Hard Times But Fun

Manchester, born and bred, within a stone throw from the city centre One of a family of nine kids and our mother as our mentor In a place called Hulme, full of vagabonds and snot nosed scruff bags Rope for belts, football boots with studs cut of as shoes and clothes of rags Hulme was a hard place to grow, terraced housing, paved back yards and broken glass The sound of gospel hung in the air as the black community attended daily mass Sugar butties, porridge was the food we ate No fatty Big Mac’s with salad-less salad on a false plastic plate Trying to smash bottles that were laid out on top of a wall From twenty or thirty yards with a cricket ball Hopscotch, hula hoop, hide and seek were the games we knew No X-box or computer games on the streets that we grew There was social intercourse, chatter, friendship, warmth and love Non of the Facebook, twitter, linked in and all that false stuff Now the kids live in a pit of sole and isolation As they tweet and twitter their nonsense across the nation 50, 000 face book friends they have never met, seen or knew I wouldn’t swap what I had as a child Would you?