He sits low,
But he rides high.
Their heads turn
When he drives by.
He won't stop
Unless you're trying
To buy,
The Man with the silver rings.
When he gets a call,
He'll drive to your house,
"Whatever you need,
A gram to an ounce,
It takes a bit longer,
If you want a pound. "
He'll bring you anything...
The party began
When his backpack arrived;
And when it was emptied,
It withered and died,
It took him one phone call,
To get resupplied,
And back on the scene of things...
The door's always open,
In case he stops by,
With Haze or Rhino
Or Widow or Thai
Sometimes he'll bring presents,
He doesn't supply,
The Man with the silver rings.
One of my best friends is a former drug dealer who used to work like this every night. I wrote this after his arrest.
