Wednesday, June 04, 2008

On off days, I cover the gang beat.

Surely You'll Bleed


Though you might call this New-Age

You won't call it Disco,

It sure isn't the Funky Chicken

Or what they do in 'Frisco,

It's like the Dance of the Wolves

At Woodward and Third,

Where the neighborhood gangs

Are flipping the bird.


It's a choreographed performance

On the boulevard at night,

With souped-up Chevy's

And Camaro's, so tight,

GTO's and Caddies

A Lincoln or two,

Pontiac Bonneville's

And Firebird's on view


It's danger and hubris

All rolled into one,

City leaders call it violence

But we call it fun,

Where the gangs flex their muscle

And their chicks, flex whatever,

It's the infinity of youth

That goes on forever.


Forever, is short

If you're living the life,

Forget about girlfriends

Because the gang is your wife,

And like a cold-hearted mistress

Unforgiving, is her creed,

If you betray her one time

Why, surely you'll bleed.


6/2/08

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