Mafia Poem by Mustafa Ghuneim

He never knew what he was leaving,
Consequences of his conceiving,
He never knew the V.I. note,
He never read the words they wrote,
The most important of all,
The gratitude he was receiving,
He thought for moment he was a star,
All was forgotten in the explosion of his car,
It didn't take but moments when he turned to ash,
Not even a body in his tomb, just a funeral in the flash,
The game was dangerous for him to play,
And he never took time of his to replay,
They never relied on his works,
table towel, bowl of soup, some spoons and a fork,
He was so famous as he thought,
For better Rank he always fought,
Madness creates illusions for the greatest,
But look what madness for him had brought,
His death, His misery, His weakness, His fears,
Not because your unemployed or Italian,
Make you choose Mafia a career..

P.S. If you chosen mafia at least make connections,
To make your fellas think twice before they do their intentions,
But in the end you're in hell, so sorry Amico I hope you're well,
And as MCR said, a very nice place except for the smell.

Baw baw, dong ding I'm the Yakuza, Italian freak..

End Of Story.