Babble

My foreign friend
Held no rung
On the ladder of
The English tongue,
So one lone spell
I taught him well:
Simply just,
"I was takin' a piss."
For who can find
Himself in deep
If he keeps in mind
This phrase to repeat.

He stayed with me
For seasons three,
And by that time
He spoke just fine.
His English rythymn
Kept in time,
And almost equalled
That of mine.

On the eve
Of his flight back
To his native habitat,
We were on
An empty street,
Chillin' out and
Smokin' reef
When brights go on
And cops we see.
Skeet.

I dragged the J
Then let it toss,
Hoping we could
Play this off.
By then the cops
Were within reach.
One yelled firstly
"Where's the weed!
And whose rights
Do I need to read?"
"Yours?" he screamed
And stared at me,
"Or yours?" he turned
His glance to Guy.

Something in his
Fearful face
Made the cop put
Hand to mace
And utter words
With pithy grace,
"What were you just doing
At this place?"

I still cannot
Define the cause
Of what would make
Mon ami pause
And offer up
As his reply
"I was takin' a piss."
A stupid lie!
Why not come
Clean or deny?
There's no profit
In poking eyes.
I thought these things
But spoke them not.
My collar itched
And bothered hot.

"What'd you say
You little punk?"
A tight fist clenched,
And Guy it struck.
A sucker shot
Straight to the gut.
And then a knee to
My friend's nose.
His head flew back
And smacked the road.

"Alright you kids,"
He proceeded to say,
"That's enough problems
From you for the day.
I don't want to see you,
Stay out of my way."
Then the cops got inside,
And their car sped away.

Whenever you visit
A foreign land,
Learn the local
Customs and,
Don't provoke the
Wolves at hand.