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Poem

Early thirties and a casual drinker
Don't be fool by the occasional booze
I step on my blues wet shoes
With a business class ticket
I touchdown somewhere in the mother city
Disguised as a tourist feeling all beachy
But who am I kidding
To caught up this rat race
When I see those rich ones
I hide my real face
It’s never easy when you're digging for gold
Imagine to earn six figures not just by shaking hands
Had my eye on the prize
As the guy next door
You grow up quick 
when you grow up poor
It is the only way to town
That I know
The Mother City pose
A toothless smile 
and a hairstyle called growth
You got to be smart
You got be bold
You got get your hands a little dirty
When you're digging for gold
Don't try to get that far just by shaking hands

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