Employment

Now this one here is from way back in the day.

Employment (Blame?)

Where is my hood?
I no longer know…..
The place I was raised
I no longer go
It’s in the same place
But it don’t look the same,
It don’t feel the same,
Cause so much done changed.
What’s wrong with these streets?
The ones we played in.
No kids play in them now,
Just buyers and sellers.
It must be these rocks, or cracks, or pebbles?
Or whatever you call it.
Those small white round stones,
The stones are what did it.
Stones turn them to bones.
Turn streets to bones,
The streets are now dead.
I see remains of the living,
What they call a crack-head…
A fiend in the streets
But its not his fault.
So who do you blame?
Who’s fault is it made?
Well, some blame my nigga,
He wants to get paid. (…employment)
My nigga had a job,
He worked nine to five,
But he was too black,
So his job laid him off.
But he has two mouths,
One young mouth to feed.
The young mouth cries,
The young mouth must eat.
My nigga buys white,
He has baking soda,
With fiends in the street,
The hunger is ova.
Now his profit to double
The American Dream:
To bite the hand that feeds,
When one is fed by a fiend.

That is my nigga
And he made the crack,
Sold crack to his people
And thas “black-on-black”
So you see my hood
Now who do you blame?
You can only blame me,
I’ll show you the game.
Do you blame the man
Caught up in the struggle?
Or will you blame the man
Who eats by his hustle?
Give D-boy the fame
The fiends know his name.
Throw stones at them both,
Give crack-head the shame.
As I have already stated,
I am only to blame.
I showed you my hood,
I showed you the game.