Crystal ****, Crack *******, all of it is like a bullet to the brain. Living by the law of the gun, making money on the run. Millions flow into the banks, the people don't ask where it comes from. They just take their cut and then they move on. The bodies lay cold in the street, a 9mm or a pipe it doesn't matter which. The victims are just as dead. Leaving parentless children looking to be fed. The street breeds them, it is the way they live. Handouts only go so far, they see what is on T.V. the clothes and the fancy cars. I once was the same, then I got caught up in the game. Slinging on a corner just to make the rent, now I got more money than 50 cent. Gold and jewels I buy by the car load. The finest hotels and beautiful women who will sell their soul. You cannot tell me what money can't buy, my only limit seems to be the sky. So now I am standing on my own building like Donald Trump, I look at the billionaire next door and say hey dog whas up. I see all of the little people down below, ******* on a pipe or shooting up blow. Built on the despair and protected by guns for hire, I sit as the king of a drug empire!