Poor Boy

July 1, 2002

Tired of this crap, just makes ya wanna jump back
Handle business, smack down
Don’t be trapped!

A door opens, nothing but air, 500 feet down, can you fly there?
Why? What’s on yo mind
You’re not an eagle, step on down, or once again, smack down!

Crazy ass fool, running wild on the streets
Stirring up trouble with everyone he meets

Engines roar, tires squeal, bullets ring out; your boy got killed
Shot in the back, what’s up with that?
No chance, blind death, now there’s nothing left

Your girl screams in the street, heard for blocks, pounding feet
That’s what we hear, and what we fear
Now the hood has drawn near

Nothin but a poor boy, to much knowledge
Wasted by the streets, that’s what we call it

Future cut short, no more chances to be given
Rest in peace my man
Hopefully in heaven

Image by Graphicbirdie from Pixabay

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