by Morgan Westerfield
(Cedar Rapids, Ia)
Its too many vices and not enough time,
Too many gangsters and too much crime.
Its hard to define whats real and whats lies
So I put my guard up and try to stay behind,
So no one can get my and stab me in the back.
I only answer to myself,
I pick up my own slack.
Out there its drugs and rape and kids killin kids,
Grandmas stealin babies,
And racially divided places to live.
How the hell am I safer in my cell,
Then I was out there subjected to that hell?
The women don’t respect themselves,
Let alone eachother,
Theres no more empowering your sisters,
No more caring for one another.
Yeah its too many tears and,
Too many babies without they mommies around to calm their fears.
Police killin kids cause they afraid of the unknown,
But its not their fault,
They cant choose their skin tone.
Then you got people like all of my bros,
They work hard for respect but their took for a joke.
And once again its for the color of their skin,
But all they can do is love the skin that their in.
And you know what they say you cant help who you love.
That judgement is beyond us,
It comes from above
And im so proud of my man for doin what he do
Why does a hard working black man seem to good to be true?
To me it seems that most these men is the same,
Sellin drugs and fuckin bitches is the name of the game.
But most of these “men” cant even afford to smoke,
Livin off a bitch, but to a real one you a joke.
So one for the truth and two for ya girl,
This is my life and ima live it,
Screamin fuck the free world!