Damn bad reputation counts 500 plus paw whet tick stints

The following fictitious poetic vignette attempts a feeble tale of one ordinary day in life of anonymous miscreant.

 

"I don't give a damn

about my bad reputation."

 

I haint never done nobody no harm,

nor did any animals

(code word for other gang members)

get injured or killed

in the making of a video

(our lingo for done deal).

 

A decoy police officer

(one named Sergeant Smart)

pretended to be a drug dealer.

 

Turf wars made clear

the domain each mini kingpin oversaw.

 

Our base, which included

drop outs, whose parents

did not give a fig whether

their son lived or died
(got pitiless date with death)

drove motive to act truant

or commit a serious violation

warranting expulsion

generated a buzzing business

for social services field attending minors.

 

Thus here we were at our "den",

when this officer (dressed

in plain clothes) wanted some

(even just a dab) smack.

 

One badass dude of this pack

nicknamed "Hen Owes"

usually tried to "sniff" out trickery

when a new bro showed up out of nowhere.

 

Me and the boys could “feel vibes”,

and sense an infiltrator, sleuth,

or simply traitor,

(which last mentioned

a real impish whinny ninny),

when we immediately see him.

 

Between ourselves, we exchanged

specific non verbal signals

if someone ratted on us.

 

Thar haint nuttin worse getting duped.

 

A posse member

(if found out got pole axed for revenge).

 

Usually the beans already spilled

with a caper on our tail,

but the ragamuffin who tattled

would pay with his life.

 

At this instance, I felt trapped.

 

No doubt flaunting law groupthink

and figurative cohesiveness

exhibited obvious signs of defeat.

 

Once no escape in the cards,

each "coyote" barked, howled,

and jabbered like any other teenage punk

when outsmarted by authority

decorated figure head honcho.

 

A hair brained simultaneous idea

lit up all our brains too kill

this menacing enforcer of the law.

 

As if on cue, the beefiest beastie boy

sucker punched, and pistol whipped,

and kicked in the groin this pisser,

who lied thru his teeth.

 

They all did!

 

We knew that.

 

The unmarked car

the mutilated body mortally wounded

with a couple/few token gunshots

for good measure got stuffed

in the trunk of the vehicle.

 

Already headquarters triggered

the slain global positioning satellite

to track location of this rookie.

We subsequently found out,

he attended the same hell hole high school

some years before we

plugged, plotted, planned

to bomb the damn building

to kingdom come.

 

Since the moniker

"bad company" linkedin

to every f**k'n trouble

maker and threat

to other students in general

and homicidal maniacal

reputation in particular,

thus gave us bragging

(cachet damn reputation)

rights in this underground

world wide web of all gory

blood lust and violence.

 

Live to be freely mean and die,

or a nasty, short and brutish life

found most every day a shooting gallery.

 

A temporary bond meant nothing,

(or meeting the barrel of a gun)

if a turncoat wielded a loose silky tongue

spoiling opportunities

to mow down another body.