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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=347120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Son Of A Gun</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=347120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">This Son Of A Gun<br>he can barely run carrying his own weight<br>his belley runs over his balls he is decadent to the core<br>inebreted by wine whiling away his time with filty whores<br>he smells of ganja sniffing coke smokeing dope<br>he curses down the religions and the pope<br>he has no morals has sold away his values<br>with the devil he dines <br>he owns nothing and nothing that he can call mine</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=347120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">This son of a gun<br>he rolls over when the kick is done<br>shocking passeres by mooning over at the foot path<br>busking away at tea shops and bazzar's<br>he is alone he is one in a hazaar<br>he use to be a winner <br>but now he is just a looser<br>blowing the trupet beating old rum's<br>waiting for the time when the next fix can be done<br>who can match this filhty man<br>littering the streets with his own vomit<br>he bangs into you like a haleay's comit</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=347120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> The Son Of A Gun<br>his family he has left to rot<br>for the plaesures of the almighty pot<br>he has no qualms as pleasure is what he seeks<br>smoking spliff's tied to his narrow beak<br>tatoo's on his arm are his only identity<br> with his over grown dirty coat he hides his vanity</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=347120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> The Son of a Gun<br>some thorw change at him when they like the tune of his flute<br>as kids pick up from the kitty and enjoy the loot<br>he aknowledges both passer by's and the looters<br>as he blow's once in a while from his shappy hooter<br>he has no direction he has no cause<br>yet you stop to look at him with a slight pause<br>This gun this son of a gun</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=347120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">He rubs his hands as the witer fog grows thick<br>his eyse popping out as he catches the nip<br>only coffee to keep him company ina tattered mug<br>he is a mean fella looking like a slug<br>the pavement is his home and the bazzar's his abode<br>This gun this bloody son of a gun</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Anuj+Tikku">Anuj Tikku</a></strong></div>