Sorry, I just remembered two lines to the previous poem. They belong just before the last two line I typed -- in the middle, so to speak:

Here's to you, little man,
Barefoot boy with cheeks of tan
The gang you squealed on has the urge
To sing and strum your funeral dirge.

Delinquency can be a blight
When clods like you don't do it right.
In the drink you should have went
Neatly cased in wet cement.