If you knew from the start how the odds were stacked,
you wouldn’t play their games.
Changing the rules on a whim, on a fad,
laughin’ at us chasin’ fame.
You can’t win a match, get an even break,
doomed to fail and lose.
It’s a big, big club, an’ we aint innit,
but gotta play while they make/break the rules.
I won’t tell a lie, coat shit in sugar,
or scam like sect and pope.
You were born to lose, not even dead men’s shoes,
you have no future. No hope!
There’s no way to change, quit or escape,
numb the pain with dope.
When the (great) reckoning comes, the boys and their chums.
will swing from a hangman’s rope.
©3.4.2019 Andrew Robert Chapman
You can’t win a match, you can’t get a break,
fill you with a sense of hope.
is carry on or a hangman’s rope.
brief respite offered with dope.