Ghetto

I'm ghetto,
I am ghetto,
I throw my fist in parking lots,
While elderly women grow a shade paler,
And shade their eyes.

I don't follow rules,
Even rules about rules,
Do not apply to me,
No they don't.

Wind always blows a little
Colder,
Around me.
That's why I wear my pants low,
And my hat slips and slides
Over my eyes.
Greased with french fries,
Just a buck.

I am perennially prosperous,
Every year that comes and goes,
Leaves me richer,
But still ghetto.
My shirt depicting
Homer Simpson in drag,
Smoking a reefer -
Cost more than my meal.

But I don't care.
I'm ghetto.
Yes I am.