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  • Numele Guvernului: Jermaine Ray
  • Numărul de înregistrare: 10960-010
  • Vârstă:30
  • Timp Servit:2 ani
  • Home Town:Hot Springs, Arkansas
  • Propoziție:111 luni
  • Curentul de incarcare:924(C) Folosirea armei de foc în traficul de droguri,,en,Utilizarea de către o Armă de foc interzise persoană,,en,Nu e cine suntem,,en,dar ceea ce facem, care ne definește în viață,,en,Ridicați ↑,,en,Su-Whoop să-mi Damu-komrades în lupta care rămân solide dreapta și reale, în ciuda pierderii de familie,,en,lipsă de respect instituțională și trădarea de la cei care privesc,,en,vorbi și,,en,cred în datoria,,en,onoare și loialitate ca noi,,en,Sunt rămâi și gata,,en,orice altceva este sub mine,,en,Când ai nevoie de mine,,en,Sunt aici cei dragi-,,en,Și Salaam pentru toți frații mei Rămânerea la pământ spiritual și mersul pe jos în lumina adevărului,,en,Eu salut și admir orice om de onoare și de auto-disciplina mare,,en,care se întoarce binecuvântarea ajutând un alt care și-a pierdut credința lor,,en; 922(g) Use of Firearm by a Prohibited Person
  • Alias:Murda
  • Data de lansare:2020
  • Afilierea închisoare:Sânge (Lime Hood Piru)
  • Cercul de influență:Tewhan Butler
  • Instituție:USP Beaumont
  • It's not who we are, but what we do that defines us in life.

Reality and Poetry


Live from Lockdown: Post-Riot

Care-i poanta’ familie? I remain solid and focused. The struggle is real and alive, but the mind is a terrible thing to waste. In life, allow your head to govern your hands, not the other way around. Change the game and SAVE the babies! Money and FREEDOM first. Chase paper and let pussy chase you, because sex and love don’t play by rules. Real niggas . . . true gangstas. . . never suppose to get down behind no bitch and, in my case, behind no bitch ass nigga! Being tested and proven is what earns you respect from true gangsters behind the G-Wall. Always respect your kind . . . and my kind is gangsta, Sânge. This blog I want to share a deep and unique poem from one of the notorious O.G. homies from Westside C.P.F. (Centinela Park Family Bloods) in Inglewood, California. His name is Nela Nutt, and I got M8JR Piru love for my O.G. comrade. I asked him for the Lime-green-light to share one of his poems with the world and he told me, “Go head loved one. Without struggle there can never be progress.” I love who loves me . . . Stand up guys, not the kind who fall . . . We don’t breed them kind, but they bleed just fine . . .

“Am I at My Lowest Yet”
by Demetrius Smith alias O.G. Nela Nutt

Am I at my lowest yet?

When my lows become my highs,

when I start believing my own lies,

and become a living legend in my own eyes . . .

Am I at my lowest yet?

When I come to your cell to talk to you, and I start plottin’ on what I can get from you . . . that’s the only reason why I pretend to befriend you. Because of the things I think you can do for me, when I’m short or in times of need. If you really knew this smile was a frown turned upside down on my face, you’ll know the only thing I feel foe you in my heart is envy and hate. Sau, what about . . .

Am I at my lowest yet?

When I walk around grittin’, shadow boxing and acting tough,

while in my mind I’m a scared little boy praying that nobody runs up. Because I know I really can’t fight, and I know damn well I aint gonna use no knife. Sau, what about . . .

Am I at my lowest yet?

Bine, how about take me so low that I talk about homosexuals and how foul and wrong they are, and who got what sucked, but if you open my door while the sign’s up, you’ll catch another man’s manhood in my mouth or butt. Hmmm . . .

Acum, am I at my lowest yet?

When I think of killing myself everyday, but I’m a coward so I beg someone else to take me vile lil life away, by poppin’ off slick whith something smart or belittling to say, to someone I know is capable of taking my life away.

Am I at my lowest yet?

What about when I hope a family member close to me dies that has a life insurance policy that names me the beneficiary, so I can penitentiary ball out of control by going to the store every week, and buy fancy shoes from people that don’t even fit my feet, in a cell with a pocket full of stamps to do with as I please, Da . . . I think that a make me happy . . .

Am I at my lowest yet?

Well am I? When I just sit around and watch TV and videos to know what movie stars and rappers are doing what, while watching my queens disgrace themselves by wearing next to nothing and shaking their butts, while the true kings and Gods talk about sex, violență, arme, homes, and hoes, making themselves modern day Jim Crows.

Am I at my lowest yet?

When all I wanna do is sit around watching that idiot box because I don’t wanna learn science, health, and my mathematic history, not even new laws that could set me free, hmmm . . .

Am I at my lowest yet?

When all I wanna do is gamble all day, in any kind of way, while my locker stays empty and at the end of the day, I’m deep in debt and hungry; Talking about, “I can’t keep losing like this G. Aye homie, give me a book to get back in the game and on my feet. I’m gonna win this time. Crede-mă, on my mama, I got you.” (Damn shame)

Am I at my lowest yet?

When I say I’ll never drink again because I know the negative outcome it could have on me, my family and friends. But soon as the wine man comes down with some gas, I’ll say, “Bine, this time will be my last!”

Bine, do you think I’m at my lowest yet?

When I’ve given up on going home because here in the penitentiary I’ve got it going on. Iad, I’m the man in here! I got one or two pairs of shoes they sell in the commissary, not to mention the ones I buy from people who come from other penitentiaries. I even got customized ‘fits just to match . . . all kinds of watches, chains, glasses, and hats- SHIT! You know you wanna be like me . . . On the streets I got too many responsibilities, and I’m gettin’ old . . . No one will hire me when I tell ’em I’m an ex-felon, Da . . . I’m cool right here in jail, but I won’t tell you that . . .

Am I at my lowest yet?

When I’m at the end of my bid, not ready to respect, help or care for my family and kids, nor friends. I’ll return home the same way I came in. Bine, maybe a lil more messed up because I gotta lot of new habits, plus . . . I’m now on wine, dope and butt. Don’t trip I won’t even try to get a job. I’ll pick up where I left off and continue to sell drugs, steal and rob. And if I get caught while in the middle of a crime, I won’t come back to jail this time. I won’t be judged by 12 in a box, I’ll be tried and convicted by the 15 in the officer’s glock. Da, you know that song, Scarface and Ice Cube “Gangstas Don’t Live that Long”

Well I can speak of lows no mo’ because the rest of lows just cannot be disclosed, but those with worse lows, they know; but the good thing about being at your lowest point is that there is no where to go, but up . . .

So my question to you: Are you at your lowest yet, or do you feel you have a ways to go to sink deeper into despair and regret?

Reality, Rhyme & Expunere de motive:



One response to “Reality and Poetry”

  1. raymon says:

    thats a wild speach brother for real

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