Rasool was a king but also a fool
He'd be outside in the cold with his bubble goose on
You don't want that
Tariq from the west side, little John from the Avenue
Shakin' hands with everybody
His boys said they were hungry
And Rasool lay dead on my North Philly street
And ohh he passed it on
You don't want that
But at the same time sharin' the blues
Tryin' to win at the game
Rasool knew it wasn't right
Shakin' hands till what was in his pockets was gone
What you do and who you call your crew
Wanted to get a bite, now they didn't send a runner
But in years to come there'd be many many brothers slained
Back on the block again with the same crew
Rough on the outside but inside he was cool
The very choices you make, may make a Rasool out of you
Children of children, one young father to be
Oh this is a friend of Rasool, begging you to think about
At fifteen years old, it was the first death I'd seen
You don't want that, do you?
But inside somehow, I knew he wasn't warm
But he stayed anyway tryin' to get the chain he liked
Always seen 'em 'bout a quarter to two
Do you? Do you? Do you? Do you?
But the game ain't designed for no kind of winning
Around ten thirty on that dreary night
You don't want that
Ohh, how the shots rang in the streets
Now you don't want that, do you?
Hittin' everybody in the surrounding vicinity
