A souvenir of who you are,

            That’s what they think at least,

            That you’re a dirty, rotten youth,

            Who never even had the chance to walk the straightened arrow

But they don’t see why you do it-

The things you do,

Why you act the way you do,

                        And soon as they glimpse that black hood,

                        You’re stamped and done with in their book

            Troubled Teens

            Unfit Youth

            Undeserving, Ungrateful Children,

Who only see violence, who think crime is the way,

But they’re the ones with one perspective,

The ones who turn and look the other way

            Hypocritical Judges,

Say the want to help, but fight,

                        Look at me like I belong in prison,

                        ‘cause I wear my hood this cold, cold night