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  • Ríkisstjórn Name: Marco Miguel Robertson
  • Kennitala: 62151-066
  • Aldur:38
  • Tími Borið:15 + ár.
  • Home Town:Laurel, MD
  • Setning:LIFE +24 ár.
  • Núverandi Hleðsla:Murder
  • Alias:Marco Miguel
  • Útgáfudagur:Leita eftir sannfæringu léttir
  • Prison Tengsl:Rétttrúnaðar Sunni múslima
  • Hring áhrifum:Tewhan Butler
  • Stofnun:USP Lewisburg (SMU)
  • Ég er Maryland State Fangi í sérstökum Stjórn Unit of sambands fangelsi kerfi í fimmtánda ári lífs + 24-ári setning. Nope, Ekkert það var þess virði!

Ó já, Me Too

Göturnar kallast,
Fjandinn,
Ég hlustaði!

Vinnuskilyrði daglega martraðir í fangelsi,
A dream
I wish it was.

Engin ást,
Fyrir Thug,
Þunglyndi knús;
Gremju heldur mér þétt;
Shown in fact
I’m Black
Though my skin is light.

Ungur og gamall út til að vinna sér inn röndum þeirra,
Paying the price for seeking that life
When I only bit a slice of the American Pie

Days full of despair
Enn,
Ég er fegin að vera á lífi.
Fyrir ekkert gangsters vilja að gata hjá mér.
Sannleikurinn Ég leita,
Ég get ekki logið.
Goodbye
To the outside
Without so much as a wave,
Twenty-three and One.
Restrained by chains

My sanity is exercised,
By guys who don’t realize principle,
No morals,
Or values,
In their visual;
Today your average everyday criminal.

To the wolves I’m thrown,
Cowards running in packs,
Can’t hold their own;
Hyenas wicked laughter,
Heard alongside racist faces;
You bastards!

Dark as my own flesh,
If not more,
But lacking a spine to support their core.

On cell doors
Is a chart posted with the happenings of every prisoner
For them to report
Sad,
But this is what I earned.

Evil waged upon me,
So when I recite scripture
My eyes tear up and burn.

Am I in hell’s flames,
Shamed by oppression’s cradle I was born in
Bathing in sin;
Trapped in a dimension
With fiendish rotation,
Housed in master’s zoo

Blew trial before I had the chance to blow;
Broke,
Without a penny to show,
Busted up dames got the nerve to turn up their nose.

Through a small window various devils peep,
Toss and turn in bed
From the dirt I did,
I can’t sleep

Can’t eat;
Can’t be weak;
Murder don’t stop.
Better be quick to grab a knife
And slice your hands through the air
Chop,
Chop,
Chop!

Careful not to roll the dice with your life;
A false step can be fatal.
I know mommy thought different when she rocked me in the cradle,
Smiled when I kicked her in the navel.

All too realistic,
I’m just a statistic
Who got twisted
In a cold system,
Mesmerized by losing wins;
Hypnotized by street glory;
A victim too,
Telling my story
From the pen,
Hoping you say,
I don’t want to be like him.

  

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