Frienemy

The instrument
of your demise,
sub compact .45.
Guaranteed,
not to leave
your dumb ass
still alive.

Holes as big
as pop cans
blow out the
back of your chest,
Family and friends
all gather around
to lay your
stupid ass to rest.

You crossed
the wrong nigga,
now it ain't no
turning back,
The Angel of Death
I bring to you,
when I put on
this all black.

Once my friend
and Considered kin,
Now I'm hunting you.
So for you my dude
I hope you know,
I'm coming
to see this through.

When I approach
your house and
put my gun
in your mouth
I wonder
what you'll do.
Shit yourself
or cry like a bitch,
but the devil gets his due.