Apathy is the worst crime when gangs invade a neighborhood.

Have you heard of Mother hood
hangin’ in yore neighborhood?
Her ebony cloak is night;
she’ll make us all die of fright.
She likes things the way they are—
wouldn’t change them if she could.
Fringed, leather jacket,
tight, black, leather pants,
you should see Ma prance
on her hog, Harley.
Mother of the hood—
doesn’t care like a Ma should.

Another child to bury,
sad tears race … in a hurry.
She doesn’t sit around, cry,
is anxious to say good-bye,
‘cause they’ll be two more tonight …
in an exchange of fury.
Momma shaved her head,
is a pistol-packing Ma.
Her gun finished Pa—
caught him with Maury …
she was judge, jury;
put him out of misery.

Ma devoured him for lunch
(in the sausage is my hunch).
Ma prowls the alleys for fun …
we’d never dream of what she’s done.
Mother hood is aching bad—
she’s raised a violent bunch,
moody, drunks on drugs,
none shootin’ blank slugs.
Their picture’s on mugs.
Half the time she’s down in hell
and her recruiting’s going swell.

Belly aches, she births anew …
best watch what her babies do.