Dreams of mirth engulf my sleep
when I wake it's back to the streets
hustling for green, why?
My lungs fiend to inhale the green;
blinded by herbal clouds,
gray sky's surround my atmosphere
no matter how much I want to disappear the raindrops never stop,
keeps my cloths drenched;
outsiders think its from the constant perspiration,
when I know the cause is from my repeated disobedience,
steadily going against the grain;
walking blind down a one way highway,
wondering how my soul remains intact,
sometimes I try to sit back and relax
so I can extract the facts,
but as soon as my mind is clear
someone comes through with a blunt or two,
I want to refuse,
but my lungs are addicted to the herbal use;
is my environment the source of my inner blues,
the more I contemplate the more I feel confused;
always aiming for a come up,
a quick flip,
or anything that can get me rich swift,
but every time I end up with one of my nine lives on the line;
am I expendable
because young Blacks don't make it to life expectancy maxim,
unless we are locked up inside the state's maxim;
where's the security
when where you eat and sleep
is only a few feet from where you defecate and pis;
but maintaining is your primary goal,
praying for survival
in a place where people call you vermin,
cause the gutter is your home,
maybe that's why all I attract are hoodrats.
I don't know the answers,
I don't have a clue,
but what I do know
is winners never quit
and quitters never win,
