To Be Heard: Poverty State of Mind

Came across this website, looking for money...

That already says so much, that it's not even funny

After honeys, whips and chains,

Versace in particular.

NIGGAS we like to call ourselves,

Claim we so hard in these streets.

G'd up, Rambo style, guns blazing,

Just to get shot down at the concrete perpendicular...

I'll meet you at the crossroads. 

These people have lost hope,

Kissing lost toads by the busloads, hoping

Hoping that at least one WILL NOT errode in their faces.

But when it exploads, they just reload and continue

To play the game with no cheat codes.

Then we're all fucked

Black people-NIGGAS- running low on luck.

Convinced their lives suck, cuz moms never had a buck,

And all they got for Christmas was their cousin's old hand-me-down tonka truck.

Therefore for income they start to trap,

Selling Green, White, Pills, Crack.

Constantly looking over their back, toting the strap, ready for a NIGGA to clap.

Flaunting their newly gained money, just released Jay's,

And clean new cap with the snap...

Just that Poverty State of Mind.