Boomer's blog: "Poems"

The Story of Bonnie and Clyde You’ve read the story of Jesse James Of how he lived and died If you’re still in need for something to read Here’s the story of Bonnie and Clyde. Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang, I’m sure you all have read how they rob and steal And those who squeal are usually found dying or dead. There’s lots of untruths to those write-ups They’re not so ruthless as that Their nature is raw, they hate all law Stool pigeons, spotters, and rats. They call them cold-blooded killers They say they are heartless and mean But I say this with pride, I once knew Clyde When he was honest and upright and clean. But the laws fooled around and taking him down and locking him up in a cell ‘Till he said to me, "I’ll never be free So I’ll meet a few of them in hell." The road was so dimly lighted There were no highway signs to guide But they made up their minds if all roads were blind They wouldn’t give up ‘till they died. The road gets dimmer and dimmer Sometimes you can hardly see But it’s fight man to man, and do all you can For they know they can never be free. From heartbreak some people have suffered From weariness some people have died But all in all, our troubles are small ‘Till we get like Bonnie and Clyde. If a policeman is killed in Dallas And they have no clue or guide If they can’t find a friend, just wipe the slate clean And hang it on Bonnie and Clyde. There’s two crimes committed in America Not accredited to the Barrow Mob They had no hand in the kidnap demand Nor the Kansas City Depot job. A newsboy once said to his buddy "I wish old Clyde would get jumped In these hard times we’s get a few dimes If five or six cops would get bumped." "The police haven’t got the report yet But Clyde called me up today He said, "Don’t start any fights, we aren’t working nights, we’re joining the NRA." From Irving to West Dallas viaduct Is known as the Great Divide Where the women are kin and men are men And they won’t stool on Bonnie and Clyde. If they try to act like citizens And rent a nice little flat About the third night they’re invited to fight By a sub-gun’s rat-tat-tat. They don’t think they’re tough or desperate They know the law always wins They’ve been shot at before, but they do not ignore That death is the wages of sin. Someday they’ll go down together And they’ll bury them side by side To few it’ll be grief, to the law a relief But it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde.