It's been 9 days.
9 days since that 9 grazed ya side,
And 9 days we prayed for you to raise ya eyes...
But 9 ways or prayers been denied.
In 9 days my world's changed from hope,
Cause 1 year past 29 is not the age to go.
Since the time you were 9 I could see you were the type to take control,
A strong spine but a waging soul, wit 9 lives.
Back in 99, I spied you tryna live ya life right but couldn't survive the smite,
Even though you tried to raise me right.
So I strive to utilize what you deprived yourself of,
And that's the knowledge that Hood Respect don't coincide wit’ Self Love.
I need you to be selfish for yourself its- Fight or Flight,
And right now you need to fight for Life.
And even though it just might be- slightly- coincidental,
Since I heard the news new views switched my mentals.
So you can't hit the casket before you hear my kids calling me daddy, Uncle Moe and Trose
Barely speak but I know we close, so far.
We closed off due to tough decisions during close calls.
Didn't write each other, but we were never wrote off.
I'm so lost, ‘cause When I close my eyes
I see 1 .357, or a 9
going through ya Liver- in my mind, while you are living through ya Prime.
So I just need you to rise so I can say...
“Bro, We made it through those Odds.”
And oddly enough, regardless of the outcome or my luck
you'll probably never get to read this, Cause we just- perpetually dysfunct.
Plus- I know that traditionally showing Love is not conducive to ya thug.
So I'll just say, Whoever responsible gonna have to kill me too if we gotta pull ya plug.
Or else they gonna have to suffer…
for at least...
9...
days.
