A tiny wail rises thru this dreary slum another life has just begun

His father he may never find and his mother might just leave him behind

But I feel sorry for the little one that was born tonight in this damn slum

For no sign of hope and come what may he may not survive for another day

 

And if lucky a bed of dirty rags he’ll rate otherwise a garbage can’s his fate

For if his mothers soul has been sold his story will end before it’s told

And for him no one mourns no memory unless God steps in we will see

It isn’t much but a small silent prayer I feel I might be able for him to spare

 

Scraping and scrounging to just find food when you have the energy or in the mood

Protect what you have from those that steal enduring a broken spirit that won’t heal

We play a game called Slum Stock Rock, get a paper and pretend to buy stock

You may be a millionaire and then you open your eyes and your still nowhere

 

And over all he rules supreme, the wicked and terrible Slum King

For he always searches with those red eyes predicting the hour of your demise

Cowering in the cardboard box that you call home, wishing to be just left alone

The Slum King will come after you, if you don’t perform as you’re told to do

 

For the only comfort you might find, won’t be coming from your mind

You feel your sanity slowly slipping by but hoping that the soup line’s serving pie

Pushing your shopping cart along with the few possessions that you own

Collecting what few bottles to turn in for cash waiting for this humid day to pass

Begging to those that are walking by for any hand out while you start to cry

But most just go along their way trying to avoid you as best as they may

Never even giving a single thought to how hard your survivals to be fought

And for their blessings God they won’t thank but figured they deserve their rank