Click, Clack, boom

30/11/2021
Click,

Clack boom

Here they come again.

The click,

Clack boom.

Coming up as part of a gang.

All you ever see or feel is pain.

All cos’ of a colour or postcode war.

Even religion on our streets,

Using bullets to hail down there devastating rain.

Through knives and guns.

Power?

Money?

Respect?

WHAT!

Weapons?

Drugs?

Murder?

What do you think you’re really gonna gain?

Other than being caught by the police,

Caught red handed,

Losing,

Playing at the thugs fickle game.

Whatever happened to a punch up?

Fists,

With No pussies metal or man made object,

Entering the fray.

Popping or shanking is the nowadays way.

Do people really hold that much hate,

They have to kill,

Just to keep them from going insane?

Surely shanking or popping someone,

Would make you feel less sane?

 In a world then obscured by guilt.

Does time heal insanity?

As I know if it were me,

I’d be chomping at my mane.

So remind me,

Where’s the fight,

If there’s no contest or even a game.

You kill someone,

What for?

Fame?

Oh you’re a bad man now.

Just because you hold a gun and lost every brain cell from your head,

Completely empty and void of emotion is your brain.

I’m hoping you all grow up and for the better all change.

Really?

Is it asking too much,

Not to kill someone today.

It doesn’t make you hard.

It doesn’t bring the world to your feet,

Only your own mental torture and someone’s life you’ve taken away.

You all make me sick.

Thinking guns,

Knives and anything deadly,

Is the answer.

The only,

‘God’ given way.

Yet never will we be rid of it.

This era of the knife and gun crime.

Oh that would be the day.

That truly would be the start of a new world.

Back to a fight with fists,

No knives and guns,

in any affray!

Think of the mothers, fathers.

Families and friends left reeling from loss.

Think about it,

Whilst at night,

In bed,

Your nightmares make you turn and toss.

I hope your being is aware of your failure as a decent human consciousness.

One that’s not sorrowful,

Sad.

Forgotten or lost.

You don’t care who’s lives you’ve made lose,

Those who remain under the ground,

Marked out for now with a Christian cross.

You don’t even ponder a thought,

At the tears wept,

Over a loved ones loss.

You don’t deserve the air that your victims should still breathe.

It should be you 6ft under,

The top covered in moss!

 

 

 

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