Choose Wisely

Choose Wisely

Yo—

I step to the mic like it’s Sunday mass,

confessions of a sinner who escaped his past.

Fourteen years old, world colder than stone,

raised by the street, but the choice was my own.

I still see that day like it’s burned in my skin,

swingin’ a branch like a weapon, wild violence within.

Beat a sixteen down, thought I wore the crown,

‘til whispers hit my ear—his brothers hunted the town.

Two young wolves, blood in they eyes,

wanted for murder, not yet twenty, chasing demise.

That was the road, crossroads in the smoke,

do I walk with death, or let the chains choke?

Saturday hit like thunder in the night,

I laid low, watching shadows move in the fight.

They thought they was Frank, Jesse James in the dark,

jumped the wrong fence, guns barked, no spark.

Sixteen slugs each, bodies dropped in the yard,

dreams cut short, concrete hit hard.

I crept to the viewing, uninvited I came,

lifted closed lids, faced death with no shame.

Their faces cratered, dimples carved by the lead,

ain’t me that killed ‘em, but the path they tread.

Those weren’t my sins, but the wages they own,

proof in the flesh that the seeds was sown.

That was my fork in the road—hear me clear,

I chose wisely, and that’s why I’m here.

Could’ve been a ghost, could’ve bled in the street,

instead I learned wisdom where the bullet holes meet.

But the block don’t stop, the cycle repeats,

another young homie pulled heat, chased defeat.

Pop, pop, pop—echoed off the block,

but the last sound he heard came cold from a cop.

Now tell me—whose fault’s that flame?

The police, the homie, or the parents to blame?

Blind eyes to the red flags, silence too loud,

when a boy needs guidance, but gets lost in the crowd.

This ain’t just a story, it’s a sermon I bring,

repentance in my chest, wisdom carved in the ring.

I stand as a witness, the devil came for me,

but God lit the lamp, said, “Son, you’re free.”

Choose wisely—‘cause the grave don’t sleep,

the streets don’t love, they just harvest the weak.

You can run with the wolves, end up prey to the pack,

or you can walk with the truth, never lookin’ back.

So I preach for the lost, for the youth in the game,

don’t trade your tomorrow for a moment of fame.

‘Cause the caskets are heavy, and the dirt is cold,

and your story ain’t told when the coffin folds.

I’m livin’ proof, homie—look close at me,

I saw death’s face, and still chose to be free.

So listen to the sermon, let the truth baptize,

life is a gamble, but the wise—choose wise.