Fightin’ Was Natural

Fightin’ was natural, hurtin’ was real, and the leather like lead on the end of my arm was a ticket to ride to the top of the hill. Fightin’ was real. The sting of the ointment and scream of the crowd for blood in the ring, and the clangin’ bell cuttin’ clean through the cloud in my ears. Boxin’ was real. The rope at my back and the pad on the floor, the smack of four hammers, new bones in my jaw, the guard in my mouth, my tongue startin’ to swell. Fightin’ was livin'. Boxin’ was real. Fightin’ was real. Livin’ was … hell.