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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=347120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Son Of A Gun</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">This Son Of A Gun<br>he can barely run carrying his own weight<br>his belley runs over his balls he is decadent to the core<br>inebreted by wine whiling away his time with filty whores<br>he smells of ganja sniffing coke smokeing dope<br>he curses down the religions and the pope<br>he has no morals has sold away his values<br>with the devil he dines <br>he owns nothing and nothing that he can call mine</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This son of a gun<br>he rolls over when the kick is done<br>shocking passeres by mooning over at the foot path<br>busking away at tea shops and bazzar's<br>he is alone he is one in a hazaar<br>he use to be a winner <br>but now he is just a looser<br>blowing the trupet beating old rum's<br>waiting for the time when the next fix can be done<br>who can match this filhty man<br>littering the streets with his own vomit<br>he bangs into you like a haleay's comit</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The Son Of A Gun<br>his family he has left to rot<br>for the plaesures of the almighty pot<br>he has no qualms as pleasure is what he seeks<br>smoking spliff's tied to his narrow beak<br>tatoo's on his arm are his only identity<br> with his over grown dirty coat he hides his vanity</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The Son of a Gun<br>some thorw change at him when they like the tune of his flute<br>as kids pick up from the kitty and enjoy the loot<br>he aknowledges both passer by's and the looters<br>as he blow's once in a while from his shappy hooter<br>he has no direction he has no cause<br>yet you stop to look at him with a slight pause<br>This gun this son of a gun</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He rubs his hands as the witer fog grows thick<br>his eyse popping out as he catches the nip<br>only coffee to keep him company ina tattered mug<br>he is a mean fella looking like a slug<br>the pavement is his home and the bazzar's his abode<br>This gun this bloody son of a gun</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anuj+Tikku">Anuj Tikku</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=347120" data-title="The Son Of A Gun de Anuj Tikku" data-description="This Son Of A Gun
he can barely run carrying his own weight
his belley runs over his balls he is decadent to the core
inebreted by wine whiling away his time with filty whores
he smells of ganja sniffing coke smokeing dope
he curses down the relig..."></div>
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