"For most of us the underground is home,
Its shadows are the only light we know.
With a peculiar sense of irony
We embrace women's scorn inately;
Instead of love, they grant us realty
On the edge of polite society.
"Tough guys can make a living hereabouts
If they want a gun, they can print one out.
Women covet the contraband we sell
Or else cut loose with some kid--no one tells!
Nothing succeeds like exploiting others,
The one thing we learned from former masters."