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"Travel through my mind,

And witness time murder my hopes & dreams…

I cope more with dope fiends than my own peers,

Cause these internal tears reminds me of the torture they’ve scorched me with over the years…

Now I’m addicted to misdemeanors,

And fellowshipping with three time felons,

Cause these times promises only jail & hell,

No heaven for a thug nigga…

So they figure cause we slum niggas,

We’re dumb niggas…

So black males rebel in the projects…

And my block is full of fantasy suspects…

Cause the only way out is either through the morgue or cemetery…

I guess my military mind is hereditary…

Praying for brighter days cause looking at the sun don’t pay…

Hustling like it’s the first & fifteenth,

Struggling to make a way out…

Niggas gone way out of their minds

It’s a crime to be broke…

Dirty coat - pocket holding my last dime,

Trying to clear the smoke from choking my visions of legal riches,

But the fog thickens,

So I’m consistently sinning…

And this is only the beginning of the madness…

Even if I’m promised 25

My life looks forward to 3 more years of collateral damage,

So until then I’ll continue to paint these ghetto graphics…

This life is becoming more pitiful,

And don’t laugh, cause it’s sad…

Rap lyrics turning niggas into psychopathic killers…

Praying to automatic pistols,

Cause within the hustling & drug dealing it seems as if God isn’t with them…

The message is so clear that we’re America’s Most Wanted,

And the essence of the atmosphere is casualty…

I guess it had to be…

Call the coroner,

That nigga just caught three in the back,

But better him than me…

Now some nigga’s doing 4 to 5 for a 45 killing,

Sending letters to his family from up-state penitentiary…

The ghetto is fucking with my mental…

I’m a blind man doing time behind the bars of this project prison…

And they’re still not listening to cries of the young…

So innocent within their living,

Yet, can’t witness the sun because of the storm…

So I put my soul in this poem,

Hoping the future grows brighter…

For a generation of kids…

Fighting for their black lives,

Who can’t understand the misery in which they live…

Growing up to be adolescents in their prime,

Living this life of crime…

And only Mom’s cries prevent the trigger from commencing to suicide…

With buried pride & scorned memories,

I pretend not see…

Neighborhood drive-bys from niggas I once intended to be like…

Staring at the world through my window

Watching drug dealing - murder cases,

And before I place my head on the pillow

I commence to praying…

But in my dreams I’m seeing pictures of a murdered man…

Understand,

These times at hand hurting my troubled soul…

And no one knows the tears I shed behind closed doors…

It’s a shame, but it seems reality won’t never change…

Because of misdemeanors & mistakes

The police now know my name…

So this is written for the young, dumb, & unborn…

It’s hell on this earth,

But somehow,

You got to see the heaven behind the storm."



Tha Prodigal One...