Death Of A Hobo

There once was a hobo,
Got hit with a low blow,
It really damaged his balls,
And now he continuously falls.

He got hit by a young pr!ck,
Who stole his bindle and stick,
He lost all he owns,
Some beer cans; some bones.

He lay on the street,
Tears fell from his eyes,
He remained invisible,
To the passer-bys.

With no possessions,
Nothing to look forward to at all,
He sits alone on the street,
Until his final tear does fall.

The death of a hobo,
He was lost and alone,
The death of a hobo,
'Cause no respect he was shown.