LEGAL HUSTLERS

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LEGAL HUSTLERS
You called it the gutter,
We called it the ghetto
You wanted butter,
We had gold
You have no right to be the judge_
To criticize and condemn,
And no yardstick to measure.

Because in the hood,
True homies make you feel good
An unexpected birth,
Worst of a ghetto child
But trust me, he is cute and mild
A substance of worth,
Nothing to destroy his mirth

Once again you are no judge,
Jury or executioner,
Telling them their lives are on the edge
Who is to say they are right or wrong,
To live their life as an outlaw all along.   

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