Poor Mans Playground. Poem by Ace Of Black Hearts

This is the poor mans drums.
This is the way I want to live son.
Just looking to have little fun.
Why do you believe that is so wrong?
Why do you want to take away my bong?
Why do you want me to be always on the run?
And that's when I hear the sirens coming.
What if I told you even behind bars I would still hum.
Would it change who you decided to call.
I work a steady job every single day.
Paying a debt to society I didn't ask for.
Yet when the day is done you want to try to deny me my little piece of happiness.
Good luck,
Watch as I go looking for a good f*ck.
Why because this isn't love.
So why should care what threats you sling.
You selfishness make me want to sing.
Oh it's all about me.
But you can't control this poor soul.
Not if your not willing to embrace at least one thing that puts a smile on my face.
Bad form, bad taste, my mistake.
So take your pretty little form and move on along.
Because I'm already gone.
Playing, chasing, experiencing life as it was meant be.
Don't even try and change me.
I know what I need.
With a needle and some e-beads I thread a beautiful pattern upon this leather case.
Visions to embrace.
No it's not a race.
Rushing only to come to a full stop.
Oh baby watch as this Champaign bottle pops, cheap but top notch.
Everyday an invitation to a celebration.
And this is a habit I'm not changing.