This is the story of my childhood. It was a grim one. My family were originally from Philadelphia, but had emigrated to Russia during the 20s. We had lived a good 40 years in the Russian town of Ptroksydakov. I was born in 1956.
Then the Cold War started.
I was forced into a USSR POW camp, despite my family having lived in the USSR for years. We were Americans, and to them, the enemy. Somehow,my father smuggled me and my mother out. Unfortunately, my father and mother were killed during the escape. I ran. I ran for hours, days, weeks, months. I ran from the POW camp near Moscow all the way to Bordeaux, France.
From there, I jumped aboard an oil tanker going from Bordeaux to New York. After nearly half a century, a member of my family was returning to the United States of America. I had never seen the country, but I had dreamt about it ever since escaping from the POW camp. By then, I must've been running for a year.
I landed in New York. I had made it. I was finally safe from the KGB. I would not be chased anymore. I was free. I had to beg on the streets to get the money for a trip to where my family were. My father always told me that someday we would return to there. I would live free and safe with my grandmother.After months and months and months, I finally had enough for a trip back.
I whistled for a cab and when it came near
The license plate said fresh and it had dice in the mirror
If anything I could say that this cab was rare
But I thought 'Nah, forget it' - 'Yo, homes to Bel Air'
I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8
And I yelled to the cabbie 'Yo homes smell ya later'
I looked at my kingdom
I was finally there
To sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air