Raised in the ghetto, Die in the ghetto

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
How my city was and how it is

Submitted: December 01, 2009

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Submitted: December 01, 2009

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Ever since I was eleven I been stranded

Moving into the streets when I got abandoned,

Getting stuffed with envy, But I never let it get to me,

Family was all on the rough road,

Facing life without a tough hold,

Funerals, the hood had over loads

I was trying to make something out of a broken dream,

Living on the curb with my Jesus piece,

I tried to keep my people close in heart,

But to live in the ghetto was falling apart,

The hood was my home now,

Thinking I need to get out some how,

People seen us kids as gang bangas,

My brother got capped for his blue bandana,

Every day you got to hold on,

Because you would never make it to tomorrow,

Where I came from everyone had their own gun,

Family and friends suggest i had to get one,

Every day I tried to fatten my pockets,

Pistil at hand, never even cocked it,

My hood always worried about debt,

But us teenagers had to face the deaths,

Shootings going down from East to West,

I used to wake up to gun shots,

Like trouble had its own box,

I lived in the spot where your colors count,

Every day the cops are yellow taping places,

Crips and bloods trading death faces,

It seems like a soap opera now,

But back then I had to live life thug style,

I had a lot of close brothers,

But when we were in the hood,

The dudes would kill each other,

Every man in the hood had a little thug in him,

Throwing up gang signs, Nigga love your hood,

Every day we hustled for money,

Trying to make it to where we wanted to be,

Every nigga was a goon selling drugs,

Every pay day the hood was all good,

Some dude lived on the road to heaven,

Brothas rollin dice praying for the 7/11

Killing our community with the violence,

Some dudes killed and are left in silence

Niggas get smoked by the B's and C's,

Some dudes face 8 years for murder,

Some strive to make money by flipping burgers,

I knew parents who beat their children,

Had home boys gang bangin,

Or even worse they raped the women,

Break them down and make them victims,

I got love for the hood, Down to every brotha,

But we need to help each other,

Only God can judge a brotha.


© Copyright 2020 JKPCaliboi. All rights reserved.

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