The Verdict

Bring in the jury,
Will the defendant please rise, My knees almost buckle tears saturate my eyes,
But I manage to stand and mentally prepare to hear words,
from a black robe that holds my entire future in his hands,
Madam foreperson have you reached a verdict,
We have Your Honor,
I’m perplexed, cause I cant tell from her expression if I’m going home or a goner,
We the jury find the defendant Jeffery A Davis,
Guilty,
Of being “Filthy” Rich, from extortion and cocaine sales of magnanimous proportions, Tax evasion and non reporting, then consorting with Columbian Drug Lords to insider trading with Wall Street brokers,
Then back to the hood where I played coach to a league full of smokers,
Damn it seems like Mister Davis was an awfully busy man,
Excuse me your honor may I address the court,
Can I have five minutes on the stand?
My intention is not plead my case or try to save face,
But to paint you a vivid picture of an undesirable place,
Where young men, just like me grow,
In your circle it’s called the hood,
In mine, the ghetto
And it ain’t J.J., Florida Evans or Good Times,
But Crack pipes, coke lines and eviction signs,
Desperation, poverty and despair,
Yeah I’m guilty,
Where were you twenty years ago when I needed someone to care,
When my daddy left and my mom was in the streets,
Doing what she had to so her four boys would have something to eat,
Are you starting to get the picture,
This is real talk,
Bring me a bible,
I’ll swear on the scripture, Can’t you see,
I was already a convicted felon,
When I was layin in my crib and my baby bottle got empty and I was screamin and yellin,
It was at that first moment when I started day dreamin about scheming and how I could make it,
So when the pusher handed me that first sack,
It was basically you that made me take it,
So in essence,
I went from empty baby bottles,
To sellin dope full throttle
And subjected myself to everything else that comes with that lavish lifestyle,
Cause what you thought was vile,
Always made me go that extra mile,
So as long as my heart was beatin, I lived to get over,
Cause in our concrete jungle, I never seen a four leafed clover,
Just bad luck and bad news,
So either you sold dope or you bought it to use,
It’s a vicious cycle that every day recycles and recycles,
But this is where it stops,
Cause when you dropped gavel,
I could’ve easily ranted and babbled about how my life unraveled,
I could have even begged for clemency,
Due to my whole life livin a conspiracy,
Then you’d probably say that’s an unfair analogy,
While I’d say hard work and determination is all a fallacy,
So let’s find a compromise,
First let’s agree that American promise was a bunch of lies,
Now I’m accosted, so you’ve got your prize,
Shit, I ain’t proud of what I done,
If I could go back in time,
I would have dropped the sack and the nine,
So I guess I am filthy,
You still need my admission,
You got it,
I’m guilty