The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

I carry babies like you carry guns
They hold our rights while we hold none
And that's real
And I understand the pain you feel
But I can't begin to understand the pain you inflict
How can I hold you? Kiss you? Love you? When no one ever taught you that shit
You say I remind you of your mother
But you wanna be just like what you can remember of your father
So you leave me
Or even worse, you hit me, you beat me
And she and I are still grieving
Make babies with us then deny them, I guess you're slave masters now
If they could see the way you treat us wouldn't it make your slave masters proud?
But this is not about us, it's about you
Ghetto boys stomping the streets of Brooklyn, Chicago, Compton and Houston to name a few
Sag your pants and sag your goals
Cause you've been told
That you are worthless
Guaranteed to pass by a woman on the street and leave her purseless
Greet your mother with lies and curses
Kill your brothers... and the worst is
That you're proving them right
Landed every punch and yet you're losing the fight
Cause you've lost sight of what you're fighting for
Soldiers strapped ready to fight this war
Shoot him already... no one will give a shit
You've done this before, you can live with it
But can you die with that?
Make your mother cry with that?
When someone comes to retaliate presses the cold metal to your head
Will he make the same choice you made? Or choose another path instead?
Niggas love to kill niggas, I guess you're slave masters now
If they could see the way you treat each other wouldn't it make your slave masters proud?
But I love you, so I try to make excuses defending what you do
Cause I don't know how to put an end to what you do
Love bears the same name as you
I don't ever wanna be ashamed of you
So I hold you close, like you hold guns
And push out babies like you push away daughters and sons
I should avoid you, cause you remind me of my father
But I wanna be just like my mother
So I cling to you
Have 5 of your babies and never get a ring from you
And the sad part is 3 of them are boys that wanna grow up to be just like what they can remember of you
They have the same walk, the same stare, the same temper as you
You say you're too young to be a father... I bet that's what your father said
Right before he said goodbye, I bet that's what went through your father's head
And now the sad part is I got 2 girls that'll probably grow up to be just like me
16 years old pregnant and throwing up, just like me
How can their brothers protect them when they don't even know how to protect themselves
When they're 16, 15, 14 having sex themselves
And now my grandchildren are starting to look familiar
And they keep making us look inferior
And we keep proving them right
If only we knew who to fight
And how
So that's why I grip pencils, like you grip guns
Though you hold back bullets like I hold back my tongue
My dream is that your hands will form to grip pencils, basketballs, microphones, stethoscopes, like you used to grip guns
That you'll unclench your fists just in time to hold your daughters and sons
That history will repeat itself and we'll become kings and queens again
That we'll awaken Martin Luther King’s dream again
But until then… they'll label you criminals, juvenile delinquents, and thugs
They just wanna give you years, but I just wanna give you a hug
And I know you were taught never to cry so let me cry for you
Maybe my tears will cleanse your sins, at least let me try for you
You're just like my brother, who looks like my father, whose face I saw on the first boy I ever loved
And they all hurt me, but I'm so tired of holding this grudge
Tell the judge you plead insanity, it's these streets that made you crazy
Gearing you up for war since you were just a baby
Look into the eyes of these fatherless men
Taught to be men by boys that were never taught to be men
Give us liquor stores instead of schools, crack instead of textbooks, then wonder why we don't succeed
Give us guns and minimal chances for survival then wonder why we bleed
As I grip this pencil tightly, I pray you let go of that gun
My father, my brother, my lover, my son