(poems go here) "Crime ridden, blood sheds on my city's streets

America calls us thugs, drug dealers-my city

There are no fightfighters or police to protect us

We still love GM, even tho it has left us

We fight for the unemployed and lives thrown away

Youth scramble to survive the day

A mother cries, her son passes away

We've hit a Great Depression long before America did

Our Flint streets always losin' kids

this is my city-bad as it is.

But as crazy as my city is

for every person murdered after dark

someone's shootin 300 J's at the park

or artist paintin the Rock

Hardwood in the winter

City gyms packed for City wars in December.

The Journal disses our teams, then we hit State finals

810 loves it seems

ballers-Glen Rice, Andre Rison, Mo Cleaves.

My ciy is the hardest,always bright minds shinin through darkness.

My city-so real,Downtown lookin too pretty,

Flint,M.I-my home, my city."-Shaquille Hill