And knowed
And under ramps I writ
The poems of the punk
Who met the Fagin
Who told him 'Punk
When walkin with me
To roll a Sleepin drunk
Dont wish ya was back
Home in yr mother's parlor
And when the cops
Come ablastin
With loaded 45's
Dont ask for gold
Or silver from my purse,
Its milken hassel
Will be strewn
And scattered
In the sand
By an old bean can
And dried up kegs
We'd a sat & jawed on—