Every Hood has a SouthSide

Remembering, you was the first with the Coogie vest,

Now I'm standing over this casket due to a hole in your chest,

All because you wanted to be known for selling the white,

you glorified this lifestyle thinking it gave you might,

but it couldn't stop the bullet that stole your very life,

now who's gonna support, your kids and wife,

In five years, you'll be nothing more than a faded mural on a wall.

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

But, I'm conflicted.

Conflicted, because how many lives did you destroy pushing dope,

all because you wanted to look fly and floss the gold rope.

Never questioning your stories of how you bust your gun,

now, I'm only praying for a better future for your only son.

<This is not a finished piece, this is a draft. I don't even think I'm finished with this one yet. I definitely might be adding some more lines. I definitely will change some wording, but the premise and theme of this poem will remain the same. Once finished this will be classified under the Urban Poetry category, I hope you all enjoy the read, and I can't wait to post the final product.>