Philth-adelphia
The City of Brotherly Love. The city of brotherly who?
Where love shines bright off metallic buildings, high and mighty, blinding and arrogant, loud and obnoxious. Shade your eyes from the truth they reflect and break your gaze as broken cries fill your ears, hushed by the sounds of notes lifting from the music box of the local run down bar. Where structures stand tall, strong, proud. Protect their innards as the bowels of crack houses run the streets, pushing for the only truth they know.
The City of Brotherly Love. The city of brotherly what?
Where you can find the finest cheesesteaks, grease running down your chin, cheese dripping from your fingers- so messy, but so good, after buying the finest dope, drool running down your chin, blood pouring from your veins- so messy, but never good enough.
Where the blood of young gang bangers soak the streets, feed the earth, repeat the cycle, the same tainted color as the pride of our country.
Where the liberty bell, cracked and broken in all her glory of freedom sits on a street plagued by homeless captivity. She doesn't speak the truth she sees. Her silence says everything.
Cause the high rollers and money makers sit on their white leather couches in their top level condos in Rittenhouse Square while the dope fiends with no hope sit below the El and yell out their fate: "Dope, dope. Rigs, rigs. Pain, pain."
And where is the brotherly love for the young brother with no direction? He wears his colors to tell the world his story- rust red for commitment, bright white stained sorrow, bruised blue for his endless fight and dirt brown for the forgotten, fallen soldiers. His skin permanently etched with their memory: RIP Hope, RIP Faith, RIP Dreams. Where is the brotherly Love for those brothers who never had a chance?
The City of Brotherly Love? The City of brotherly- fuck what ya heard cause when the lights go off and the city shuts down a world emerges that has never seen the light of day. That will never know what it's like to have a job and a ride 'cause the only ones that come close are the girls who hop in and out of cars on the ave. Who's bruises and scars run much deeper than a stiff backhand or a motivating push.
A world where a child dies knowing nothing but guns and runs and death by association.
A world where the rich stay rich and the poor couldn't tell you if rich was money or pride, love or escape, success or survival.
This is Philly's finest, spell that with a "ph"- phucked, phorgotten, phaithless. What's a PhD but a Philly drug deal- initialisms can't even begin to cover the irony.
Cause that city, that city with all its beauty and strength and freedom, the birthplace of this shining country of ours, is a dull, damp prison with tall walls and mini-barred windows and no light. That city is the ghetto in the movies come to life. That city is a gangster who never had a fight. That city is no love, no hope, no change, by birthright.
Where love shines bright off metallic buildings, high and mighty, blinding and arrogant, loud and obnoxious. Shade your eyes from the truth they reflect and break your gaze as broken cries fill your ears, hushed by the sounds of notes lifting from the music box of the local run down bar. Where structures stand tall, strong, proud. Protect their innards as the bowels of crack houses run the streets, pushing for the only truth they know.
The City of Brotherly Love. The city of brotherly what?
Where you can find the finest cheesesteaks, grease running down your chin, cheese dripping from your fingers- so messy, but so good, after buying the finest dope, drool running down your chin, blood pouring from your veins- so messy, but never good enough.
Where the blood of young gang bangers soak the streets, feed the earth, repeat the cycle, the same tainted color as the pride of our country.
Where the liberty bell, cracked and broken in all her glory of freedom sits on a street plagued by homeless captivity. She doesn't speak the truth she sees. Her silence says everything.
Cause the high rollers and money makers sit on their white leather couches in their top level condos in Rittenhouse Square while the dope fiends with no hope sit below the El and yell out their fate: "Dope, dope. Rigs, rigs. Pain, pain."
And where is the brotherly love for the young brother with no direction? He wears his colors to tell the world his story- rust red for commitment, bright white stained sorrow, bruised blue for his endless fight and dirt brown for the forgotten, fallen soldiers. His skin permanently etched with their memory: RIP Hope, RIP Faith, RIP Dreams. Where is the brotherly Love for those brothers who never had a chance?
The City of Brotherly Love? The City of brotherly- fuck what ya heard cause when the lights go off and the city shuts down a world emerges that has never seen the light of day. That will never know what it's like to have a job and a ride 'cause the only ones that come close are the girls who hop in and out of cars on the ave. Who's bruises and scars run much deeper than a stiff backhand or a motivating push.
A world where a child dies knowing nothing but guns and runs and death by association.
A world where the rich stay rich and the poor couldn't tell you if rich was money or pride, love or escape, success or survival.
This is Philly's finest, spell that with a "ph"- phucked, phorgotten, phaithless. What's a PhD but a Philly drug deal- initialisms can't even begin to cover the irony.
Cause that city, that city with all its beauty and strength and freedom, the birthplace of this shining country of ours, is a dull, damp prison with tall walls and mini-barred windows and no light. That city is the ghetto in the movies come to life. That city is a gangster who never had a fight. That city is no love, no hope, no change, by birthright.