Those who live by the gun
Go to prison, never see the sun
They think they need to kill to get a mill
But a tank of misery they begin to fill.
They act brave when brethren are there
Thinking if they fall they will come and care
But when it happens, a rude shock they get
The last thing they expect, you bet.
Come out of the pen with rocks in their socks
Looking for a mill, all they get is husk
Their future they’ve sold for a quick fix
What a twist and tangle in the mix.
(This poem came from students I was teaching recently.
We searched for a theme with these ideas from them: south London, crime, guns, gangs etc
I started them off with the first line
We worked together for the first 5 lines before they got distracted and lost interest. I had to finish it off myself.)
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