Around The Way( A Jamaica Queens Thing)

I’m from around the way,

where dice games are played

on corners,

where many die in the race to get paid.

I’m from around the way,

where friends get slain

by stray bullets meant for another’s brain.

But the outcome is still the same;

young black boy dead,

another future oozing down sewage drains.

“Your call can not be completed as dialed, please check the number…”

911 called in vain.

Many young could have lived if ambulance

would have came.

So, we immortalize the decease

in our own way.

On walls we spray paint,

so, we’ll never forget their names.

For the killer we’ll do the same –

in our mind’s, never forgetting his face.

What goes around comes around

no one escapes,

around the way-

cuz, karma lives on every block

in the form of guns, time, and cops.

It’s a cycle, and it don’t stop!!!

Like Hip Hop beats

played on mix tapes

Years before gun smoke

“Jams” were “Deffer” around the way

from RUN DMC and L.L. Cool J.

Hey!!! “G-n, that DJ made my day.”

But that day is gone, and

suckers have killed Jam Master Jay

around the way.

Back in the day there was respect,

but time makes fools forget.

Summer nights, ’85,

Jay’s beats vibrated the streets

and loud radios rattled car glasses.

We never realized time passing,

around the way.

But still,

kids grow up fast

and old men stand in front of grocery stores

reminiscing about the past –

before the Ave. was controlled by cash

and infants with breast milk on their breath

began holding gun to blast.

Around the way,’88,

crack vials use to decorate the street.

As we played running bases they shattered under our feet.

Shattered like a mother’s dreams

of seeing a son succeed.

A future blown away in ’95

by gun smoke and clouds of weed.

Graduating in 2001

just wasn’t meant to be.

But still I believed.

Walking around the way, in’98,

and through out the city I picked up broken dreams,

and made them a part of me.

So, yo my soul never sleeps.

Time flies and I’m reaching for 2003,

but looking back I pour ice for those deceased.

Nowadays, street talk are only memories.

I’m grown and I’ve made it from around the way

from an early grave

and jail cells where the young

live out there days as slaves.

I’m from around the way

where dice games are played

and the players fade,

while close friends grow up

and walk away.