Tonight I lay my head down, but the pressure never stops.
Knowing that another kid just has been shot.
Shot because of the signs he was throwing.
Friscos cut and creased with his color rag showing.
It was all fun and games for him, but now it’s just a shame.
Like most kids, he did what he saw on TV, he replicated the game.
Every time I saw him, that bandana he revealed,
“Well homie let me ask you, how many cholos have you killed?”
You just wear the colors; you ain’t down for the violence.
This is why they got you, and put you into silence.
What do you have to show for it? I’m standing on your grave.
With tears falling down, this memory is what I save.
You had so much you could do, but yet you didn’t care.
Every time I think of it, these things I cannot bear.
You passed before your time, you felt the shadows depth.
So many things to say, before you reached your death.
Now there’s no more luck, there’s no 4-leaf clover,
As far as you’re concerned, your whole life is over.
But if this is what you wanted, to be in a so-called gang,
You should have thought real hard, do you really want to bang.