Those bullets made him like screen doors <br />as his hole-ly life's sealed as jail. <br />Pain-self pain! - pious thug abhors. <br />those bullets made him like screen doors. <br />The door of wood box shuts, gin pours, <br />flushed and gushing, his eight molls wail. <br />Those bullets made him like screen doors <br />as his hole-ly life's sealed as jail.<br /><br />Glenn Bagshaw<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-death-of-bugsy/
