When you walk up the street
Do you ever think to greet
The junkie turned bum with the highest degree
The real hustler’s, busters walking the street
This is his home no matter how neat
It’s not
You cross the street like the block is hot or
Like walking by him gonna blow up your spot
You must have a problem
Is something wrong with his home?
Although you crossed over you still in his zone
Just say hi, hello, hey, wussup
Oh you too busy to speak to his stinking butt?
Looked at his gear
Assumed he didn’t care or gave a fuck
As you rush to daycare, bitchin’ life is tough
“Can you spare some change?”
(I don’t want to steal.)
“I’ll even have the left over from your meal.”
“I don’t get too many. Can I have a minute of your time?
“A penny would be plenty perhaps a dime?”
You stare and peep at him through the tinted windows of your jeep
As he picks the scabs of his infected feet
Stare at his clothes that are old circa I have dream speech
Matted beard smelling of soot from the heat used to warm chilly type nights
Overall look that tells you America ain’t right!
So as you walk down the street thinking, “This creep!”
Remember
You sow and you reap
o.n.e.i. 2001
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