I am a man of many faces and occupy many spaces; I have bases in many places, yet I still cannot tie my shoe laces.
Older than my teeth, younger than my years, old enough to smoke, young enough to pay for the bus. For whose benefit is the disclosure of my age? And what may they aquire from that information? I refuse to divulge, and am not at liberty to, since I am controlled by a higher being. He calls himself... Phil.
My List 1. Ray Robinson 2. Ray Leonard 3. Mickey Walker 4. Joe Walcott 5. Tommy Ryan 6. Henry Armstrong 7. Thomas Hearns 8. Barney Ross 9. Emille Griffith 10. Jose Napoles 11. Mysterious Billy Smith 12. Ted Kid Lewis 13. Kid Gavilan 14. Young Peter Jackson 15. Fritzie Zivic 16. Roberto Duran 17. Jack Britton 18. Carmen Basillo 19. Dixie Kid 20. Donald Curry
You may be right; in clouds I am shrouded. When in the midst of the mist, as it clears it is apparent that I am pissed, constantly too, my wrists twisted from turning the caps, caps that I wish I could close on myself and maybe the bottles would stay on the shelf. As it happens, I am caught in a blur as I sit and stir, shaking the cocktails of my sorrow for her. Since I cannot forget, it was only last year, and I cannot bring myself to shed this tear so I drink this liquid clear, dazed, glazed, trapped in my sphere. I am rambling now but that's what happens when one is drunk; shrivelled and sunk, sitting amongst junk; so I will carry on with my only outlet; the ability to debunk all this boxing funk.
Not madness, my friend, I have merely reached the end; I have been driven up the wall and round the bend from this constant time that I spend, drowning in this fire water on which I depend. A time I portend, I can no longer pretend, impend will that event to which I cannot contend, against which I cannot defend, caused by that which I never could comprehend, and still cannot now. So I will stop wondering why or how, stop walking about town in my slippers, gown and bottle of brown - I will sit here and drown, descend down with my terminal frown and the sad smile of a depressed clown, but unlike that clown I shall not mime, for now is my time to commit that selfish crime; I am past my prime and will no longer climb, however, I feel there is still enough in mine's self to make the piano chime one last time as I write this eternal rhyme.
Manassa Manassa talking nonsense is your game, after a bottle of vodka hold your head held in shame. Keith Moon on the drums, Pep in the ring, its no wonder your on here with rubbish to bring. Old timers were great because they are deceased, its a sure thing your nuthugging will become increased. Ezzard Charles at number six is a joke, probably you've been snorting a few lines of coke. When you hit the pillow tonight and slam your head, always mind your a long time dead.
