The face, none too intelligent,
Eyes, openly malevolent,
Stare at the world with hatred and distrust,
A cynical smile on the lips,
Nails bitten to below the quicks,
Fingers tarred with a nicotine-red rust.
Don’t aggravate this little psychopath,
He likes to act the gangster,
But don’t incur his wrath.
He hates the filth, he hates the screws,
Talks like he’s nothing left to lose,
He airs his views
With Anglo-Saxon phlegm.
Far better were he locked away
Forever: Category A,
Than shortly let out on the streets again.
There’s many poseurs in this place,
But when you’re standing face to face
With him, you realise he’s not one of them,
But one of a far different creed,
A soulless child, a demon seed,
A breed that’s rightly called
DANGEROUS MEN.
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