Our Goose Is Cooked

I cannot anymore say "I do not give a hoot! "
When a policeman pulls over my car,
First thing I say is, "Officer, please don't shoot! "

Now, I am afraid to go--to venture very far
From the security of my very own back yard
I no longer visit my local neighborhood bar

These days we need a personal security guard
To feel safe when we go to the village malls
Guns from all public places should be barred

Once we could handle old-fashioned brawls
But with serial killers and snipers on the loose
I am afraid our backs are pressed to the walls

Discarded social mores have cooked our goose.