A man stands,
Alone, on the avenue,
He's beggin' you to look inside yourself,
For the prize he'll get,
If he succeeds, he'll waste it on cigars,
Not cars, end up in bars, of cold steel.
Mirage he sees, the woman that left him,
Forgets him, regrets it, stand alone, above all, by himself.
No job, just sobs,
Forget about it,
He just sits and begs,
For hours just shoutin'
'Can you spare any change? '
But even with change he sits and smokes,
Provokes, totes,
'A small word of advice, '
A guy says, hands the man a hundred dollar bill,
But still, he knows what he will, do with it.
'Behind every man lies a story, not boring,
Storing, his true potential inside himself.'
Contemplating, congregating all his thoughts and fought,
Against himself, deciding what do.
Temp himself, with a sin,
Toss his life in a bin,
But hopefully it'll turn out alright, not a calamity or tragedy.
'Strategy.' The man on the corner said.
Wants to get in bed and sleep,
But he sits and weeps instead.
Wasted, his life beggin',
Instead in his sleep he lifted his own hand,