Long days shorts night, sore back muscle tight, cant afford wrong only right. Hard work is what describes me, violence is he. Told him let by gones be by gones, but instead he buy guns. Victim of the gouvernement menace, trying to be chritopher looking for richess, but ended like Wallace. Bullet to the face, would you believe the waste. Soul taken for granted, left his mom’s heart tainted and no one is wanted. Life as a gangsta, one day here, one day a fallen soldier. His comrades continues with their goals, living in the night like owls. Waiting to be another statistic, living with unorthodox linguistic, mind forever on mental gymnastic. The struggle