The San Francisco feel
Being a **** for a day being real
It was an experiment I wanted to try
I see puzzled faces with the reason why?
I was on vacation and touring the Frisco city with tour group, and I asked about the area the tour company wanted to avoid, the escort said to me don’t go up into upper Market Street
Now for me, I know that wasn’t a San Francisco treat
I asked the Escort in what was wrong with the area
The Escort spoke without hesitate, “Motorcycle Gangs”
I wanted to venture up
I wore a Bandana around my head with ripped up jeans, and clothes beyond my nature
I was going to become my own scene
So I became a ****
But at least no dared to mug
Once I arrived, I was in a lonely alley
Suddenly, Motorcycle gangs approached from everywhere
I started acting tough and becoming a diehard ****
I called their bluff
I was told I didn’t belong
I didn’t have to rubble, but I did get along
So the **** in me with the Motorcycle Gang I did see
I saw the big side
I did not run and try to hide
I let my instinct provide
Later, I went back to myself in abide
So San Francisco was my grain of salt and stride
A vacation to remember, but I am slumber