I protected you for 9 months in my wound, 
only to lose you before you became a man, 
You wanted to be slick, 
hanging with Thugs and Thug Chic's, 
selling crack, using smack, 
forgetting about the knowledge that you lacked.

I tried to love you, wanted to hold you, 
I should had told you that your living wasn't right. 
But you wanted to break bad with Papa, 
and no one could stop you from turning life lessons into a fight.

You showed off your money and gear, 
saying I don't need your help I'm doing fine by myself. 
And you knew that being a drug dealer 
will never bring you the proper wealth.

You thought that you were a man, 
yet you weren't even 19, but you cried like a baby, 
lying on the ground bleeding from your chest 
as I broke down and screamed

I'm not sure if I failed you or did you fail me. 
Since your death bed lies on my conscience 
and every night I awaken to see,

I gave you a home of love but you choose the streets. 
Yet the street is where you lay your head 
and a Mother's cries shall leak.