Gangsters and Cherries
Italian boys go through a mafia stage.
Idolizing old gangsters and their lead-ripping ways.
Dreaming in blood money, wearing a pair of snake eyes.
Diamond-studded vixens flashing pearl-glazed thighs.
Scar faces -speak easy whisky- drowning out the sun.
Nights vibrating with the chatter of dancing Tommy guns.
One step behind the reaper, one ahead of the cherries.
Beneath marble tombstones, a code of honor is buried.
but
Italian boys soon realize they haven't got the balls.
To live life on a knife edge, go toe to toe with the law.
I was no different and settled into a cage of mundane
a nine-to-five carousel where all Italian stallions are chained.
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