"In life it might be grapes , or oranges for that matter, which are thrown in your path, but by my God I will keep my Apples intact! "
Hi, my name is Tonez, a kid just like you, except I come from the slums of the boogie down bronx. A slum like no other slum. Buildings shattered like the dreams of the kids around us, who saw their parents on drugs or being robbed. Slums who robbed us of youth and trust, but made us men. Slums that transformed in front of our eyes, slums that became majestic in time. Slums that we can sit and stare, admiring the glisten and the glare of the new establishment and edifice, cause we can't call them buildings anymore, for they're much more. Slums that we can sit looking at and reminisce , like " remember the crack lines went around the block" , remember we set up gymnasiums using spent mattresses as out mats right in the middle of where that structure is AT!? Remember, we can't call them buildings. These slums kept us on our toes, let us know real fast who was down to roll. We got tested like college freshmen. It was sure a whirlwind. These slums showed us how to separate fake from truth, this place makes it hard to separate a young killer, from a common youth. The struggle the slums brought made us Men. Solid to the point of fault. We don't bend. We don't adapt. We Takeover!
So yee thee old fellow who believes I'm of no strength and I am of no grace, soon I shall come and take my rightful place.