There Ain't No Babies in the Ghetto
I grew up in a subtle town near the projects in New York. My momma always raised us kid's right, telling us no smoker can get a job, no drunk can earn money. She loved us, cared for us, but we didn't care. When we were 10 and 11, we started hating our mother and OH do we regret it. We'd sneak out to smoke, travel to drug houses, pretending we were at a friends. We'd drink booze all night, and wake up on a bench, head pounding, smelling of liquor, having to get home, take a shower, wash clothes before momma came home. One day, we were busy scrubbing the vodka smell out of clothes, and we were waiting to hear the familiar tap of her shoes on the floor upstairs. We meaning Me (name's Matt), my sister Leena, two years older, and my twin Javika. They were both busty, thin, and blonde. Me on the other hand, I was tall dark and handsome. anyway we were all around 13 when we got worried about her, the phone rang. The police said she had been seriously hurt in a car accident. She may not live.