Every Hood has a Southside

Remembering, you was the first with the Coogie vest,

fast forward, casket lain, with a hole in your chest,

because of deadly fame, accompanied with selling the white.

You glorified this lifestyle, thinking it gave you might,

but nothing protected you that night,

when a bullet stole your very life.

Now who's going to support your kids and wife.

But, I'm CONFLICTED!

Conflicted, because how many lives destroyed pushing dope?

Because you wanted to look fly and floss the gold rope.

Never questioning stories, of how you bust your gun.

Now, consistent prayers, concerning the outcome of your only son.

Fast forward, five years, your legacy, a faded mural on a wall.

Hood tales, glorifying an O.G. who mastered the scale, destined to fall.

Rewind, is it the system that steered you wrong,

or was the Southside blues, destined, to always be your favorite song.