Bullets Were Voices

When I was little I wondered
What were those noises I heard?
I mean, I knew they weren't nice 'cause my mom said, "Get out the window!"
I was scared.
Scared 'cause my idol wasn't there.
Scared 'cause my brother was out where the noises were,
Not knowing if he heard what I heard.
What if the noises were talking to him?
To me, those noises were voices--
With no choices.
But as I got older, I started talking to people I hated.
Of course I'm talking about the noises.
I said 'em. These bullets were illnesses. I spread 'em.
I sent that one nigga to Heaven. Yeah I caught a body
But only 'cause he had a shotty
And I was told by my mommy, "Keep your guard up."
And now I'm smart and tough,
But I don't tell nobody I murdered
'Cause they'll talk about me bad.
And words? They hurt worse.
Keep it a secret. You wouldn't believe it.
And it's okay. It's better if you don't.
All this guilt and it was for my brother. With hope,
I wait till the day that I cope
From hearing the voices.
So now I keep quiet, silent,
Looking at the pistol and who's behind it.
Instead of taking action I mute everything.
I'm married to music now. All we need is the wedding ring.

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