This is the story of a man by the named of Corey |
He held a gun in his inventory, wanting to bring glory |
Glory for his crew, but who knew it would cost so much |
He saw the foe, arm around his hoe, hand went down to clutch |
The handle of the gun pulled it out fired of three |
The bullets went past me, one to the knee didn’t have time to flee |
The last two hit the foe in the chest, the one day he didn’t wear his vest |
Corey laughed he was done with that pest, he felt blessed |
Till the day he was un-dressed, the cops came for the arrest |
They didn’t take him easy, he put up a protest |
Planned a getaway for the west as he ran |
The plan was to get out the window, but it was over before it began |
He took less than four steps, before he heard a thud at the door |
He froze and reached for the same gun that started his fun |
He knew what he did couldn’t be un-done |
He dressed up with gun in hand, this was his last stand |
The cops had a single demand |
“ Drop the weapon and put your hands on your head “ |
He knew if he did he was dead in jail, if he didn’t the room would be painted red |
These both ran through his head, as time seemed to freeze. |

The story of Corey freezes here.....