Run down lives

Grey derelict buildings

Hooded kids riding bikes,

Hanging on the corner

Smoking weed

As the oap’s sitting by their window,

In a home that seems a prison now,

In which they never get out.

The street light flickers as night sets in

The cars race round the streets,

Chased by police it’s all a game

Knowing they will get off with a warning.

Litter, mattresses and old sofas

Fly tipped along the road,

Is it any wonder when people call this home,

They grow up dysfunctional

And know that they are poor,

You do not have to be gifted or highly educatated at all.

They get substandard services,

They get substandard schools,

As if they have not intelligence

The state treats them as fools.

These wanna be gangsters then decide to steal from the rich,

To give themselves a foot up in life

And you get angry because you think that’s the wrong

But they don’t care and not even try to understand,

For wealth is there at their finger tips

If they rob and steal from you,

And has more dignity than living out of skips,

Because there is no respect in poverty,

Or growing up in slums,

So don’t go getting it twisted

For nothing about this life is fun.

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