what is a cracka to do,
~
when there is no white music to console me,
when, i have no white role model to adore,
when, my white friends dress baggy jeans,
and dirty timbs, myself included,
check my style in stolen rims,
i can be rude kid, i grew up places,
where white kids got beat to death by other white kids wit they bare fists,
over a cigarette, ashes to ashes,
cracka's with vandetta's,
sittin in the classroom, talkin' about,
cracked skull's and leaking brains,
the curb felt the pain of that tragic end,
poor motherfucker, shoulda never pissed off that other cracka,
now he dead and probably better,
off,
with the black face,
off,
with the baggy jeans,
off,
with the loose golf shirts,
find scars on my body that are,
deeper than skin, sweeter than sin,
i'm sittin at noon in the lunch room spinnin on,
dro sprayed wit lysol, thinkin,
what's in that weed yo,
it's got me going, can i get some mo!

i'm rowing up stream wit no pahtna,
mothefucka died in a car wreck,
why the fuck he gotta leave,
his older brother, on yay's,
his younger, no home,
his mother, always on the verge of gone,
mikey, 18 years old on my phone bawlin,
lil ballin ass cracka,
saved his brother's life by,
stepping in front of that gat I,
was upstairs wit a shorty tryinna fall in love,
but she just tryinna bone,
fuck that, leave me alone,
this heart needs to be a happy home,
to much more than just,
pussy.

i'm writing this poem on a loose leaf sheet i woke up in,
drenched with sweat, i need to open a window,
i had bad dreams again,
a river that wasn't flowing cause dead bodies were overflowing,
i need someone to love me, i need it badly,
the reason why i spend most of my time writing love songs to noone,
sadly,
she ain't even alive yo, so i call her my ride yo,
cops on my ass cause i drive a black AC in crack head hoods,
looking suspicious wit red eyes and my breath stank with booze,
ownership papers don't match the paint,
the engine been swapped out,
twenty questions ive learned to evade,
a DUI, a walk home,
on the highway at 4 in the morn cursing myself,
bumping into crackheads i know,
always talking to prostitutes i've tried to hold,
i love those dirty bitches from a distance,
cause they all princess's, wit they prince just missing,
please read this form a distance,
cause i don't feel i match my color,
i don't feel i match my father,
but i love that motherfucker,
tell me,
what is a cracka supposed to do,
all i seem to do, is try to love you,
black people,
that may be struggling like this fool,
but much deeper,
please believe me, im tryinna make it all equal,
cause when they ain't raping you,
they raping my own mind,
i could,
put on some black sheets, and turn the burner on they kind,
believe me, this,
i've thought bout on more than one occassion,
so i, strive to,
be loved by you,
cause, KRS saved my life,
when my own kind couldn't and wouldn't do,
tell me,
what is a cracka to do,
i shouldn't but i do,
envision myself with a bullet in my brain changing the mood,
im like a fiend when im broke wood,
calling Letter J, let me introduce you to my dealer mayne!
"yo what up son, can you hook me up wit a bag of hay,
i need to, sway away from the pendelum, it's getting heavy again."
i'm almost struck,
heart broken and fucked pleading to you,
what is a cracka to do,
but to paint a black face on my best pair of shoes,
and try to love you, and try to be loved too,
and try to change, this world from hew,
to some, fucking humanity,
cause,
to you, im just a cracka living out angrily,
but to me,
im a cracka losing my sanity.


peace
~
In Heavy Rotation;
KRS ONE will phuck yo head up hip young emcee!

I love all Hip Hop, fuck yo preference!