I’m cryin’ on the inside
Sick and tired of seein’
Brothas dyin’
And mothers crying
At their baby’s funeral

Lord please don’t take him
And asking why
As tears of sorrow stream from
Her pretty brown eyes
She tries to hold it together
Thinkin’ ‘bout how he’d be around forever

She says lord this ain’t right
He was supposed 2 bury me
So how is it that I’m starin’
At his cold lifeless body
Laying in this casket
The truth ain’t hard 2 find
If you just don’t mask it

Homeboy lived that thug-life
Knife in one pocket
A glock in his back
Looking 4 somethin’ 2 go down
Lookin’ 4 a chance 2 clown 
And act a fool
Never afraid of the white man
Just another black dude
That looked like him

You know the one with the saggy jeans
Three sizes too big hooded sweat shirt and loose laced
Timbs he begins to mock the images he sees in rap
Videos forgettin’ who he owes
Spending all his money on chains and rings and rims and
Teeth made of gold he told his homeboys
Nigga I’m packin’ and stackin’ my cheddar 
Hell life don’t get no better than this 
Bought my first bottle of Chrystal, owwww!

You see I’m doin’ big thangs!
Just dropped fifteen hundred dollars on 
This here pinky rang, niggaahh. 
The bible says there are ways that seem right 
Unto a man
And it’s a shame he didn’t understand that everytime
He took down another brother he was killin’ part of himself
But he was quick to blame everyone else for the way he lived
His life
Saying he couldn’t sleep at night
With all these thoughts going through his head and his own 
Mama said
You’re gonna end up dead 
Just like your father

It’s funny how self-defeating prophesies become
Reality very quickly
Ever so quickly
As the bullets rang out from the car driving by 

One to the chest and one to the eye
In his own blood he laid forgetting
All about the life he slayed just 2 weeks prior

His mother says I’m getting sick and tired
Of this boy, then the phone call came
Police saying her son’s been slain
At the hand of another black man
Only 16 years old, y’all


This story’s old and been told a thousand times 
In a thousand rhymes that
Black on black crime doesn’t pay yet

It seems everyday another young man is laid to rest
Got rappers like Fifty-cent wearing bullet proof vests to protect
His chest 
From the life killers and dream stealers
Coming his way because
Even he’s afraid of the New KKK!!

A black face killing his own race
Wearing the sheets that used to be occupied by the white man
But the white hand no longer holds the gun and
It’s a shame that after all this time
We still haven’t learned how to turn a
Negative into a positive, so for this cause my life I give.