With a cup of change at my feet, I rhyme for dimes in the streets with the cold concrete as my seat/

keep with it and maybe I can eat/ at micy-D’s I order beef but who know’s what their servin’ me, it isn’t meat/

gotta find some heat, so I can sleep/ because I’m beat from this feeling of defeat that gives me the creeps/

I feel outa place like skinny jeans on obese geeks/ can’t comply to dress codes with only sweats and sneaks/

stressed from deceit: the life of discreet street sleeper/ digging my own grave, its getting deeper/

 the part time pay from the cemetery’s meager/ can’t afford most drugs so I’m smokin ether/

And with lack of health care, I could die from fever or the fact that I’m a non-daily eater/

either or, I’d rather be afflicted by neither/ rich or poor, I don’t give a damn like beaver/

as long as I can read and write and live with the freedom to be a non-believer/

maybe I can spread my thoughts to those that are down and under, and become an over-achiever/ I wonder….
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mj0EaVSdVvU&w=420&h=315]