MISFIT

Crime is what defines my status

My AK 47 is my dearest apparatus

Boys in blue masquerade as my haters

Yet in the end we share the spoils

Of course on accord that my deals they don’t foil.

Violence is the colour of my blood

Imagine the feeling of strangling a drank guard

The sensation of squeezing the balls of a helpless lad

The wail of a dying man doesn’t sound that bad

At least it makes killing an adventurous fad.

Jail house calls me by name

Courts acknowledge crime is my game

Poverty understands I’m not to blame

Starvation justifies I don’t do it for fame.

Even nature knows I’m not easy to tame

Socially displaced

So I’m disgraced

I’m poor and not educated

But, do I deserve to be eliminated?

Must my bloodline be terminated?

They say misfits like me deserve no favours

They have neither choices nor flavours

Shanties are their only option

Luxury is just an illusion……

My gun is the only way out of this commotion.