Every generation has its own hard men
who rule the block, kick the new kids ass’s.
Who rule every bar, don’t take no for an answer,
are not to be messed with and demand respect.
They use the weapons of their trade, knives,
brass knuckles, guns, bats and more.
Take them away and their fists are a back up,
sure fire way of defence, offence.
A hundred years later all the hard men are dead.
Each generation has the new stock of muscle-bound
crazies until the clock humbles them and their kids take over,
live or die in the oldest trade in history.
Hard man on the block, watch your back,
don’t cross them and do respect them.
Talk to them, not behind them
and you’ll see the next dawn, alive.