Out The Ghetto

I made it out the ghetto, wouldn't mind if I moved back.  
'Cause now, I got a gun, and I've been itchin' to use that.  
I liked the thought of walking outside in the block
with the odds of getting blessed with a stray from a Glock.  
The gunshots at night were like music to my ears.  
But now, I'm out the hood, and so, the sounds disappeared.  
In the suburbs, it is hard for one to vent their anger.  
Adapted to the hood and fell in love with the danger.  
I remember someone broke in, I was home alone.  
So I hid in the tub and called the cops on my phone.  
They didn't even show up, said it ain't worth their time.  
A twelve-year-old now realized it's okay to do crime.  
That was when I knew I can't rely on the feds.  
Told myself next time, just shoot the robbers instead.  
Now, I wish somebody would try to break into my spot.  
So, I can slit his fuckin' throat, and put his head in a box.  
And then, I'll sit and glorify the mess that I've made.  
And find his mother's home to send the box to her place.