Ptsd (War Stories Part 1)

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Lalo

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Born into this hell
Yet I prevale 
They root quietly for me to fail 
This betrayal 
Type of gene
Don't run in my bloodstream
As a teen
I settled on the name cream
Never had green
But I dream 
Know what I mean
Shit we ain't have a house 
We slept on grandmas couch 
Some nights
We used candles for lights
No heater no power 
Microwave a bucket of water 
For a hot shower 
Im militant 
It's evident 
Expose to the elements 
Spine was built from tough times 
Homie check the residence 
Gangs stalk 
The streets I walk 
Fiends looking like zombies 
From the trap next door 
The smell of burnt plastic as the wind blows 
Explodes 
The flames are coming through my window 
I saw my first dead body 
In a dmv lobby 
A casualty to an armed robbery
Memories like these 
Don't leave
Untreated PTSD 
I can still feel the heat from this place 
I can still see that dead mans face
Whats up

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