The streets

It's cold on the streets,
out where i roam,
nowhere to go,
no place called home,

as i walk down,
the endless streets,
thugs, rapists, serial killers,
all of them i meet,

but, hey, down here,
you've got to take a chance,
living on these nightmare streets,
you learn to dance their dance,

because if you don't,
you'll end up dead,
a knife across your throat,
a bullet to your head.