He’s Barret the Bold,
he struts the hood with such ease for
he just does what he’s
told and his life is a tease so
he thinks he’s such a
sight with his BB gun,
‘cause now the narcs
are using him to play 21.
But Barret’s 15 and
he don’t go to school and
he lives down on Green
so he just keeps his cool when
he’s passing by his
haunt—his 7-Eleven see,
for he’s got to get
his smokes up from his ol’ givin’ tree.
He goes where he
pleases and he grabs up some eats and
he spreads his
diseases to the young girls he meets and
he’s too young to
love—but down in the trees,
give him twenty going
and he’s down on his knees.
He’s got jittery eyes
and electric-like hands and
the eye socket dyes
and old cold coughing glands but
he takes it from his
man sitting back at his flat,
just counting up his
bruises tells you why he’s like that.
Don’t start yer
pointin’ for he knows what he does and
he ain’t
disappointin’, and you envy him 'cause
he’s a just guy who
found out how to be free,
and if you lived his life you know
you too would agree!
--Porter Daryl's Poems
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