born on the southside, you live alone
four walls and a roof but's always cold
look out the window and there is nothing to see
but, a riot torn city and the death of your country
and your chilled to the bone
with no possessions to call your own
yet you control your rage and you resist the crime
because you’re the next in line
out the back door and to corner store all
you want is a drink and nothing more
sit on the stoop and let the liquor soothe your pride
before you go inside
you in cut in front
and now your the next in line
you never thought you'd lead a life of crime
freedom's the only thing you need
but the truth is something few understand and
an unwelcome reality
now it's dark and black and sad and gone
you express and repress the thing gone wrong
and you want to be the man who ran away
and you wish you could back to yesterday
now he's in her room and he's about to lie
so you pull the gun and squeeze the trigger and
let the bullets fly...