born on the southside, you live alone    four walls and a roof but's always cold    look out the window and there is nothing to see    but, a riot torn city and the death of your country    and your chilled to the bone    with no possessions to call your own    yet you control your rage and you resist the crime    because you’re the next in line    out the back door and to corner store all    you want is a drink and nothing more    sit on the stoop and let the liquor soothe your pride    before you go inside    you in cut in front    and now your the next in line    you never thought you'd lead a life of crime    freedom's the only thing you need    but the truth is something few understand and    an unwelcome reality    now it's dark and black and sad and gone    you express and repress the thing gone wrong    and you want to be the man who ran away    and you wish you could back to yesterday    now he's in her room and he's about to lie    so you pull the gun and squeeze the trigger and    let the bullets fly...