rest in peice to my little nigga//
who caught the stray slug from that fake thug that pulled the trigga//
but why must I cry till my tears run dry//
the questioning of my faith that my fears supply//
the fact that I dont know what tomorow brings//
the echo in the halls when my sorrow sings//
the hate in my hart that which I refuse to loose grasp//
the fact I lost my little brother just way to fast//
I still smell the gun smoke when I past the corner of 108th//
were past bloods, crips, and latin kings all met there fate//
were my brother took his last steps before entering hevens gates//
the place were we used to roll dice thats were my dogs met//
it was already so hard growing up in the babylon projects//
a place were the cops barely ever come past//
but mabe my little brothers is just resting at last//
so rest in peice my little nigga//

"for Jermaine"