As I lay here in this coffin, six feet beneath the ground...
My heart which once was beating, now doesn't make a sound.

My lungs which once were breathing, are airless in my chest...
My virtue so resending, I did what I knew best...

I lived a gangsta lifestyle, never thinking I would die...
But the truth really turned out to be, I was living out a lie...

The lives I took were many, and yet I buried none...
So many call me heartless, for killing their beloved son...

God gave me many chances, to change my evil ways and pride...
Before the Reaper with his sickle, struck me with great stride...

This life of thugs and hustlers, and bangin in the street...
Is the reason that I lost it all, and my heart has stopped to beat...

Now it seems I lost all chances, to save my sinful soul...
For now I lay here in this coffin, deep within this hole...

Was I a devoted gangsta? Or perhaps a mindless slave...
For it's rare that someone comes to mourn me, or place flowers on my grave...