The streets were all I knew from the age of nine because I wanted to make my father proud. Mom warned me, and the years in jail taught me...the life of the streets isn't a life. The shit I've done, I take responsibility for. Just tell me what the fuck is the price of redemption? No matter how much I'm willing to pay to move forward, the world won't let me forget.
I've given up years ago trying to get a good woman. So, why the hell am I soaking my nails to get the job site dirt and grit off of them? Why am I going out of my way to show Mariah I'm well read, educated, and healed? Oh, I can see the curiosity in her eyes. She wants to rub on my tats. She wants to experience my diamond tipped, prison yard dick...when I want to offer her my heart.
