17800
Hopped off the train, this is where I live.
Up the stairs, there go homeboy, known him since we was kids.
Gave him dap, my man, what it is?
Ain't nothin, just trying to make this paper, and handle my biz.
True, true, keep it 100, on my way to the crib.
More dap, one love, be safe kid.
No doubt, I'm out, to the Southside, where the freaks come out.
At night, they'll rob you of your shoes if they ain't tied tight.
All ready dark, I'll cut through the park.
That's when I see two figures start, running in my direction, screaming hey you.
Without thinking, I do, what instinct tells me to.
I start running, where I'm from, armed robbery is very common.
So I move faster than a New York minute, like Jesse Owens in the 1936 Olympics.
All I'm thinking is just getting to my building.
No matter how hard I run, I can't shake this feeling.
A dreadful sixth sense, that continues mounting.
Voices, radios echoing, I start hearing.
Lights, sirens, hoping fences, behind this dumpster I start hiding.
I need to catch my breath, I'm tiring.
Dog's barking, helicopters flying.
Came out to early, spotlights blinding.
That's not for you, the mind verifying.
Yet confused to what's transpiring.
Home is the only thing that seems to be amplifying.
All I can think of, is my lady and baby crying.
So I hop another fence, near the bodega, that has the chopped cheese I be buying.
Three blocks away, I got to keep trying.
I don't hear anything, hopefully I got away, cause that was terrifying.
As I pull out my cell to call home, I hear drop the weapon, and a gun firing.
Then I hear don't move, Police.
But now I'm on the ground struggling to breathe.
A lot of pain, and I can't feel my legs.
I touch my chest, it's wet, I look at my hands, there red.
Someone's standing near, but I can't see clear.
I struggle to speak, help me, but I don't know if they can hear.
Cause I was turned over and cuffed right there.
What a chase, but we got him, is all that I hear.
As I lay on this concrete, that feels colder than an ice rink.
No chest compressions, no direct pressure, no life saving techniques.
I see a cell phone, where's the gun, says one.
I don't know, says the other, damn, why did he run.
Just say you feared for your safety, What's done is done.
Grand jury's don't indict, don't worry about prosecution.
As my life flashes before my eyes, slowly drifting into conclusion.
Faint audio of what's your name, as probing hands move about my frame.
Ambulance is coming, but when it finally came.
I was declared, right there on the scene.
And though there were witnesses recording details, and the blood stains.
The report, black male in a black hoodie, flashing a weapon. Mines was dark blue, with white lettering.
Outrage, protests, vehicles smoldering, and stores in flames.
As the exertion of outrage labors in vain, in the tireless pursuit of change.
Only one variable is consistently seen.
The equaling of just another name, in the book of the slain.
For if the arithmetic to a problem is the same.
No matter how you add it up, the same remainder remains!
