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Barefoot on Thin Ice


Our first fight
Our first fight was a riot.
Junior was flashing around
Hollow point cop-killer bullets
To the little ones,
And enough was enough.
He couldn't take the peace
Of the woods
Or the advice
Of the birds,
But he could handle
The warmth of the pavement
And the touch of a bullet.
He laughed,
Told me that he was
A real man,
And gave me the bullets.
They are worthless
Without a real gun.
 
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