I didn’t know where to finish or where to start,
To try and express the feelings that were coming from the heart,
On my ummah which is one body, but is being torn apart.
Everyday is a struggle in the dirty east side of the ghetto,
One day a bro becomes an enemy, and an enemy becomes a bro,
Each individual chooses their own way to go, here you never know which direction curses will flow.
I’m sitting in the park, alone after dark, watching brethrens dwelling in their aftermath
Disguising bruised faces, behind them hooded, dark masks, that creates such disgraces.
Is there more to life then this misery I see? This ghetto just displays pain and poverty.
Council estates full of gangs and drugs, got little boys young as nine, acting like wannabe thugs and they’re getting into ‘promoting reps’ through violence and are ready to knock those that dare to up step.
A silent tear rolls down my cheek, remembering a brother’s death. he died down an ally in the dirt filled streets, the cleaners found him looking pale and cheap, didn’t even report him missing to the police. Just cased him, and putting him under ‘dead to report’ thinking it was just another drug/gang related rigour.
They didn’t even realise that he had a father and mother who were going out of their minds, so torn up because their only son got caught up with crime, and chose to lead a life that he thought was heavy and divine.
I ask my self now, What’s going to happen to my son? I don’t want him growing knowing not a book but a gun.
Don’t want my daughter to become ‘da hooker standing at the corner’ but want her to become a striving mother, which is unlike any other.
Maybe it isn’t too late to start on leading a new life, to leave this ghetto, and spread my wings and strive.
To try and express the feelings that were coming from the heart,
On my ummah which is one body, but is being torn apart.
Everyday is a struggle in the dirty east side of the ghetto,
One day a bro becomes an enemy, and an enemy becomes a bro,
Each individual chooses their own way to go, here you never know which direction curses will flow.
I’m sitting in the park, alone after dark, watching brethrens dwelling in their aftermath
Disguising bruised faces, behind them hooded, dark masks, that creates such disgraces.
Is there more to life then this misery I see? This ghetto just displays pain and poverty.
Council estates full of gangs and drugs, got little boys young as nine, acting like wannabe thugs and they’re getting into ‘promoting reps’ through violence and are ready to knock those that dare to up step.
A silent tear rolls down my cheek, remembering a brother’s death. he died down an ally in the dirt filled streets, the cleaners found him looking pale and cheap, didn’t even report him missing to the police. Just cased him, and putting him under ‘dead to report’ thinking it was just another drug/gang related rigour.
They didn’t even realise that he had a father and mother who were going out of their minds, so torn up because their only son got caught up with crime, and chose to lead a life that he thought was heavy and divine.
I ask my self now, What’s going to happen to my son? I don’t want him growing knowing not a book but a gun.
Don’t want my daughter to become ‘da hooker standing at the corner’ but want her to become a striving mother, which is unlike any other.
Maybe it isn’t too late to start on leading a new life, to leave this ghetto, and spread my wings and strive.
hope u r all in gud health and iman :sister: 
JZK for the comments, means alot to me that you guys really liked it.
