looting
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‘Twas an ill wind blowing on that August day.
‘Twas a portent of what was headed that way.
All saints and sinners, aye ye better take heed,
of the storm they called Katrina.
You use racism as a mask to hide your inner desires.
The sheep herders are just liars, but you choose to ignore it.
This looks like rough justice, I need some solace
in this time of distress, riots got me on edge.
