Bullet Proof Vest

Bullet Proof Vest

There once was a young boy,
who loved to play with his toy gun,
cos guns were fun.
Oh, he was smart and strong,
kind and thoughtful,
independent and young.
Fast forward five years and that boy is surpassing his peers,
fast forward two more and a happy future nears.
He’s going to collage, gonna get a degree,
mama’s so proud cos boys around here don’t even finish school, let alone go ta uni.
Six months pass and he’s getting the bus home,
walking though that ghetto,
he’s all alone.
He’s perfectly fine though.
Then a police car pulls up,
and he knows to fear.
The policeman jumps out, starts asking questions.
It’s going okay but his hands are getting cold,
and that boy is so tired been working all day, ya know.
He forgets where he is, who’s standing in front,
puts his cold hands in his pocket,
and
Bang, Bang,Bang!!!
The shots sang.
it’s not even dark and the local kids run from the sound,
their far to used to it echoing around.
That boy falls to the ground.
Two minutes past, now his mama’s by his side,
she cries,
“My baby, My Baby boy”
blood is running free.
And then that dreaded light appears and the end is too near.
“****, ****!”
shouts the man in the bullet proof vest,
ya know the one employed to protect,
ya know the one that shot him dead.
His hands placed on his head,
but it’s okay.
fast forward two months and he has the best lawyer on the job,
puts it down to fear and not pure evil racism.
His mama had to get the bus to the court, and that was a struggle,
so you know the rest.
Six months later that man is back in that bullet proof vest.
All that remains of his crime,
is some wilted flowers and laminated photographs on the pavement,
that blood stained pavement.
That he passes everyday,
twisted part is five more minutes down that road and on the pavement,
there is some more wilted flowers and laminated photographs,
on yet another blood stained pavement.