Last summer I saw candles being lit.
They were for the three boys
who took their last breath of air
on Genesee Street.
The bodies are piling up.
Around every corner you see candles.
Around every corner another kid is getting dropped.
In my city streets are filled with pain
because it is the “Ghetto Blood” that runs through our veins.
In my city the kids are so in love with the street life,
that at one point they have been held at gun point.
Glocks strapped to their waist
like a soldier ready for war.
But you can still see the look in their eyes and
they’re hungry for some more.
Some of us used to believe in god
but that went out the window
when at least one person in our life got shot up.
In my city is a blank space.
We’ve become so accustomed to the fast money
selling dope is the new fast lane.
Blood runs through the streets in my city. Young boys trying to be down
and next thing you know, front page headlines.
His momma’s puttin’ him in the ground.
Facebook stats going up saying
“RIP You Left Too Early.”
In my city it’s to the point
where we have to get on our knees
and say a prayer before we leave to walk these streets.
In Rochester, New York we’re born
And raised in the streets.
We have to be careful when we walk in these