When you’re in the game, nothing is ever sacred. Ever!
“My word is bond” is the phrase most commonly stated among the hustlers. The cutthroat styling of the haters is masqueraded by hugs, pounds, and love. Loyalty ain’t nothing but a word some dick made up to protect his head from the diseased, poverty-filled world of karma. And the only back niggaz got is the line they stand on before being sent back up North.
This is the game where anybody can be a winner and everybody’s always a sore loser. The doe is fast and women come in abundance like ripened green bushels of plantains at the West Indian day parade. It can be good when everybody is getting it together. But if you start making even just a dollar more than the next man … Just prepare yourself to spend time either in jail or in the cemetery because niggaz is snitching.
Keep your friends at a distance because it’s not always your enemies you need to be keeping close. The block is a microscope and you’re always under it.
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