Al Kida was a friend so near.
We’d get together, drink the beer.
We liked to go to the flats and shoot.
Our AK-47s--what a hoot!
Or sit by the campfire and philosophize,
About those good old days gone byes.
When men were men, and women knew their place.
We could rape all we want and hide their face.
When men were men, and knew how to fight.
Sneak up behind ‘em in the night.
We used to play cool computer games.
Like hack the bigwig corporate nonames.
Take their money offshore we’d run,
Me ‘n old Al, we sure had fun.
Fishing with dynamite was such a blast.
Give those bastards a message that will last.
Last I heard, old Al was on the run,
Left his wife and kids with that thing he done.
Heard that he went underground,
But then, rumors abound.
If you see Al, give him a high five.
Tell him he’s lucky to be alive.
Be sure to give him that finger sign.
Al Kida was a friend of mine.
Al and Bert, aka, Albert
Read War's End, the Novel
Copyright © Ronald W. Hull
Al's Friend, Bin