Album Name

Mellow Candle

Artist

Robert De Boron

Genre

J-POP

Release Date

2012.01.10

Release Agency

카카오엔터테인먼트

Billy The Kid (Feat. Mr. J Medeiros) - Robert De Boron
When he was young
he use to play with toy guns
He’d say it was for fun
but really it was the feel of it
He acted silly but Billy
loved the appeal of it
Though its just plastic
his roles got drastic
Sound effects would blow
he’d black mask it
Around his neck would glow
that classic Rambo medallion
He use to dream of Lambo’s
Italian Mafioso
Commando battalions
He would lead them
through the dark of winter
He would leave them
when his mom had started dinner
At the table
with his bleeding elbows
Even when eating
he needed his GI Joe’s
By his side guarding his pride
A soldier or a poet it
got harder to decide
The fun ends as the evening unravels
A young mans ego so fragile

A now he’s hitting
his teens still drifting in between
Wanting to be a writer
wanting to be a fighter
He’s starting to wonder
which was mightier
And found one
The difference between
Martin and Malcolm
He couldn’t see it in the outcome
They didn't live to see it
Now how come
Was the thought he saw
the ones who fought
He saw the ones
who got caught in their cross fire
His boss fired him and the cause
He was reading Che Guevara
instead of him parking cars
Who writes
the laws who enforces them
Born to win born to loose
born again
Mortal men with an ego so fragile
Reading as the meaning unravels
Was it a bullet to
the head or the words to the brain
That brought about more change

It’s been a long time since
the toy guns and the acting bigger
Active trigger now
he a real action figure
The military made it harder to decide
A soldier and a poet now
the poet guards his pride
You see his views
we see them on the evening news
We read the words found
hidden in his BDU’s
We loose sight with an eye for an eye
Were the last words written
on the night that he died
In a book they gave to
his son the day he turned 21
The day he learned of young
men who have come to an end
Of his father who held his gun
but held harder to his pen
A martyr born again every time
his book was opened
And the mind that provoked it
Was it the words from his hands
or the bullet from a gun
That kept a man alive for his son