Eleven years old, already on the block hustling. Waking up early to make the donuts. He was just a little munchkin.
His clothes were hand-me-downs, shoes rotting off his feet. He was constantly teased at school, so every day he felt defeat.
He had no real mentors. Nobody there to guide him right. Now today they stole his stash, so somebody gotta die tonight.
He took a little change and purchased a 32. Smoked a bunch of weed and swallowed some 30s too.
He was ready to start blastin' in a wild west type of fashion. He's been emotionally reactive. Ready to go out and commit a crime of passion.
He set a trap and laid in the cut, anxious to bounce on his prey. But to his utter disappointment, no one took the bait that day.
Now he's mad and confused, with his little ego bruised. All in his head, he's seeing red, now somebody else gotta feel the blues.
He tried to figure out a way to make the stash even more enticing. He's the perfect storm brewing, ready to bring the thunder and lightning.
Finally, on the third night, he sees the silhouette of the thief. He puts the gun to the back of their head and blows out six of their teeth
He turns the body around, anxious to see who he'll discover. His knees buckle, and jaw drops, as he sees the corpse of his own brother.
