West Philly Cry

The streets are coated with ice, No salt spared here, Empty road waffled bottles christen our sidewalks, Our mother of sorrows indeed, Creating lots for quarter mill housing? What are you doing? What is the true issue? Is it finding new neighbors? New neighbors for the hood? I'll say what must be done, What must be done, Put aside personal profit, The in with the new attitude, Take what we have, Take each foundation, It needs to be renewed, To renew, To enlight, To find the bulb in the night which shines; Shines upon only us, Only those here, Maybe the police would not stalk our streets, Maybe then they wouldn't have to wait- To hear that next gunshot, BANG! Another life lost, Loose dog- Hear my cry.