>spiritual awakening<

Now here comes the march of the boy brigade
A macabre parade of the toys he made
In shemaghs and shades, who look half his age
About half the size of the flags they wave
And camouflage suits made to fit youths
Cause the one off of dead soldiers hang a lil' loose
Where AK47s that they shootin into heaven
Like they tryna kill a Jetson that struggles little recruits
Cute, smileless, heartless, violent
Childhood destroyed, devoid of all childish
Ways - can't write their own names
Or read the words that's on their own graves
Think you gangsta, popped a few rounds?
These kids'll come through and murder a whole town
Then sit back and smoke and watch it burn down
The graves get deeper the further we go down