Under cover in the Hood
Does it make those cowardly hoodie's
feel brave, tough or proud?
Terrorising pensioners, couples and school-kids
that they can engulf within their shrouds.
Then joke, brag and boast,
amidst their clone-hooded crowds,
as one of them records every suffering moment.
They're disruptive, bullying,
and dysfunctional in schools.
They'll exploit, bend or break,
all of our society's rules.
Then compete against each other,
comparing designer-labels like gullible fools.
Hell bent on criminal intent; and delinquent torment.
They'll make pornographic horror clips,
on expensive video phones.
Humiliating our weak and frail,
damaging their properties by hurling stones.
Then load pictures on a Web-site,
gloating comfortably at home.
Which will add another notch to their Street-Cred?
They;re grossly impressed with violence,
on their new Computer games.
And repetitive Gangster rap lyrics,
and their idols Hip-Hop names.
Then developing a style of walking,
and a stare, you would class as insane.
Then probably off home for a stress free nights sleep in bed?
They're the frightening feral tormentors,
donned with baseball caps and hoods.
They're the problematic hooligans,
who claim they're grossly misunderstood.
Who are terrorising their own communities?
in our once safe neighbourhoods.
You have got to reclaim our streets from them Prime Minster Brown?
They;re invading your classroom Teachers,
Moron gathering tribes.
Most concealing deadly weapons,
tooled up with either guns or knives.
They sense and smell your inner-fears,
as your body betrays you with vibes.
Don't waste your time in Prison Mrs Walker; take care!
They've desecrated our Cemetery's headstones,
smashed and stoned the Funeral cars.
Seems the only people safe from them,
are at home imprisoned behind bars.
Blasting loud aggressive music in expensive zooped- up cars.
Our dead can no longer rest now, in peace.
They'll snatch a wallet, phone or handbag,
from our vulnerable, disabled or elderly.
Yet you can't pick them out from an official line up,
because their hoods have concealed their identities.
Still they're so deliberately and openly aggressive,
vandalising defiantly and open for all to see.
Isn't It about time we had assistance from our paid police?
But they've got nothing that they can do poor souls,
and there's nowhere that they can go.
So some get hooked on crack-cocaine,
others snort white lines of snow.
They hang innocent cats that they've shot with their airguns,
and protected swans they've slaughtered with a bow.
They're like a gunpowder keg fuse starting slowly to fizz.
I hope you heed my warnings all you politicians,
these hooded gangs are getting right out of hand.
Don't imitate those long-necked African Ostrich's,
don't bury your white-collared heads deep in the sand.
Bring new laws in quickly that's deemed tough and effective,
place curfews on them throughout our precious fought for land.
Because power and greed those two corruptible of seeds,
seems now to be all that there is.
Written by Tommy McBride
Does it make those cowardly hoodie's
feel brave, tough or proud?
Terrorising pensioners, couples and school-kids
that they can engulf within their shrouds.
Then joke, brag and boast,
amidst their clone-hooded crowds,
as one of them records every suffering moment.
They're disruptive, bullying,
and dysfunctional in schools.
They'll exploit, bend or break,
all of our society's rules.
Then compete against each other,
comparing designer-labels like gullible fools.
Hell bent on criminal intent; and delinquent torment.
They'll make pornographic horror clips,
on expensive video phones.
Humiliating our weak and frail,
damaging their properties by hurling stones.
Then load pictures on a Web-site,
gloating comfortably at home.
Which will add another notch to their Street-Cred?
They;re grossly impressed with violence,
on their new Computer games.
And repetitive Gangster rap lyrics,
and their idols Hip-Hop names.
Then developing a style of walking,
and a stare, you would class as insane.
Then probably off home for a stress free nights sleep in bed?
They're the frightening feral tormentors,
donned with baseball caps and hoods.
They're the problematic hooligans,
who claim they're grossly misunderstood.
Who are terrorising their own communities?
in our once safe neighbourhoods.
You have got to reclaim our streets from them Prime Minster Brown?
They;re invading your classroom Teachers,
Moron gathering tribes.
Most concealing deadly weapons,
tooled up with either guns or knives.
They sense and smell your inner-fears,
as your body betrays you with vibes.
Don't waste your time in Prison Mrs Walker; take care!
They've desecrated our Cemetery's headstones,
smashed and stoned the Funeral cars.
Seems the only people safe from them,
are at home imprisoned behind bars.
Blasting loud aggressive music in expensive zooped- up cars.
Our dead can no longer rest now, in peace.
They'll snatch a wallet, phone or handbag,
from our vulnerable, disabled or elderly.
Yet you can't pick them out from an official line up,
because their hoods have concealed their identities.
Still they're so deliberately and openly aggressive,
vandalising defiantly and open for all to see.
Isn't It about time we had assistance from our paid police?
But they've got nothing that they can do poor souls,
and there's nowhere that they can go.
So some get hooked on crack-cocaine,
others snort white lines of snow.
They hang innocent cats that they've shot with their airguns,
and protected swans they've slaughtered with a bow.
They're like a gunpowder keg fuse starting slowly to fizz.
I hope you heed my warnings all you politicians,
these hooded gangs are getting right out of hand.
Don't imitate those long-necked African Ostrich's,
don't bury your white-collared heads deep in the sand.
Bring new laws in quickly that's deemed tough and effective,
place curfews on them throughout our precious fought for land.
Because power and greed those two corruptible of seeds,
seems now to be all that there is.
Written by Tommy McBride
