Very experimental....

 

1.Old boy in the ‘hood

 

Don’t let my appearance fool you

Those suitcases under my eyes

I’m like an old sniffer dog

Keeping my nose to the ground

 

Don’t judge this book by its cover

For inside, you’ll find hidden depths

One day I may just surprise you

For I know the score around here

 

I’ve been living here for many a year

Long enough to grow hairs on my toes

Way before you snot-nosed upstarts

Decided it’s you who rule the roost

 

I may be hunched and walk with a stick

Take that as old and stupid, if you like

But I’ve seen a few things in my life

And believe me, you toe-rags know diddly-squat

 

Hidden beneath this benign and bent exterior

There once was a determined warrior

If you will, one of the old boyz from the ‘hood

A surreptitious gangsta, right in your midst

 

Your stupid hats, the wrong way round

Flashy trainers and ridiculous bling

You think I don’t notice your petty scams

And the oh so obvious, piffling little scores

 

 

You think you’re hard - think you’re men

All swagger and exaggerated bluster

Kings of this rat-infested ghetto

Believe me, you know absolutely nothing

 

Your junkie parents and whoring sisters

I get it that no-one has any time or love for you

But don’t let my wrinkles and demeanour fool you

I’m old, not blind – battle-scarred, not deaf

 

Ignore me at your peril, mock me if you wish

But I’m realistic and rightfully embittered

So when it comes to it, you punks are no challenge

I’ve seen much worse and dealt with it

 

So take your high-falutin’ fist bumps

Your pathetic handshakes and high-fives

You are young and stupid, I am old and twisted

You’ll never care for your country in the same way that I did

 

Headbands and Bandana’s, hoods and footy shirts

HD-Ready TV sets, the latest gadgets, tomorrow’s big thing

You’ve probably got more bars on your ‘phone

Than I’ve got on my old, trusty electric fire

 

When you see my medals, glinting in the sun

You’re not thinking “Respect” to the old boy

You’re thinking how much they’d go for

If they happened to fall into your lap

 

 

 

And when you grow up, should you get that far

When you’re laughing and joking about the ‘Great War’

You’re probably talking about the infamous Gangland Turf War

Where shooters and blades were used to spill the blood

 

And If I should I tell you about digging trenches

In the middle of some God forsaken field

Hunkered down, lying in the cold, wet mud

Smoking what maybe my last roll-up, ever

 

About scribbling a final, hasty, note to Mum and Dad

Saying just how desperate it all seems here

That if I don’t make it out of this freezing, stinking, muddy trench

That I love you and miss you, if I never make it back home

 

So, you work-shy spongers, trousers halfway down your arse

Don’t laugh at me for walking slowly – doing the best I can

Pause for thought before your next shabby transaction

Give me some credit for surviving the action all those years ago

 

Even I can’t believe all that I went through

And all for idiots like you

When the bombs were dropping, bullets flying, mates dying

As I crawled, petrified, through the blood-sodden sand

The fear, the confusion, the noise, the blood

I did all of that for the likes of you

And now I’m wondering why