Dying over drug money

Back from space, when I was young
Everybody in the neighborhood, was packing a gun

Falling for one's, living mad actions to breed stacks
Collapsing to the corners
bringing pounds, of yank back
waiting for the fiends to relapse

a automatic trap, once you sponsor the contact

feloniest schemes, robbing everybody for green
these are the dreams, of a hopeless teen
regressed in theme

forget the final exam, to get rich, so he needed to bag grams
stuck and jammed
hiding your name from uncle sam
getting payed on the low, rocking J's, on the pro cam

Sometimes I pray when I was lonely
because we was to young, to see you die over drug money

Written by: Desia Scales (Alien Artform)