She had such beautiful brown eyes, and was barely eight..
With hair that waved hello, but now in a very scary place..
Alone with a dead body, with a head laid to rest oddly..
At a mangled angle, away from its chest, "Mommy?"..
Of course there was no answer, but to the phone regardless..
Calling an ambulance for "Mr. Police-patrol sargeant"..
See mommy used to drink in these overly loaded doses..
Even after the doctor diagnosed her with Cirrhosis..
After she came to my house, asking my wife to take her..
Maybe later, to the closest liquor store before it closes..
Now the child’s eyes have dissapeared behind funeral tears..
As she became the woman of the house in two too-little years..
She used to smile at me, but no more, that’s what life’ll do..
A grown woman in an 8-year old body…I write for you..


He was a friend, we’ve known each other since we were boys..
Immensly, with joy, we played with our tenspeeds and toys..
He was cool with me and my brother, in the city-desert sun..
Commencing to broil with heat and not feeling pity for anyone..
The street, where they peddled crack behind a store-front guise..
We laughed and bragged about toys we were too poor to buy..
But he was a little worse, and never brought toys to play with..
But I always understood the golden code and didn’t say shit..
Even when he broke open my leg with his rusted bicylce..
And even when he dissappeared behind life’s divine ripples..
Making waves on the streets. They say he didn’t even freak..
When he shot that boy on the block and cursed him to a seat..
Succumbing to the heat of the city sun is undeniable..
I guess I’ll never see you again…so I write for you..

They say the apartment was coated in blood..
The carpet… thick and congealed, it soaked in like mud..
Still ain’t found my aunt’s body, I guess they stopped lookin..
But were quick to arrest my cousin, print, mug shot, book him..
But he did it. …And everybody in my family knows it..
But how you kill your own mother, leavin’ her sanity open?..
My older aunt tried cleaning the mess… but quit on the job..
Cause she couldn't bare the sight of the vacuum getting clogged..
The rest we owe to mental illness or whatever kills kids..
In the hood, and turns them into monsters with hard feelins..
Now I wished I hadn’t ignored him when we were young..
But then…maybe this is something he always woulda done..
Regardless. But if you heart isn’t hardened, maybe in a life or two.
I’ll get a second chance to love you…till then I write for you..

See, I don’t understand how cats say "It’s just the Internet"..
When anyone with intellect, can see that it’s so much more..
When artists give up and just pour, their souls in the text..
I write scrolls for all those who just might show interest..
It’s more than just writing and reciting. Profit be damned..
I’ll write in quiet, and make the world acknowledge my man..
Who died over a jacket, And those who risk their lives over a habit..
Every story was true from the bright to overly tragic..

For every kid in the hood who’ll never have a voice..
I’ll do what I can where I stand cause I have the choice..
Time and age have a way of sobering while they nueter dreams..
But I found a way to catch the world’s ear through computer screens..
I understand being a rapper isn’t where my life’ll move
But I’m a writer..
So for hip-hop I’m a write for you..

Although a mic’s a tool I may never find the time to use
I can do this..
So for y’all….I’ll write for you..