Parents aren't what they used to be....
Their certainly not envied.
White tee shirts with red bras. No manners; their flawed.
Their kids running a muck. They'll do anything to save a buck.
They're ghetto; garden variety. Raising my anxiety.
Entire conversations; cursing. In public rehearsing; what they're going to say to a combatant.
No parent's just aren't what they used to be....
Like two per household and for sex a low threshold.
The kids clothes are dirty. Their busy dressing flirty.
They themselves can't read or write.
A riot they can incite.
Men are paraded by. Their daughters are pregnant and mother wonders why?
Monkey see; monkey do!
They're raising Hoodlums.
The kids committing crimes while they're with them.
Sons don't know their fathers.
Getting acquainted; their mothers didn't bother.
The stupidity never lets up; Grandparents are fed up!
Their engish is broken. They hate the well spoken.
Their in the thick of gossip and know that they should stop it; drop it.
Their fighting with teachers. To their phones adding new features.
Their babies having kids. On guys they have dibs.
With other girls; the guys are creeping and sleeping.
They're all unethical. Excited by the sensational.
Buying what they can't afford.
For drugs their gun- ho; on board.
They can't boil an egg; but know how to beg.
Rather than miss a meal; from you they'll steal.
Their lives they won't better; but with their pals they'll get together.
You know; whatever.
Copyright 2008
Compliments of Bullseye
Rhonda Cox
