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It’s Just Text
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 from "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 her beautiful 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
In D.C. 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
cuz she couldn't bare the sight of the vacuum getting clogged
How do you dispose of a life like trash? ~ he was a marine
With a need to feed the demons birthed partly by Dad
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 Charles, for Omar for Arch and my family!
For my aunt, for James, for Antoine and Anthony!
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
C’mon, becoming a rapper isn’t where my life’ll move
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..
{PRESS ENTER}
Last edited by Richard Corey; 04-01-2004 at 09:05 PM.
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