NOW I'M ON MY HANDS AND KNEES
BEGGING YOU DON'T SHOOT ME
NOW I LAID STILL ON THE FLOOR
IN MY OWN POOL OF BLOOD
WHICH IS NOW FLOWING OUT THE DOOR
WHILE HE LEAVES HE DID HIS JOB
MAKING IT LOOK LIKE I GOT ROB
THE PRICE I PAY
FOR GOING AGAINST THE MOB
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
against the mob.......... a gorry event in simple words....... a geat write........