When he was young he use to play with toy guns
He’d say it was for fun but really it was the feel of it
He acted silly but Billy loved the appeal of it
Though its just plastic his roles got drastic
Sound effects would blow he’d black mask it
Around his neck would glow that classic Rambo medallion
He use to dream of Lambo’s, Italian Mafioso, Commando, battalions
He would lead them through the dark of winter
He would leave them when his mom had started dinner
At the table with his bleeding elbows
Even when eating he needed his G.I. Joe’s
By his side guarding his pride
A soldier or a poet it got harder to decide
The fun ends as the evening unravels
A young mans ego’s so fragile
And now he’s hitting his teens still drifting in between
Wanting to be a writer wanting to be a fighter
He’s starting to wonder which was mightier
And found one
The difference between Martin and Malcolm
He couldn’t see it in the outcome
They didn't live to see it
Now how come
Was the thought he saw the ones who fought
He saw the ones who got caught in the crossfire
His boss fired him and the cause
He was reading Che Guevara instead of him parking cars
Who writes the laws who enforces them
Born to win, born to loose, born again
Mortal men with an ego so fragile
Reading as the meaning unravels
Was it a ****** to the head or the words to the brain
That brought about more change, man
It’s been a long time since I use to pretend I was…
You know… I don’t know…Billy the Kid