I protected you for 9 months in my wound,
only to lose you before you became a man,
You wanted to be slick,
hanging with Thugs and Thug Chic's,
selling crack, using smack,
forgetting about the knowledge that you lacked.
I tried to love you, wanted to hold you,
I should had told you that your living wasn't right.
But you wanted to break bad with Papa,
and no one could stop you from turning life lessons into a fight.
You showed off your money and gear,
saying I don't need your help I'm doing fine by myself.
And you knew that being a drug dealer
will never bring you the proper wealth.
You thought that you were a man,
yet you weren't even 19, but you cried like a baby,
lying on the ground bleeding from your chest
as I broke down and screamed
I'm not sure if I failed you or did you fail me.
Since your death bed lies on my conscience
and every night I awaken to see,
I gave you a home of love but you choose the streets.
Yet the street is where you lay your head
and a Mother's cries shall leak.