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No Mickey, Minnie, or Goofy – no Jimmy the Cricket
The Spirit of Sodom is Gomorrah…what I see is plain “Wicked”
Neon lit buildings and business bright nights…
A terse description of 8th Ave…I see something’s not right
Jailbait pimps fishing for girlish age bodies
Port Of Authority freaks craving school boy young hotties
A bunco, a scam – the cards of “Monte” are three
White kids from Jersey seeking fake/fresh Ids
Cabbies waiting for fares/get their plates/it’s too late
Little courtesy or English, and overpriced rates
Electronic stores, you have restaurants, a myriad of stands that vend snacks
You can have a wad roll of money, yet still looked at if Black
The Homeless Are Human, it’s the truth not conjecture
It seems to keep them sans housing gives Midtown its texture
Fleabag hotels are a bargain/ I’ve heard there's four legged pests
You’ve paid your money, there’s danger, but you still can’t have guests
Mounted units, Blue grunts to keep the rich ones protected
The last toe tag said “No One”, why wasn’t that crime detected?
A vagrant says that he’s hungry to everyone that he greets
You can’t see the flame touch the Pyrex/ it’s the crack that he eats
On the trains I see animals; sometimes you’d think a new species
Most of those stations need cleaning….in my sight Human Feces
Poetiq visions, my heart troubled/ I had no choice but expound
It goes down daily in the Crab Apple/New York City…Midtown
"New York City...MidTown"
