“Hey buddy, ya gotta smoke?”
Yells one of the indigent folk
Stretched out on his home for the day
A bench in a bus shelter for him to lay
In the boulevard is a bum holding a sign
He wants what’s in your wallet and mine
On it is a catchy slogan claiming poverty
He probably makes more than you or me
Over at the bus stop, punks are roaming free
As they conduct illegal commerce to stimulate the economy
In the open they deal drugs with no fear
They’ll just be arrested and released on a promise to appear
Seeking a break in the core while mingling
There’s nowhere worse than the Public Safety Building
If you‘re in trouble on the ground
Good Samaritans are nowhere to be found
That you can get away fast it can’t be said
Every block, a traffic light turns red
We’re told how much safer downtown is by the people in power
While they look down from their ivory tower
All sorts of publicity campaigns have been tried
The cesspool on the streets is something no propaganda can hide
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