The crooked and the cursed flood the midnight with warnings,
My money rusts when the cities too alive to die,
Every corner coined a seat for the thirsty,
Bar flies begging for a rush of foolish pride,
The daily rag staggers in the morning rush,
Collects the homeless with a match and cardboard house,
Downwind where the smell starts to die,
Your moneys no good when you're scared of every pa**er by,
skeleton key,
rusted locks are enemies,
Dirt filled beat turns sour in the heat,
Quick hands make money out of crooks and ties,
Ragged crusts queue up for the pill,
But the medicine man is still stitching up another tail,
Each night leaves a stink that never dies,
left over pieces of the puzzle hide,
The undressed dirty street light hangs on a rotten tooth like a washing line smile
Nameless blameless crimes