Little Pete from Author by John Sha

This is for the sons of the shooters. Sons of the hustlers.


Sons of the flippers.


Offspring of all real niggas.

Ima take y'all on a ride on this one.



Little Pete is sixteen dark skin dripped clean; straight hair wavey if he brush it look pristine; mother always on his hip body like she used to strip; all her relatives is blood Pete ain't never seen a crip; Pete ain't ever joined a gang unless you count him playing band; violence ain't his cup of tea unless you talking mega man; church he visit every Sunday he ain't switching up his plans; friends started smoking weed now he switching up his man's; loyal to his girl he don't flirt when women tease him; but she'll tell you that don't mean he ain't jerk for different reasons; bout to chill it's the weekend at the park till it's evening; call his mother while he leaving Shut the door put the key in; walking down the block he sees a flock of pigeons past him; tossed the roll that he was eating had to duck from all the flapping; before he hits the park he gets a craving for a soda; sees the deli on the corner but he only has a quarter; never been a thief he goes inside to ask for credit; as the owners saying yes a man tosses out his debit; Pete grabs the juice and yells thank you; it's nothing little nigga I'm who made you; frozen in position Pete ain't never met his father; mother always told him he's the type that wouldn't bother; he ain't never sent a card little Pete was scarred; with your mother every fathers day shit will make you hard; he used to dream how he would look his mother said it was bizarre; she was all that he would need but he bleeded from his heart; don't you even start Pete turns with aggression; how the fuck you know me cause he ain't never met him; thats a good question you know your mother best friend; thats my little cousin she gave me the blessing; i did fifteen years every bit of it was stressing; Little Pete interrupted so you come to teach me lessons; Boy i was hustling with the rock; i had your mother all in Gucci i had every color drop; i was moving with precision then her brother started snitching; if Ida kilt that mf'er ida never had a sentence; little Pete really starts to listen; big Pete shows him letters that returned when he sent him; your mother never said i was in prison; i don't blame her i just wanna know my children

Little Pete is calmer he's relaxed; i thought prison had a gym why you fat; claiming you was ill you looking wack; my mother just called i gotta call her back

• Hip-Hop/Rap
• blues
• newyorkcityhiphop
• southern rap
• underground hip hop
• underground rap
• New York