| As I walk through the valley of one eighty-seven land
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| No matter what state, what city, what town
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| I can see there’s no place to run, no place to hide
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| I could be in the crosshairs of somebody, somewhere
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| I wanna ask why…
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| But I ain’t got time for that
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| I gotta keep movin on
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| Or be the next one to die
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| I walk through the valley of no-man's land
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| Sayin peace, slappin fives and holdin up those two fingers
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| To the many nine millimeter automatic pistol toting young men
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| That roam everywhere
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| I wonder what will be the next small incident
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| That will cause one of them to pull out
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| And spray bullets recklessly in every direction
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| Will my grandmother be on her way to the store
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| For a loaf of bread and a TV Guide at that very moment
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| As I walk through the valley at night
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| I’m thinkin, «I don’t know that brother walkin across the
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| Street in the black hoodie, so he may be a threat to me»
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| He’s thinkin, «I don’t know that brother walkin across the
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| Street in the blue hoodie, so he may be a threat to me»
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| What’s goin through out minds
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| As we reach down into our waistlines
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| And pull out the tools, the heaters, the scraps
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| The biscuits, the gats
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| The jammies, the grips with the clips
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| All placed there purposely by them
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| «Here niggas, sixteen shooter made specially just for you»
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| What goes through our minds at that moment
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| When a brother’s at the other end of our barrel
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| About to catch a hot piece of steel
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| And take his last breath
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| What goes through our minds
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| What’s goin through our minds
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| As we walk through the valley |