Randy Freie Poet Rhyme

Sticky Fingers

No maker of goods or wares was he

A taker of coin that none can see

Just a cad so cool and debonair

And a pickpocket extraordinaire

He distracts his prey with rhyme and verse

And slyly smiles while stealing their purse

So eloquently recites out loud

Then quickly disappears in the crowd

City to city he makes his way

To practice his craft from day to day

Of his next victim he'll soon descend

Then scatter like ashes on the wind

Whenever you're walking down the street

And ever a chance you too will meet

If he was a gun, I'd never cock it

And if I was you, I'd check my pocket

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