MTB (2/15/66 / Vallejo, California)

The Inner City Folk Song

The black men hate the white men
The white men hate the black
South African Appartheid
The Rodney King attack

While homophobic fag-bashers
Roam the city streets
A fourteen year-old prostitute
Smiles at every trick she meets
She eats

The NRA says it's okay
The victims say it's not
Another unsolved death today
Feel the barrel, it's still hot

Another drive-by shooting
Claims another life
They killed somebody's daughter
Yeah, they kiled someone's wife
That's life

And in the slums, a baby screams
'Cause it's momma's high on crack
And in the druglord's hideout
The money's heaped up in a stack

Honey, your ex is stalkin' you
And I heard he bought a gun
Better run, better hide, better find a cop
Before he's had his fun
You can't run

Three youths jump a black kid
Then they steal his coat and shoes
The next day he brings a gun to school
Sorry boys, you lose

You know there's no one out there you can trust
You know I've seen it all before
The spring of life is full of rust
And death is knockin' at your door
There's more

The inner city jungle
Has animals all its own
And they'll never know what life's about
Their hearts have turned to stone

Hey there, inner city folk
You say you're civilized
Ha! That's one big fucking joke
There's fear and hatred in your eyes
God cries

(alternating, first stanza in G, second D7 to C per line)

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Comments (3)

Michael, you've brought to life so many aspects of the inner city. It makes you wonder why it's got to be that way? Brilliant write! ! Brian
Loved the grittiness of this poem Michael. You pulled no punches and created a vivid picture of 'the inner city jungle'.Loved the line, 'The spring of life is full of rust' -wow. Kind regards, Justine.
that was wonderful... so true too... you are an amazing writer. read mine about child killers http: // show=poem&poem=2825598