Poetry Corner: Another Statistic

Everybody wants to be a gangsta but doesn’t know what it means,

Just last week I was speaking to some teens,

They said they were gangsta but that’s not what I seen,

Yelling cash rules everything around me slinging rock to feins.

You get that expensive lay on I guess you think you made it nigga,

House in an all white neighborhood,

You’re their favorite nigga.

People are like tea bags you can’t tell how strong they are until you put them in hot water,

Stand on everything you did or keep your nose clean.

Now you’re sitting in a cell waiting for mail because you was big and bad and pulled the trigga,

Another young boy on your block slinging rock to our brothers and sisters,

Now lost to the system well just another nigga.