Is the home of the **** hearted that sent people to graves by the gun they held….dearly departed….it’s hard to live in this beautiful place without hiding our face away from danger and the gangster anger…angrily leaving us weary about loving
“Brooklyn”
…money taken late at night…killing pride from inside like venom from a snake bite…why fight to live…we have given so much and still give for a decent living…and still have to worry about being sent to our grave by brave thugs who shoulders shrug when they send that hollow tip slug to our chest digging itself deep inside like venom from a snake bite killing our pride…’cause we think we can’t do anything…yet we have power of might….but it won’t matter at night…’cause the **** hearted blood suckers from “Brooklyn” have already token what we cherished the most
“Our Brooklyn” streets are filled with life stripped ghost….belt on pants are used as a gun host…spill the first sip of a 40 ounce to toast the dearly departed…
”Brooklyn” my home of the **** hearted, hidden face from the gangster angled anger....I am no stranger to the danger of “Brooklyn”

"New York City...My city of reality...my city of those broken dreams...my city of the business schemes...New York City....my home sweet home...the only place my heart will roam...so i could never ever leave it alone"
-Peter T. DeSpirito