"Hey boss, I'm back,

From making up for the lack, Of living quarters and the food, That you would sell to any dude. Been down to Brooklyn and The Bronx, Through Queens quiet hard and mean. Been selling gear for the man, Out of pocket, out of hand. There is one thing I must report, I'll leave it to you to choose resort, That I saw this cat in the square, He wasn't drunk, he had no gear, Only once he looked at me, After that I didn't see, Of where he went, and I don't know, Not even reason, what he meant. Can you help me with my query? That cat really rose some fear in me. What if he's a dreaded narc, Come to burn down houses by a spark? Can we go back to survey streets, Or stay here and dine on stolen meats?"