Gunshots every day,
they’ve become music to my ears.
Every day it’s a battle,
a battle that’ll leave the streets a mess.
My home, the streets have become
a battlefield for greedy humankind.

I dance in sorrow to the sound of the gunshots,
dodging bullets across the dusty streets.
I’m sweating in fear but something in me is languishing.
Every bullet penetrates my soul like a bull penetrating ice caps.
The street hawkers are staring in awe. My heart is bleeding.

I ran to the South but little did I know
That’s where blacks are indicted for larceny.
So, as I lie here lifeless
Please tell mom not to cry for I died as a child soldier.
I died as a street soldier.

Tell mom not to beat herself up.
Tell her I’m not coming home tonight.
Tell her I hustled for a loaf of bread that I later died for.
Tell her the streets corrupted me.