Grow Some Brains
And the world slumbers on,
While its sons and its daughters,
Are herded, like sheep,
Down the dark streets, to slaughter.
How fragile the thread.
By which street life hangs
With the guns and the drugs,
And the warring of gangs.
Dismount, while you can,
From that street carousel.
It's end destination
Will be prison, or hell.
With the world on the streets
Swiftly going insane,
'Stead of gettin' more guns,
You'd best be growin' some brains.
Copyright © William Robinson | Year Posted 2005
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