The Roots. Return To Innocence Lost. Zeneszám

Muffled sound of fist on flesh
Blows to chest, no breath, air gasps
You ain't nothing but white trash, bitch
With each hit, each kick, each broken rib
Crack, crack, bones are crying
Mommy's crying and bleeding and pleading

And then, daddy wants to fuck
Dick hard, swelled with power rush
And as if all that wasn't enough
Mommy's seven months heavy with birth
As daddy grunts and cursed drunk nothings in her bloodied ear

First lullaby
First son will ever hear
And never forget

Mommy almost bled to death when she have him, finally
She'd already lost three
Uterus bruised, shredded, and weak from being daily beat
And Friday nights were the worse
And daddy never came with flowers

Instead he spent hours at some corner spot
With some bar pop named Cookie
Putting his thing down soiling mommy's sheets with
Sweet talk shit, Cookie's cheap lipstick
Hair grease, sperm, and jezebel juice

To hell with the good news that he was a father for the first time
His thirst for wine and women clouded his vision
No warm welcome for mother and son
Just the rank smell of ass crack, funk, and cum
But mommy's prayerful strength, her best defense
She burned the dirty linens, made a fresh bed

Laid sleeping first son down and never made a sound
As she purged her scourge with birth blood and quiet tears
Watching as her fears and love and sacrifice
Lie there in his soft skin and new life
Breathing, dreaming, fresh from God's eye
Mommy's little survivor like her

Mommy called Crazy and scorned, 'cause she too more born
One boy soon after the girl much later and
Although they were both sung the same lullabies of hate
Her first son, the first one, whose womb world was profaned
Came of age playing street games with Stevie, Rezzie, and little brother
'Till his heart start to wither in pain and shame

Blamed mom for the wrong she let daddy do to her and him
Let sins of the father cause his innocence to wander
Found out amongst thieves chose to squander his dreams
Stopped believing in himself, become prodigal with his life
Make impossible shit right with gang ties, crime, lies
Erase wise, woeful words of mother
Replaced them with absurdities of others who had also lost their way

Played a different kind of street game now
First son plunged deep, speak street family vows
Espouse no causes but his own
See, he couldn't protect mommy's neck from daddy's grasp
Or protect mommy's ass from daddy's wrath
Couldn't shield her ears from daddy's foul mouthed, liquor breath jeers

His only defense, served to be confidence
Brown bottles housed his swift descent
Phones called cops on block frequent for his shenanigans
Now, daddy and him twins in addiction
Driven to false hearted heavens and friends by liquefied demons
Had become what he despised from conception 'til end

Destined for a demise, survived nine lives of staying high
Conning, jewelry pawning, arrests, theft
Womanizing, only for money, never for sex
Bullet in chest, baseball bat to the head left for dead
So, eyes wide and glassy, speech, slowed and slurred
Lips twitched with caked up codeine candy and mouth corners

One December 24th Mr. Hide and false friend
Took final ride to suburban supplier
Shots were fired by the gray man with shaky hand
But not shaky enough to miss hit, lost boy in back
So called friend runs for door, leaves first son blood born
Lying alone in blood on cold floor
Death was the cost of returning to innocence lost

Baby 'sis awake for dawn on Christmas morn'
To mommy's sobs and shakes, daddy's silhouettes of regret
All past omitted and absolved by lost
As they clung to each other, knowing