Monroe Dispatch - No Struggle, No Progress

When I was young and just a small fryer

I searched through the dirty waters of my hood and used to admire

The big fish with fancy rides, women on the side and teeth that shine like fire.

They wore the latest styles with do rags and timbs

They rolled in candy-painted whips with twenty-two inch rims

And, I said to myself, “I want to be like them”.

Popa was a rolling stone, he left us alone and he’s probably locked up state

Moma is praying, that she can keep paying, maximum bills with only a minimum wage

She is always saving, but I’m still craving for things she can’t put on my plate

For my pants I’m too tall, my shoes are too small and they slide like I’m rolling on skates

I wanted so bad, for what the big fish had, until slob would dribble down my face

No one was surprised, when they threw out the line, and I nibbled at the bait.

I jumped into the muddy water without ever stopping to look

I tried to play the criminal game before I read the book

To obtain the material things, to keep me moving up the stream, I stole, I sold and I took

I saw killings, drug dealings, blood spilling and dead bodies when the shook

I was addicted to getting stitches, bullets missing me by inches and mornings as black as soot

I tried to rise, above the bloody tide, but I was trapped under the street’s heavy foot

It is a shame and a sin, how the big fish baited me in, but they didn’t tell me about

“THE HOOK”.