My feet...walk on Urban Streets.
Ghosts of the past...once walked this path.
Seeking to be understood.
Back when this was a Neighbor"hood" instead of being...just the.."Hood".
Pop Locks and Beat box...
lil kids playing Hop scotch.
People laid on the couch..with doors unlocked...
Before our women were bitches.
When neighbors helped neighbors and weren't called snitches.
We fought with hands and not with the trigger..
Didn't call each other nigga
I guess back then our Pride was bigger.
We fought so hard to get here...
now we don't remember all the tears..
that fell
Oh well...
We here now. Even though many don't remember how.
Cause we got swag. We walk with our sag. We sell those fat ass dime bags...
And we die...for that "gang" rag.
And we think we made it?
This illusion we created.
Cause we still America's most Wanted.
No respect..cause we still a Suspect.
We need to find a solution..
Cause..My Peoples..
we ain't ready...for no Revolution.
Time to get out our DRUMS..and create a positive beat.
So we can go beyond...
these Urban Streets.
E.c. 02282012
No comments:
Post a Comment