Don't be fooled by the power that you wield
with your knife and your gun.
His mothers words.
You're human son, not invincible and as a rule 
bad men almost always die young.

Four.
That's how old he was when his old man was 
gunned down on the corner of 161st and third, 
he died.
His mother was only twenty, barely a woman, 
hardly surprised, she buried him.
She never cried.

Growing up in the hood he had absolutely no 
boundaries, did whatever he wanted.
Mom had two jobs, nobody cared, constantly on his own.
The pushers and the pimps became his best friends. 
The streets and the playgrounds his home.

By the time he was twenty he had brutally worked
his way up to the top of the game.
King of the South Bronx.
Six cars, endless hookers, money, real estate,
an underground empire, notoriety and fame.

The chicks simply called him honey.
The cops, a ruthless thug.
The homeboys just called him Ray.
He ruled the streets with a vengeance. 
No prisoners, no mercy, disrespect him or the crew 
for any reason and you had to pay.

Came home one morning, blind drunk.
They were out all night clubbing.
Celebrating his twenty-third birthday.
The woman with him was pretty, petite and high, just
another shorty, no worries, she came to play.

He used her the way he usually does, 
then beat her up the way he always does.
Didn't bat an eye when she reached into her
pocketbook and took out a gun. 
Whatcha gonna do bitch, don't you know who I am?
She emptied the clip.
Fuck you Nigger, my name is Pam.

Don't be fooled by the power that you wield
with your knife and your gun.
His mothers words.
You're human son, not invincible and as a rule 
bad men almost always die young.

They buried him Woodlawn cemetery early today.
A handful of people showed up, mostly her friends.
Who died? somebody asked as she was leaving.
He was twenty-three she said, he was my boy Ray.

 Everybody dies young... 

 
Ray - copyright © 1999 Ahkenaton  All rights reserved