Banging that avenues every day and night,
going at it with my enemies,
always putting up a fight...
Posting up in the hood,
drinking and twicking,
always up to no good...
Daily giving a hard time to my family,
hating to hear my mom cry,
because i hurted her emotionally...
Sometimes i sit in my room thinking,
telling my self eveyday,
if the gangster life is worth living...
Always thinking of my younger brother,
hoping n praying,
instead of living the gee life he choses another...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
oh i see you running southerners or is it northerners i have heard of the avenues