But what’s a poor boy to do

Since the day I first saw light I was so tough and hard up for the fight I learnt the hard way as my rule The school of hard knocks made me no-ones fool But whats a poor boy to do Up in the morning before the sun My workin for the man a life with no fun The sweat on my back and dirt on my brow Living each day behind the plough But whats a poor boy to do I was always my father’s son Working each day ‘til the work is done There was never a time just for me All I wanted was life as free as can be But what’s a poor boy to do I vowed to myself I would not be A dirt poor farmer working the land not free I ran away from home at my first chance Away from the struggle and the daily farmer’s dance But whats a poor boy to do I ran with a crowd that was just like me Robbin and killin on a lawless spree Until one day in a border town the sheriff won And our bank robbin and murder was done But whats a poor boy to do The judge had a reputation so proud Hanging was my sentence the judge unbowed So here I am standing with a noose around my neck My last day has come so what the heck But what’s a poor boy to do. © Paul Warren Poetry