You don’t wanna meet Joey Fatone
He’s a Jersey Devil
with a Tasmanian attitude
Street whispers say,
“Baby” is a notch below
asylum certifiable
A wise guy, gator gait bad to the bone
Known to go postal ... jungle level
Joey loves giving dirt naps,
so don’t keep the short talk too long
Lives Cajun mean dirty down low in the Big Easy,
made Papa Justify give him the Skeleton Key
Stay behind the yellow line ... don’t cross the “Baby”
Always traveled light: Ruby and a burner phone
The Devil adored his metallic Black widow
Mixing business with pleasure was money fun to do
Fatone’s fist: shook rattle them numbered bones;
what you didn’t say, he never wanted to know
Best hit man for hire ... won’t pay the cleaner bill too
You don’t wanna meet Bobby Falcone
He’s a Bowery Hell’s Angel
with a Transylvanian diablo attitude ...
I have a secret hidden vault
With weapons that can assault
Anybody who won't learn
If you try to hurt and turn
Hearts into sad painful things
I'll go postal and will bring
You worse sorrow than you dish out
Cause my life is all about
Making sure there's no neglect
From the world showing respect
To others who they pass by
It just make me sad and cry
When I see a world so scary
Leaving hearts and souls so weary
When they listen to the racist
Comments that are getting basic
And used way to much and often
They need putting in a coffin
With other judgmental types
That is wrong and so not right
No one should make fun of those
Who always get a daily dose
Of hurtful and rude comments
Being hated with bombardments
Of words that tear them apart
What happened to peoples hearts
So many mission will go on
Till everybody gets along
And there's not one more tear shed
Just smiles and joy ahead
Often mocked as stupid
I am always faced with
the idea i am missing
something worth knowing.
I go to work. I do my job.
Preached to standards higher
than I can conceive,
I am everywhere and I believe
what I hear when
media gurus deceive
and try to convince me
that they stand for values
their own biographers deny.
I watch leaders praised
and forgiven for crimes
that would destroy me.
I go to work. I do my job.
I see my hours cut.
I raise children who
go to work and do their job
and are passed over for promotion
by someone who promises to do more
with less, downsizes, lays waste
and jumps to another position
before the destruction
can be assessed.
I go to work. I do my job
and I am the bedrock
on which the rest of society
dances.
Sometimes I go "postal".
On those days, everyone says
that they just don't understand.
"He was just so steady, never late
for work, always did his job."