Festooned with garland of lavender I set foot to road
The wind blasts at my afro hair-do blowing it to the left
And so for a moment in my journey I am slightly slowed
The backpack is heavy, laden with items from the theft
A bag full of wishes and wants of things you'll never get
My dark muscles straining against the magnificent heft
I sit myself downward on the roadside and quietly sweat
The dust penetrates my pores and in crawls the bugs
Sitting myself downward on this anthill I most deeply regret
I pull out my pipe from the backpack i finger my drugs
And I lit staring as I inhale at the long miles I have yet to go
Walking along comes a gang of hooligans carrying guns and thugs
One shouts at me with criticisms and I can see its THE JOE
Taking my goods he kicks at me, and away they all go