I frown at the fifthy & stenchy bums downtown. They're panhandling is all around.
Wobbles toward you with their horrible garble.
Mentally ill with no marbles.
Probes all the trash cans on the globe.
In their doped trance, they do their drunken dance.
Through the streets they hobble.
From the garbage scraps they gobble.
They are a slobby mess.
Professionally they will never dress.
Can their stench reek any less?
They litter their beer cans & cigarettes pollute.
They dress in rags & will never west a suit.
They figure society owes them something.
Their philosophy is why bother to work for a dollar?
Released from jail for public grief.
Pity that will eventually cease.
A felon with no home.
Shuffling around with no cell phone.
A sap with a tooth gap.
But they adapt with their diseased clap.
Map out their next nap.
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