By Arcassin Burnham

House is hot as hell,
Literally like tamale smell,
How do I prevail,
For my knowledge to even excel,
Alot of people hate me,
But with you I couldn't really tell,
When my shoes get smelly I just put them right outside the door,
The city's moving slow,
Better keep the door close,
Somebody might rob you,
Somebody might take your piece of mind,
Attack you as far as you know,
But you won't,
selling drugs out of the house to pay the bills,
African American people are portrayed as,
But we just want a better life,
It's not our fault,
We were born through it,
Exposed to it,
But we're all not perfect.