You know where you at?
This where murders happen because they can,
boys got a hundred bodies before they are men.
It’s not for the money, it’s for practice:
they play for keeps and take tears to their mattress.
This is the home of unknown legends,
forgotten street gods,
champions who kill to get even,
warriors who die for the odds.
This is the place you don’t run from,
where violence is ran to,
and dead homies are friends that stayed true.
We live to die over here:
the size of the gun is measured in fear,
the number of bullets multiplied by years.
You’re in Neighborhood Criphood,
the sound of a head in the horn is understood.
John 15:13 kind of loyalty,
where hoodlums are royalty.
Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. The Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned. The work is lightly edited but has not been otherwise fact-checked.