Little plastic bags shaped like cylinders
strewn about the halls
Strong orders wafting from the elevators
Needles laying blatantly about
I live here...
Graffiti on the walls
Bodegas on the corners
Ah man! They fightin' again!
I live here...
Winos staggering
Junkies nodding
I live here...
Y'all seen Billy?
Man, they found Billy dead in that empty building!
I live here...
A little girl's dreams -
Double Dutch and Bazooka!
Best "Crack Top" player in the neighborhood!
I live here...
*Hey! Wanna play crack top?
*Man! Shoot! I'll crack your top in half!
*OH SNAP!
I live here...
Water balloon fights and Mister Softee -
It didn't matter where you were or what you were doing at the time you hear that magical melody of the ice cream truck -
It was the "pied piper" of the neighborhood - a "cease and desist" of all current activity in order to fight your way to the front of the ice cream line. That is assuming you had your 25 cents!
When I indulge myself in childhood memories I take delight fire hydrant shootings and running for dear life to escape the repercussions for soaking adults and their jazzy convertibles! A simple can with both ends removed allowed you to move water in any direction while simultaneously controlling the pressure! Ingenious!
And, I would be remiss if not disrespectful for not giving mention to SCULLY! Yes! Second only to Crack Top! I swear my knees and elbows are black to this day from that game!
Yes! I live here!
And last - with honorable mention! Ghetto Acrobats!
Old discarded mattress piled as high as we could! Jumping and flipping as only little kids can.
I remember hearing my mother yell my name loud enough for the entire neighborhood -
Yeah, little did I know that several stories up she watched her little angel unlash the foulest mouth on the block!
As I exchanged profanities with whom I perceived to be a threat to my "street cred," I felt fully vindicated. No one is gonna get away with pushing me and taking my spot!
That was the day I had the cleanest mouth in the neighborhood!
Yep! I live here!
Public humiliation - my mother actually washed my mouth with a bar of soap and left the front door open as she did it!
We all come from different walks of life and I cherish my memories good and not so good. They keep me grounded -
And if by chance you are a "refugee," former hood rat or ghetto bunny, then you know that profanity is an art form cultivated by and reserved for hood life; so even as our zip codes change, most of us remain bi-lingual as we hold on to the little secret place the keeps it real.
Always remember where you came from...
strewn about the halls
Strong orders wafting from the elevators
Needles laying blatantly about
I live here...
Graffiti on the walls
Bodegas on the corners
Ah man! They fightin' again!
I live here...
Winos staggering
Junkies nodding
I live here...
Y'all seen Billy?
Man, they found Billy dead in that empty building!
I live here...
A little girl's dreams -
Double Dutch and Bazooka!
Best "Crack Top" player in the neighborhood!
I live here...
*Hey! Wanna play crack top?
*Man! Shoot! I'll crack your top in half!
*OH SNAP!
I live here...
Water balloon fights and Mister Softee -
It didn't matter where you were or what you were doing at the time you hear that magical melody of the ice cream truck -
It was the "pied piper" of the neighborhood - a "cease and desist" of all current activity in order to fight your way to the front of the ice cream line. That is assuming you had your 25 cents!
When I indulge myself in childhood memories I take delight fire hydrant shootings and running for dear life to escape the repercussions for soaking adults and their jazzy convertibles! A simple can with both ends removed allowed you to move water in any direction while simultaneously controlling the pressure! Ingenious!
And, I would be remiss if not disrespectful for not giving mention to SCULLY! Yes! Second only to Crack Top! I swear my knees and elbows are black to this day from that game!
Yes! I live here!
And last - with honorable mention! Ghetto Acrobats!
Old discarded mattress piled as high as we could! Jumping and flipping as only little kids can.
I remember hearing my mother yell my name loud enough for the entire neighborhood -
Yeah, little did I know that several stories up she watched her little angel unlash the foulest mouth on the block!
As I exchanged profanities with whom I perceived to be a threat to my "street cred," I felt fully vindicated. No one is gonna get away with pushing me and taking my spot!
That was the day I had the cleanest mouth in the neighborhood!
Yep! I live here!
Public humiliation - my mother actually washed my mouth with a bar of soap and left the front door open as she did it!
We all come from different walks of life and I cherish my memories good and not so good. They keep me grounded -
And if by chance you are a "refugee," former hood rat or ghetto bunny, then you know that profanity is an art form cultivated by and reserved for hood life; so even as our zip codes change, most of us remain bi-lingual as we hold on to the little secret place the keeps it real.
Always remember where you came from...
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