Gangster's Paradise

Humble beginnings with sticks and stones,
We worked for food just like stray dogs.
Now we’re older and are breaking bones;
Thereafter tossing bodies in thick bogs.

Raised by the street, had only each other,
With joint efforts we made our claim to fame.
She would have been proud, had we a mother,
For it provoked fear in circles - our name.

In our turf better make sure you lie low:
Keep your big mouth shut; watch where you walk,
Or else on the footpath, your blood will flow -
The next day your “dead weight”, lined in chalk.

Living in a gangster’s paradise is fine,
If like a cat your lives start with nine.