R.I.P.

They live with the motto R.I.P. It’s rest in prison Or rest in peace That’s why they decide to keep the heat The hands get you nowhere But the heat will get respect It keeps people from stepping to ‘em Because they’ll send them to their death But why is it “rest in prison” Instead of rot in prison You see youth today have a distorted vision They’ll rather have death; Whether physical, mental, or spiritual Because they fear the life ahead of them Scared to live so they choose death Afraid to inhale so they hold their breath Or take yours, his, or hers They keep that gat and will make it clap If you get on their nerves Heat over hands Is how they solve problems Because hands get you nowhere And heat get you respect You gotta keep this in mind When trying to understand their mindset Youths of Chicago, Miami, and Newark Or any other town in this here U. S. of A. They give a permanent solution To a temporary problem Instead of squadding up They rather hold it up, Finger itching to pull the trigger. BANG! BANG! Music to their ears as they paint the streets red Head up as his hands are handcuffed behind his back And the other brother is lying dead One will rest in peace While the other will rest in prison Fine with the choice he made Because hands get you nowhere And well heat, that will get you respect