pic of my kids, by me
ghetto ass
ghetto ass broke mofo
thats me and just about everyone around me.
I'm broke.
ghetto
People when you say broke but you have 20 dollars in your pocket, you ain't broke, you still got 20 dollars.
Or when you say your broke but you have money in the bank, that ain't broke. You still got money in the bank. You can get it out.
When you say your poor but you have gas in your car and your fridge stocked with food and beer, naw...your alright.
When you say you're lonely but you have a grip of kids, you'll never be lonely unless your a mean person.
When you say your hard up but you had a one night stand in the last week, you doing better than most married folks.
When you say your house is a mess but there is only one dish in the sink and plastic over your furniture, shut up. You never SEEN a mess yet.
Let me tell you about living in the ghetto...away from the suburbs with their central air, morgtages up the wazoo, stripmalls and seasonal roadwork.
I live in the ghetto. People haul in furniture other people threw out. People scheme every day for beer or cigarettes. 3 year olds run around in diapers, I don't know whose kids they are and for real I don't care because when one ran in front of my car and I stopped and saved his life, he turned his snotty face at me and threw a rock at me.
People come over to borrow the phone and a roll of toilet paper. And you give it to them because you owe them one.
The lady next door watches your every move and every neighbors move. She is a known cop caller who will call the cops on you even if you crawl in your own window because you locked yourself out.
The kids across the street play basketball in the street in front of my house and actually put lightbulbs in my front porch light so they can play longer.
Kids stand in the street on food stamp day with soda pops and big bags of chips all happy. The whole neighborhood is happy that day. cook-outs and birthday parties galore.
People stop by to visit at dinnertime and leave when the dishes need to be washed.
If people see you take beer in your house they stop by to visit. Unless its the lady next door, then she calls the cops.
Young kids think they are gangsters, the only for real gangsters in this neighborhood are the dogs. The run in packs. Gangs.
And they bark all freakin night.
People come out at night and sit on their porches, watching the young ones cruise by and remembering when they were that young.
That is how life is in my neighborhood here in the Northridge Housing Project on the Pine Ridge Reservation in the poorest county in the nation, the beautiful United States of America.
Yup, it's ghetto, and yup I'm home.
