I remember when a young nigga used to ride with the heaters. Goon niggas with no remorse. Shoot a nigga over a postage stamp. I knew they were wrong. I knew it was wrong. But the comraderie drew me in. Ain’t nothing like the adrenaline the kicks in when your homie just offed somebody and you’re the getaway driver. Everybody’s life and future is in your hands. You just put the pedal to the metal and ride off with ya niggas.
Did I ever think of the victims ? Sure I did. Sometimes I told myself they deserved it. It’s a dirty game and them niggas ain’t wash up. But if you’re human it always gets to you. You just chilling on the block with your homies and a brew. Then suddenly your mind wanders. To that young 16 year old dboy who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Lean face with the mean grill. Pants so big they drag on the concrete. Big smile. You know the smile. The getting-money smile. You might have been the last one to see his smile … before Lamont obliterated his skull …
You know you been in this game too long when you start having trouble remembering your innocence. Were you ever clean ? Were you always meant for the dark side ? Did it really mean something when you and your young childhood friends would watch scary gory movies and you wouldn’t flinch ? Sure it did. Not only wouldn’t you flinch, but you ask for more. Kill more people. Show more bodies.
So if you were always like this what does it mean ? Did you ever have a shot ? If you were cursed from the beginning is it your fault ? Who do you turn to for answers when your heart is black and wicked ?