I wrote this next poem while I was in Amsterdam.
As I would walk the streets of the Red Light District, I was constantly approached about drugs. As I would pass them, they would say, under their breath, “Cocaine?”; in an effort to sell me some.
I got really tired of this. If you speak to them, then they know your language and where you’re from, so they start talking to you with familiarity. I address that in this poem.
The worst part about drug dealers in Amsterdam is that a lot don’t even sell real drugs. They crush up some kitchen products that looks like cocaine and sell it. So you would be snorting chemicals instead of cocaine. I hope you enjoy my poem.
No matter what you build, construct, or erect;
The worst thing under a rock, will detect.
They come out at night, and lurk the streets;
Hoping a stupid tourist, he meets.
Preying on the innocent, just trying to have some fun;
Kill them with poisons, just like using a gun.
Sell knock offs, not even the real drugs;
Draino, chalk, etc., what fucking thugs.
Had many approach me, must look like the type;
What they peddle is bad, don’t believe the hype.
Would like to do something, but can’t, even so;
Next one to pester me, going through a glass window!
They’re a plague on Society, like a disease we can’t cure;
The problem is, it starts with the poor.
No job, education, or desire to get ahead;
Rather deal and steal, until they end up dead.
Scum is a fact of life, it’s everywhere you go;
Don’t speak, so where from, they don’t know.
If having to say something, say in Russian Nyet!
It means no, and a language they don’t get.
Never going to solve this, it’s just the case;
I feel sorry for the next, to get in my face!