Living the Ghetto Dream

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long distance

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I hope my poem inspires you to live better.

Living the ghetto dream it remains to be unseen, that everything you do has an impact on the ghetto, you say how you see, well let me run it down to you, with your dope rocks and your sweat socks, pants hanging so low I can see you butt crack, running around teaching our kids how to do something that's whack, without telling them the facts, like pulling this trigger will get you 25 with L or selling that crack will *** up your life , but 's don't think twice, I can Remember back in the day when we use to play hide and go seek in the streets until the street lights come on and you can hear your mom scream your name, but I guess kids don't do that no more, because of boys like you who want to be man, running around playing real live cops and robbers, but you just don't get it do you, you just don't understand, I guess you’re just living that ghetto dream with 80,000 dollar car and your section 8 rent, NO! I aint hating I’m just saying, Why buy a 80,000 dollar car before you buy a house, you say I'm hating but I'm just demonstrating on what not to do, but you don't have a dame clue, your just trying to get ahead, While young black boys are laying in the streets died and the ground bleeds red from the blood that was shed, as little shautena screams for her dad, a dad that she's never had and her mom shakingin the streets for a little bit of cheese, and Kelly is 15 and her baby just won’t go to sleep as cry's please! but it remains to be unseen that your just living that ghetto dream, Traven is only 17 and he was shot and killed in the streets, I still here his mom scream, my baby! But Young Mike is 16 and he sells his dope rocks by the corner of the jukebox on the street of hard knocks, he doesn't think he will ever get caught, but remember life never stop. it keeps flowing like a river even after your clock stop, but he's just living that ghetto dream with his 22"s and his general relief check, it's just a hot mess and no these streets never rest, so every time i walk out the door I put that S on my chess and pray to the Lord, if make you pass 21 your just blessed, but there’s no one succeeding in the ghetto because there is no success, just miles of caskets and thousands of body’s at their final rest, as my cousin the Da'Ron takes two to the chest, now he's at his final rest. But I will remember him in memory and salute him what my fist in air and I scream to the world I will never live that ghetto dream because it remains to be unseen!!

This poem is dedicated to the Da' Ron Butler and my good friend Ronnie may you rest in peace.

© 2013