Just the other night,
At the Yankee Stadium,
Underneat the lights,
I heard a man speaking, after years and years in jail,
His name it was Mandela, and he came to tell his tale.
The crowd they cheered him loudly,
But then the silence fell,
As he spoke about the hard years, in a South African cell
And though he was free, his heart was feeling the pain,
For his country and his people were still a part of that shame
And thought he was free
his heart was still in pain
For his country and his people
were still part of aparteids shame
He said he hoped that we would join him, and walk down freedom’s path
These roads would be the hardest,
but they will be the last,
Which was under my bed
Beside the AK47
With which I shot my girlfriend dead.
She got up in the night to shite
But she never said
Her lack of manners got me vexed
So I shot her in the head.
A good few times.
F.hurdler
[QUOTE=“flattythehurdler, post: 1022844, member: 1170”]Which was under my bed
Beside the AK47
With which I shot my girlfriend dead.
She got up in the night to shite
But she never said
Her lack of manners got me vexed
So I shot her in the head.
A good few times.[/QUOTE]
@Joe Player[/USER] / [USER=1]@Rocko please delete the above post
Fuck off @chewy louie
We are here trying to have a singsong and you are trying to sing over us. It’s just not cricket
Well I can’t join in as I’ve never heard it before. Cliques are bad manners
Please refer to “not one of us” by Peter Gabriel.
:mad:Your poem was potentially libelous. He didn’t use an AK47
I didn’t mention any names.