There’s a sort of hectic language Life’s inner city airs The indigent grime, swearing They do declare As heated as Vegas summers All ‘round the block On the Chinatown Strip Spring mountain valley view The homeless congregations Rolling their luggage Like albatross droppings Migratory fixtures **** white on black walls Black in white veins Rolling luggage Keeping precious metals Coin collecting, jewelry The bling and fake gold rings Anything a ***** can trade For foil wrappings Thick with high grade Napping in the inferno Silver state of epidemic Many rolling “carryon luggage” Goes without saying That sort of summertime language Inner city airs That begs Help. To differ. They do Declare
It should mean war… But, come again welcome to our fabulous city! Sin ain’t fair. Love is lost here. And still in herds, in droves Conventions packed disinventing us Folk.