Three AM in the City

From the Lifesmith Group album, "Trifling."

The shaven-headed monkey wags his contorted fingers at the custom-painted deathtrap
Hoists up his cinched khakis and lets them sag so his bloomers shine for everyone’s enjoyment
Belches out a shit-faced grin whose breath could kill looking for new victims and crap
Urinates on the sidewalk and sneers for they’ve no beer until his crew rolls out for rent.

It’s three a.m. in the city and darker than dark
Any fool worth his soul knows to avoid the park
There’s dirt going down there and the police don’t know
How low these boys can go, how low these boys can go.

The corn-rowed convict throws down a two-bit challenge at another piece of dim-witted work
Too high and primitive, rocked and immaculately stoned his jaws rattle out his profane speech
With no insight and no hindsight and no need for either, this worthless punk is a jerk
Who only knows how to take, how to steal, how to hurt, such are his obscene lessons to teach.

It’s three a.m. in the city and bleaker than bleak
The hood’s no place for the kind, mild or meek
The animals in the jungle know it’s kill or be killed
The death of civilization is an intolerable pill.