Seen him every day for the past three years around the streets
He walks head down, phone in hand, one headphone in listening to his beats
Asks for cigarettes and or money from every person that he meets
Thinks he's some bad boy gangster rapper eating a fifty p bag of sweets
Always got the same old dark hoodie, baggie jeans, burberry cap on
Thinks he's cool and shit, but would look much cooler were he to wear a strap-on
Knows at seventeen that his chance in life has long since gone
Has no Father as a role model but is still somebody's Son
There is every possibility for him to achieve, but his attitude is bad
Ask the boy to do something and he becomes agitated, confused, paranoid and mad
'Man don't disrespec me an shiiit, I ain't doin' jack and you can blame my fucking Dad'
Has to act this way in front of his mates so they don't brandish him as sad
Only had one part-time job and got treated 'like a mug' so quit
It was as a cleaner in Macdonalds while he sorted out his shit
But he knew pretty much straight away that his face would never fit
So he failed to turn in on day two, chose to stay at home to 'spit'
With his bruddas and bred' and his posse of ne'erdowells
Sharing one can of white lightning and destroying valuable brain cells
In a dark and poorly furnished squat of a room where he dwells
Where everything is old or broken and is soiled or smells
As daylight fades outside the shops he strikes his unique pose
Arms folded, shoulder stooped, hood right down to his nose
Trying to flog a stolen moped or a neighbours missing catalogue clothes
Shows off to younger girls with exuberent aggressive shows
If he is successful with his pitch and eventually gets some 'dollar'
Walks round the supermarket, bowling, popping his collar
Knows for sure the staff will be on edge and security guards will folla
So to claim his place as 'the king of the shops' he will holler
Thinks he can earn our respect with menaces and threats
The little prick deserves everything the little prick ever gets
He ain't even hard and on that I'm taking bets
What he does have in his armour is he hangs around in sets
Fight one, fight 'em all or risk being dethroned
And losing his status to earn cash for getting stoned
Doesn't matter what or where he nicks shit or by whom it's owned
Just as long as a good day ends with the boys getting zoned
He is nervous, edgy, loud and very very abrasive
Knows he has a knack of knowing how to be persausive
But corner the dog on his own and soon he is evasive
As he has no accomplices on whom he can fight back with
Never goes on holiday and not been in town for a year
Every single solitary penny he gets, spends it on drugs and beer
Offers nothing to the community he trashes but a sneer
Would joy-ride stolen cars if he could but has not got the brain to steer
Midweek and the weekend seemlessly blur into one
Spent four hours just last week trashing the allotments just for fun
He' so tough when the 'Old Bill' turned up, he run
Dreams of one day having enough cash to buy a gun
And guess what? yep rob people on the same streets he lives
Admit all to his mum and she instantly forgives
'It's not his fault he knocks about with them kids that carry chivs-
- Iv'e fucking told him loadsa times them fucking kids are divs'
Well that justifies that then and puts us all straight
If it were'nt for 'that lot' he'd be just like a best mate
And you would laugh off the fact he's drunk and in a state
'Cos when your new friend is sober, your new friend is really great
Last thing at night just as all the shops are closing
The car-park is being cleaned and swept and men are busy hosing
Away the remnants of the day and rubbish, he's still posing
Wayward thoughts enter his mind and now he is supposin'
That what if one of them is holding cash for his last of the day 'fix'
Now he scans them each in turn before his prey he picks
Selects his weapon of attack from a pile of bricks
He runs towards his victim and rains down blows and kicks
Hits the poor guy so flaming hard, fractures the socket of his eye
Laughing while he does so, feels no remorse so doesn't cry
Not knowing what has hit him the attacked just cries 'why?'
But the assailant has long gone and is busy getting high
If I could catch the culprit I would stamp upon his face
'Cos if you ain't got no evidence the Police won't go round his place
And I feel he has no right to share my living space
As he's not like me and you, he's from another race
He is a clear end product of the 'have nots' not the 'haves'
Them fuckin chavs...
© Copyright 2016 lifeofrhyme. All rights reserved.
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Romance
Poem / Romance
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