N.W.A

“Dope man, dope man.

Dope man, dope man.

Dope man, dope man.”

Blared out of your speakers.

Loud and proud

vibrating eardrums like your side beeper.

Impressionable eyes view every inch

received and accepted.

“A bitch is a bitch.”

Young feminine presence observed masculinity at work,

strength demonstrated with a shoulder ride to school.

A stop at the corner store presented gifts and bonds,

snapped into a Slim Jim while you snapped into a Newport.

Off to learn in a crowded facility,

you’re just off

like the end of tour.

Back in full effect, you’re full of surprises.

Gifts so hot could make the sun burn.

Burn like a woman’s fury when she wants you home,

wants you living right

but you must Express Yourself.

Live like those niggas from the New Jack,

swinging high off trees greener than the cash flow in your right pocket;

harder than the steel in your back pocket.

Taken out when you suspected trespassers at your crib.

Straight out of an OE binge, wetter than a hoes mouth.

Come correct or beat face, merlot drops, drip from nurturing lips.

Now two fighters show out, thrown blows until one’s down for the count.

An 80s baby view in slo-mo.

Street Knowledge witnessed within an apartment unit.

Gone before red and blue flashing lights blinded innocent eyes.