The Junkie stands on the corner and twitching, strums his violin
He ain’t singing about where he’s going,
He’s lamenting where he’s been.
He cries society has shit on me; it’s made me what I am!
I was trying to see into my soul
After all, I’m just a man.
The drunk, he stumbles from the bar, with his shoulder badly chipped.
I did not fall, he shouts to all,
I feel that I was tripped!
He holds the centre of the road, in a sixty degree slouch
A brown paper bag held to his breast;
his Diplomatic pouch!
The sneak thief in his sneakers, sneaks by; sneaking on his toes.
He plays the Preying Mantis
With his ballerina pose.
I don’t steal, he does reveal; I borrow for a while.
I live on wits, I’m proud of this;
My father’s name was Guile!
The prostitute stands by her door; her business has begun
She satiates frustrations
At the setting of the sun
Come in she cries, bring pain and lies and partake of my honey
I will please your fantasies -
My passion is for money!
A beggar searches through his rags for a coin that he can toss
But his pockets are full of empty
He can’t climb down off this cross.
He’s no interest in the incest, that’s on the highest shelf
Life is tough - Lord knows – enough;
No need too screw yourself!