I heard you was born in Brooklyn,
Some know it as Crooklyn,
You was a rich, dark color called black,
I'm sorry because of that you was attacked.
I know you was healthy and tall,
like a fresh grown tree,
too bad neither one of us is truly free.
Being a black child I know it was scary walking night,
knowing your city you probably had to fight
You’re that black child I saw on the news,
Shot in cold blood by the men in the blues.
You was that black child that heard the shouts of "Hands Up",
and sadly you’re last words was "PLEASE DON'T SHOOT".
You was that black child who was scared, but strong like stone,
Confident and beautiful just like your skin tone.
You was that black child,
that made your ancestors proud,
You was that black child that wasn’t afraid to stand to any crowd.
You was that black child that scared the cops because you was bigger,
So they aimed there gun right at you, no hesitations and pulled the trigger.
Rest In Peace.