****g with society.