The Son Of A Gun
This Son Of A Gun
he can barely run carrying his own weight
his belley runs over his balls he is decadent to the core
inebreted by wine whiling away his time with filty whores
he smells of ganja sniffing coke smokeing dope
he curses down the religions and the pope
he has no morals has sold away his values
with the devil he dines
he owns nothing and nothing that he can call mine
This son of a gun
he rolls over when the kick is done
shocking passeres by mooning over at the foot path
busking away at tea shops and bazzar's
he is alone he is one in a hazaar
he use to be a winner
but now he is just a looser
blowing the trupet beating old rum's
waiting for the time when the next fix can be done
who can match this filhty man
littering the streets with his own vomit
he bangs into you like a haleay's comit
The Son Of A Gun
his family he has left to rot
for the plaesures of the almighty pot
he has no qualms as pleasure is what he seeks
smoking spliff's tied to his narrow beak
tatoo's on his arm are his only identity
with his over grown dirty coat he hides his vanity
The Son of a Gun
some thorw change at him when they like the tune of his flute
as kids pick up from the kitty and enjoy the loot
he aknowledges both passer by's and the looters
as he blow's once in a while from his shappy hooter
he has no direction he has no cause
yet you stop to look at him with a slight pause
This gun this son of a gun
He rubs his hands as the witer fog grows thick
his eyse popping out as he catches the nip
only coffee to keep him company ina tattered mug
he is a mean fella looking like a slug
the pavement is his home and the bazzar's his abode
This gun this bloody son of a gun
poem by Anuj Tikku
Added by Poetry Lover
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