Only 21 with his whole life ahead of him,
Thinking about the friends he had,
Now that they're six feet under,
Paying the price for a blunder,
Can you feel his pain; it's crashing like thunder.
But he rolls on, the gun by his side,
The bullet in the chamber and the fear he can't hide,
Another punk s**er steps into the focus,
Making him disappear, with a little hocus-pocus.
Just another punk s**er from the boulevard farm.
Your mind is blind, and your eyes can't see.
My silence, bred violence as I sit here on the inside
Deceived, taking for granted the air that I breathed,
Names carved deep inside these time scared walls,
What's up boo?
Step up; check in, you better start praying, Is it your time to fall?