This poem is dedicated in memory of Kris 
A true G who was like my brother, this is a true story of how my nigga died, may he live on through this poem since he had no family except for his folk. Much love to you, K.K., We miss you. 
                            From Ace & da crew 

Now I'm riding with da boys;  
pullin' 187's,  
and thinkin' of my homeboy chillin' in heaven.  

We roll a blunt;  
& take a hit or two.  
As the smoke settles;  
I think here's looking at you.  

Gettin' high as we ride;  
to pull a drive-by;  
on da busta dat ripped us off;  
when we needed da cash to survive.  

After acting like a trick;  
the nigga learns in da end,  
you don't play wid da FOLK;  
you treat em like yo best friend.  

We're back at da crib;  
Now it's all over ;  
we hit 3 of da niggas;  
the other dipped in a Range Rover.  

The car we used;  
is in da chop shop now.  
They'll never catch us;  
you slobs had better bow.  

The suns gone down;  
& we're chillin' in our hood.  
Until a car comes creepin'  
we're thinkin' "it's all good".  

We saw the headlights disappear;  
but before we could run;  
we saw the flashes & heard the bangs.  
"Who's shot?" they hit one.  

I watched as he fell from where he was standing,  
we were all on da ground & I couldn't believe it;  
His blood was every where, as the GTO fled,then I said,  
"My nigga's been hit!"  

Some of chased them,  
some of us stayed;  
When the ambulance got there,  
He was gone but his body remained.  

We're still making money,  
& still gettin' high;  
We're the true thugs,  
this is how we'll die.  

We're having fun now;  
that's all that matters;  
ridin' out wid our niggas till our lives shatter.........