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.