Big Ase & MorOn - PoeticDeath

He's just a young head
Growing up in east LA
Without much bread
As soon as the sun sets
He's out with a tough set
Hanging with suspects
Suspected of drugs, threats and
Grand theft autos enough said
Sometimes he gets upset
Wondering what went wrong
When his pops would put
Hands on his moms
It wasn't very long before
His parents split apart
Getting high with his homies
In City Terrorist park
At night when it gets dark the Streets are filled with sharks
Who love the smell of blood
Just trying to catch a buzz
Smoking up some bud
Who can he really trust
He's throwing uppercuts
At enemies and such
The neighborhood is rough
All his homies are active
Proving their selves
With their fists with other Members who'd catch em'
Living On The Top
In the projects of East Los
Knuckleheads pulling more
Hits that Pete Rose

Poetic Death, Poetic Death
Poetic Death, Poetic Death

Poetic Death, Poetic Death
Poetic Death, Poetic Death

So now he's back at it, bumping Black Sabbath, bad habits
Corrupt good manners
Playing Carlos Santana
Black Magic Woman
His dad was a bad influence
Drug abusing, sleeping with
Women who love to use it
His son just loved the music
Listenin' to Metallica
Driving around town
In an eighty five Celica
Homeboys are selling drugs
Neverminds what
They're telling him
Ain't tryna get busted
Nobody shows a felon love
This one night, his homeboy Died on a joyride
The LAPD shot him twice
On a high speed chase
His homie couldn't get away
That was his best friend
Since the seventh grade
He's eighteen years old
Hates being at home
Lost both his folks
Before he turned an adult
His father overdosed
The youngster was only nine
His mother was thirty five
When cancer took her life

Poetic Death, Poetic Death
Poetic Death, Poetic Death

He's running into so much Trouble as a teenager
Danger was the way
To spark the flame up
Came from East lost angels
Ain't no place like home
He remains close
To his main folks
He's living at his cousin's house
Still missing his mother's smile
He was a rolling stone
Sex, drugs, rock & roll
Was the lifestyle that he chose
Posted up at the block
Hoping no one gets shot
At least once a week
Someone gets caught
For murder attempts
A burden, a mess
Most certainly death
Encouraged his friends
To never say die
He's killing himself to live
Hurting inside, he settled down
Found himself a good woman
She gave him three children
One daughter and two sons
He shows them so much love
His baby boy
Is the one making the noise

Cause I begin, Sol California
There's a bear inside of him
He lacks of friends
Cause he sees
The snakes pretend
Make believe
With cruel intents
Murder, murder who is next
I'm intense, coming straight
For your neck, Poetic Death
Poetic Death

Written by:
Adrian Trujillo

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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