Gangsta

By Mike Melville-Reed

He’s a ‘Scoomber’ and he walks with a cocky swagger
A wide boy a, geezer a face and a blagger,
He can smell the dealers of Cannabis resin
But he’ll buy his own cause he’s too proud for beggin,
He Knows a mate who knows a mate
Who lives somewhere on the estate
Who can get you a dvd, car, or a loan
Always has his ear to a mobile phone.
With designer jumpers and a building site tan
Won’t say that he ‘is’ but he knows the ‘main man’
He knows the families with reputations
Who would smack you up without hesitation
He has no time for any kind of big ponces
Or grasses or wasters or all types of nonces,
Not scared of the law or the judges or courts
Just tries to be careful and not to get caught.
But They say that somebody marked his cards
Now he swaggers alone in an exercise yard
No longer admired but broken rejected
No longer a face, or a name or respected
But when he get’s out they’ll buy him a drink
Too scared to say what they really think
Then the cycle will start over again
For those swaggering, blaggering, Moulsecoomb men