From scruffy boy to wily man,

From slight of frame to sleight of hand,

He's grown up doing the best he can.

He's sure his mates can't understand.

XXX

Can't understand the struggle inside,

Words trip him up, deflate his pride.

He wishes that his words would glide

Past stammer that he can't abide.

Past fears he is intent to hide.

XXX

He's learned to hide, connive, deceive

To sneak, to cheat, and how to thieve

His heart is kind, but who'd believe

A ruddy con man could perceive

What's right and wrong? They're not naïve.

XXX

He was naive once. Then he sussed

He'd best be tough; the world's not just.

Finding food? That was a must.

He stole, and yes, he felt disgust

For being someone none could trust.

XXX

Trust him to cheat at cards and make

His mates all think that he's a snake

When deep inside his heart could break.

He wants their friendship but the ache

Of losing's more than he can take.

XXX

Losing at cards? He doesn't care.

He knows he could win fair and square.

He cheats because he's well aware

That some lads haven't got a prayer

Of winning unless he is there.

XXX

But winning friends? He can't be sure

They'll stick by him and will endure

His temper, rudeness and much more.

They're nice; he's not. Their hearts are pure.

He's a bad 'un and there's no cure.

He wants their nod; he's insecure.

XXX

He snipes and snarls and disagrees.

He stammers out apologies.

He sulks and skulks away, quite cross.

He wanders back home, looking lost.

He hangs his head. A cup of tea

Materializes. "What, for me?"

A smile, a nod, pat on the back.

His friends don't care what he might lack.

They know he does the best he can.

His mates are true. They understand.