Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!
playing street games my hood is
in mind, body, and
dreams erased from consciousness
like chalk boards in under funded classrooms
replaced with delusions of street granduer
handshakes, stop and go's, dope fiends, dime bags, and bullet-filled hammers
idolized worship of
bein a "Hustla, I'mma I'mma Hustla homey!"
nigga nigga niggas
ask about where to get that good shit at
Tryna grasp what they can't hold
control what they can't mold
buy what they can't own
while chasing hollow dreams
wine, women, objects, and things
Wanting to stack paper like the hottest Nigga in tha industry.
(when rumor has it he's only worth 50cent)
One life to live
One life to forfeit
One life to devote to getting put on.
and it don't have to be expensive as long as the rims stay spinnin'
and spinnin' and spinnin' and spinnin'
and now they and the rims are identical
cuz they spinnin while standing still
Invisible asassins killing dreams
making the young ones slain
like 21 murders in 3days on winter weekend
however the cold blood wasn't from the the subzero tempetures
thus body counts rising like summer mercury and corporate expenditures
and hood life still on pause
stuck like a CDeedeedeedeedeedeedeedeedeedeedeedeedeedeedeedeedeedeedeedeedee
stuck in the same place cause it can't move forward
because of the scratch in it's surface
(but at least the CD has an excuse to be)
Written by L. E. Colston II
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