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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Gunshots be leavin 'em children alone they gotta find a way all on they own kids screamin out sets for hope then run around with a crew slangin dope can't forget that they saw they fathers go witness to earth the bloodiest show to young to truly understand despite what ya heard God won't hold your hand It seems to me that we've been forlorn destined death after death to mourn lookin at the future of us all death to brothas come at a sudden call little children begin to see the light keep on killin knowin that it ain't right but desperation sets in hopin for death because it's to painful to take another breath How many of my brotha's died last week an an answer given not for the weak life like this shoulda made us sick creepin in streets tryin not to get licked time again are numbers start to dwindle hopein for knew life in this race to be kindled but all we ever do is disappear it's funny that are lives are consumed by fear and are youngstas reproduce fast more brothas get shot lives endin in head casts why do we gotta die at such a rate a brotha feel cold heat as if it's fate and as my brothas always seem to die my race got another reason to cry little niggas is our only men no more elders in my dearest black kin Now we got kids runnin da street that means, the judge and jury da heat the boys in blue pilein up da dead crackas in th oval office shakein da head the ghettos so lost can we find a way it seem's that the only hope we got is to pray and children already learn how god do give to those who take so we take with a 22 now we gotta cope, sippin' on brew gettin faded thinkin bout the dirt we do and that just make a brotha think why we be born livin on da brink seein bodies fallin fast in packs cause it be like we forced to fire back so thelast thing is to put bodies in bags at da funeral drapin our brothas with rags
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