three more shot to death in Scarborough

I was down at Scarborough's Bluffer's Park two days ago. It was almost deserted, except for birds; the snow was finally melting away though, so it was pretty alright. When I got home I turned on the radio to pick up the news; all that came to mind was 'rat-tat-tat'.

Rat-tat-tat (hip beat to hop to)

Rat-tat-tat (shoot up his window)
Rat-tat-tat (oh your poor husband)
Rat-tat-tat (now you’re a widow)

Up near Finch Ave. and McCowan
where the cops don’t know
who wants to rat
no one talks
gangbangers walk
where CityPulse won’t even go
it’s rat-tat-tat, and
Chief Fantino has a coronary.

And in Rexdale where
there’s a hundred languages
but all the street kids hear
is rat-tat-tat;
they all get
what’s going down
and everything is broken.

But in Bluffer’s Park,
not far from Malvern
when sun reflects
you find a quiet bay
far from shattered glass
away from rat-tat-tat;
where seagulls, swans, ducks and geese
coexist in peace,
and all you hear
the wind and the waves.

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