((The alley kids)) By: Steve Breaston
Baseball, a game no longer just for play.
It’s a way of life, when death looms fifty feet away.
Damn, I wish Shawn was here today,
Wishing he’ll comeback and hit the ball.
We play ball so we can escape these streets,
The pipes and needles that decorate our feet,
Day to day, weeks and weeks,
We threw, hit, and made the calls.
Foul! Hey, that’s the way life is kid,
Every other week, we bury the dead,
Today, a stray bullet hits a baby’s head,
We still play, even though the child no longer crawls.
We play hoping for the homerun, that keeps hope alive,
Not Hope, the drug dealer, who pushes the crack supply,
The crack that put the tears in many of our eyes.
But the hope that keeps us standing tall.
A lot of down falls, but no cuffs, locks, or jails.
Cause cops watch shots and say “Oh well”
With baseball, we feel no signs of this hell,
Until we place down the bat and ball.
