The Ghetto
By yussufhot911
Look at me and these rags I’m wearing, all blood stained, dirty and old, there’s a place I know, a place I’ve been, where the roads are cracked and the streets are mean... Around each corner you can often see, men with spades and dominoes just smoking their weed, sweet tunes from Bob Marley echo here throughout the day, with the lyrics easing tensions and trying to stop gun play... This place, this rich mans' hell, is also home for many, and everyone here struggles just to earn some pennies, with many still so jobless, the weak turn to their guns, and remember “Cowboys” and “Indians” except there is no fun... Most Mothers are heart broken, near the end of the day, cause their pastor drops a visit with all bad things to say, "It’s your son", he will Lament and say that he got shot, and not long a doctor calls and said he died from all the shock... What is a Mother to do cause there’s no where else to go, and she has three jobs already, just struggling to run her home, but her sons, if left any, are dying and she’s losing hope, so what is she to do, when the Ghetto is all she has...? Written January 20th, 2002 © on Jan 20 2002 03:18 AM PST 0 • 9
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"Look at me and these rags I’m wearing,..."